Finn and Luca are six months old today!

We all want to say thank you for your support and well wishes that have kept us going. The boys are doing great and are growing like weeds. They are both rolling over now and talking and laughing, a lot! We couldn’t be happier.

Birth stats:

Finn 2 lbs 4 oz, 14.5 inches
Luca 3 lbs 8 oz, 16 inches

Current stats:

Finn 11 lbs 8 oz, 23.5 inches
Luca 12 lbs 10 oz, 24.5 inches

Photos : Finn on left and Luca on right in all but the bottom left

Yesterday was a day filled with a number of those milestones. In the late afternoon, just before a feeding, Finn showed signs of being really aware of his world. He focused for a few moments on the mobile hanging over the crib and then continued to circle his gaze around the room, stopping to see me, see Luca, and look out the window. His arms were outside of his tightly swaddled blanket and they explored the air while his eyes searched the room. I took advantage of this aware time to try him at breast. We’ve had success a few times but he wears out quickly. After a quick latch he steadied through twenty five minutes with no problems. Then, instead of zonking out he hung out with me through to the next feeding, three hours away, with only a couple five minute power naps. So, we breastfed again. Another success.

When I picked him up a few moments ago he had just woken into a cry that looked like a result of gas pain. As I held him close he settled a little, and after a few moments on my warm chest, he settled a little more. I don’t remember specifically when Luca had the same reaction to mom’s care but now that I see that moment of change with Finn I can remember the feeling with Luca. That feeling that I matter enough to calm them. That mom’s care and cuddle are what matters. Just like what I remember as a child and still count on today, with my mom. That no matter how bad I feel a hug from mom or a call to mom can make everything better.

1. Make something everyday.

2. Stretch more (ideally I’d have a regular yoga routine but even a little stretch of any part of my body is better than none.)

3. Reach out of my comfort zone once a day (I’m actually quite shy so this goal is mostly a social goal.)

4. Write letters to my twins (I started one on their first week birthday that I never finished, time to finish it and start second one.)

Update: After writing down resolutions for the first time I started thinking about how my need for perfection holds me back from many things. I tend to avoid getting certain things done for myself if I fear I cannot achieve perfection when doing so. This is the root of almost all the procrastination in my life, for many years. In the last day I found myself returning to and reading through the words of the year that people have chosen for 2009 on Ali Edwards’s site and after revisiting her about page where she mentions “embracing imperfection” I decided on one more resolution. This one will probably take the most work but is the umbrella over all the others.

5. Embrace imperfection with the hopes of opening up and discovering.

What are your New Year’s resolutions?

In the time it took me to assimilate this custom of my newly adopted place, the team had unpacked our two tiny boys, placed them on open tables and blankets underneath heat lamps and had attached all sorts of wires and tubes. The cocktail of emotions I felt that day will never be forgotten: intense pride of the two beautiful babies that were joining our family, dread of their seemingly dire condition, and overwhelming love and concern from the knowledge from deep in my gut that I would do anything to bring these boys home healthy.

My feelings toward this strange place were very mixed in those first days. I knew intellectually that our preemies were receiving the best care possible at the hands of some amazing professionals, and yet deep inside I harbored anxiety toward the bright lights, the tubes and the situation we found ourselves in. “This just isn’t normal,” a remorse all the books and people we’d talked to ahead of the delivery warned us we would feel. As excited as I was each time I entered the NICU to see my boys, the place itself I subconsciously resented.

In the days that followed, Lisa was able to meet our twins in the NICU, and we both settled in for the twists and turns, ups and downs of life as we waited for our boys to progress. We met nurse after caring nurse, learned all about the monitors and how to read them, and set a routine in our new “home” with nightly vigils and mid-day check ins.

Fast forward four weeks to the holidays. At a Christmas Eve church service, we found ourselves in one of the most publicly social settings we’d experienced since Lisa went into the hospital. “How are the boys?” “Oh, you mean they’re not home?” “When will the hospital let you take them home?” All perfectly well-meaning questions, but it was hard for us to answer these questions knowing we’d never be able to bridge the gap between their polite understanding of our boy’s plight and our intimate knowledge of the world of beeps and lights that was the NICU.

Driving to the hospital that evening after the service we talked about this gap, and how, while we felt rejuvinated by the service which included a blessing of our two boys by name, we felt relief that we were “heading home.”

That evening, we hung little stockings for our boys in the NICU, and placed a wrapped present with each of them (one in a crib, the other in an isolette) in by now familiar surroundings with our loving “family” of our boys’ caregivers. After feeding we put both of them to bed with whispers of, “get some sleep so Santa can come and bring you gifts.”

It was a Christmas I’ll never forget.

Staff: “Did you do this on your own?”

Lisa: “Well no, my husband was there.”

We heard many variations on this line of inquiry throughout our expecting phase. At times the inquiries got so specific we wondered if we were going to have to recall the wine vintage that led up to the conception.