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Mom for Hire

2010-02-22T11:05:00.006-05:00

Hillary's personal effects:

One (1) Tiffany paperweight
One (1) jar of sand from a tropical location she didn't actually visit
Three (3) wooden picture stands
One (1) Testudo stuffed animal
One (1) Longaberger basket for business cards
One (1) photo from her wedding

On Friday I packed these things up and left my office for the last time. In a strange twist of events, I was laid off from my job after working there for almost 3 years. Dang, just when I was starting to get the hang of it!

I can't say that I'm too disappointed. Although I am excited about staying home with the babies all day, having no job means I'll have to stay home with the babies all day. I don't know if you know this or not, but two month old babies cry. And need diaper changes. And keep a strange schedule. And, oh god, the crying. I was good at being and Advertising Assistant. They paid me to be an Advertising Assistant. Who knows if I will be good at being a mom? And so far these babies have only paid in spit up and dirty diapers. And Bank of America won't let me direct deposit that.

Jack and I can't live on baby smiles and piles of laundry forever. While I'm home I'll be looking for jobs (see that, State of Maryland?) while simultaneously rolling around on the floor with my kids and cheering them on as they discover the world around them. And now that world includes a little bit more mommy time.

Safety First

2010-02-16T02:06:00.000-05:00

Last week I went to the obligatory 6 week check up at my OB's office. The doctor who delivered my babies is so much cooler than I am, but I think that I feel that way because every time I see her I am not wearing any pants, which is very intimidating no matter what social situation you are in. It had just snowed that morning and she walked into our appointment wearing leggings and Ugg boots, looking more like she was going to try out for the Real World later on that morning instead of inspecting an incision that she made on my body. I immediately wished I had showered before the appointment but four hours of sleep the night before was making me forget easy things like showering and not crying in public. We did our usual how are yous and how are the babies and then she got right down to business:

"So what's your plan for birth control?"

Congrats on having a baby, how can we stop you from having another one? In her line of work you would think she would be encouraging people to have more babies. Did my doctor disapprove of me continuing to further the population of the earth? Or was she vehemently opposed to any and all of my procreation? What if I said I was going to try for twins again - identical this time! - would she have me committed? Because she should; only a mad person would choose to have 4 children under the age of 18 months in the house. Truth is, I've been giving hours of thought to the subject because there is no way that any more babies will ever be in my care and under my direct supervision. I fumble with bottles and diapers and rattles all day and I'm starting to think that Annabelle and Joshua have caught on to the fact that, hey, this lady has no idea what she's doing. I've been wet for 2 hours over here and all she's doing is shaking this rattle in my face. I am going to hate her when I am 13.

My birth control options are few since I'm pumping, you know, my boobs, so she gave me three options: a birth control pill, an IUD, or the depo shot. The pill was not an option because my brain can barely remember my name on demand let alone to take a pill every day at the exact same hour, minute, and second. And I have too many friends who were conceived on an IUD, so that left the depo shot. I asked the doctor what side effects it would have on my postpartum body and as she wrote me a prescription she glazed over the fact that I may gain a little weight, could possibly develop osteoporosis and, oh yeah, could perhaps lose my hair. Like, no big deal.

Hair loss? Weight gain? If those were the side effects there would be no need for me to get the depo shot because there is no way that my husband would want to have sex with a fat, brittle and balding 28 year old. Is there any way that they can reverse those side effects to be hair gain and weight loss instead of the other way around? Cause I would get that shot. Hourly, if necessary.

I decided not to fill my prescription for the depo shot because I Google searched all of the ways that depo was going to make me my life miserable. So for now Jack and I will practice safe sex the old fashioned way: I will let him get to second base on Friday nights after I've had a few too many Smirnoff Ices. That is of course, after I've had at least a week's worth of the hair gain and weight loss shot.

What's the range on my monitor?

2010-02-15T01:59:00.000-05:00

I am crying right now.

As you read this I am probably wailing in a corner.

I am using up an entire box of tissues.

I go back to work today.

Staying home with Joshua and Annabelle the past eight weeks has been the most challenging, confusing, sleep deprived, hormone fueled journey that I have ever had the pleasure of going on. Even better than the journey that Jack and I went on to New York City when we walked out on a tab in a bar and the rest of the night we referred to ourselves as the Time Square Bandits. You know, because we were really trying to shake New York up and go on a crime spree the likes of which that city has never seen, yee haw!

But gone are the days when I can skip from town to town committing petty theft. I'm a mom now - a mom! As in the wonderful lady who made your lunch every day and tucked you in at night. The angelic woman who taught you how to pee in the toilet and wiped your snot away with her sleeve when she didn't have a tissue. The sweet gal who you stole 5 bucks from so you could buy a Barbie at the local drugstore. That's me now! My kids need me so they can depend on me for support, look to me for guidance, and search my purse for prescription medication. But just because I am a mom now doesn't mean that there isn't a mortgage to pay, credit card bills in my inbox and a whole mess of student loans that need to be paid off. Add all that up with the new expense of two babies and I'm lucky I don't have to work 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

I am lucky to have a mom (a mom - that's me!) who is happy to watch my children now that I'm back at work. Did I say happy? I meant that she has been dreaming of taking care of my offspring long before I got pregnant. I didn't even have to ask her to watch the kids, she offered, just like that, over dinner. So please pass the peas, I'd be happy to watch your newborn twins all day long because I love you that much. Moms are so great.

But how am I supposed to be a good mom while I'm at work?

Today I need my mom to wipe my snot away. But today she's too busy watching my kids.

This is going to be a long day.

Night and Day

2010-01-29T06:29:00.000-05:00

Some mornings with twins make you cry.

If they aren't already serenading me with their hungry cries, I wake the kids up at 7 am every morning. Part of staying at home with two little babies is keeping a rigid schedule so you don't go crazy. Also, so you can schedule feedings around the Ellen show. This morning I got bold - crazy even - and put both of the kids next to each other on the couch so I could feed them their bottles at the same time. With twins, doing things simultaneously comes with the territory; I feed one, I bounce the other in their bouncy chair with my foot. I cuddle one with one arm, rest my hand on the other's chest. I heat up bottles, and pound my head against a wall. I have never been a star multi-tasker, and now is not the time to be learning while I run on cerebral fumes, but every day as a new mom I find that a mother has no choice. She just does.

So this morning I was obviously feeling a little ahead of myself. A little more than one month into motherhood, with twins who are still learning the delicate intricacies of taking a bottle without spitting, choking, or slurping, and there I am, squatted on the floor, balancing two bottles in my hand, a computer on my lap, listening to Matt Lauer croon on about dieting in 2010. I burped Joshua. I burped Annabelle. I let them finish their bottles, all the while gazing at me in all of my mom glory, their vacant stares saying, "Wow, mom. You are amazing." And I truly was in that moment, my knotted hair cascading down my shoulders, covering up multiple spit up stains from...2 days ago? 3 days ago? When did I change my clothes last? No matter. I'm a mom. A super mom. A super smelly mom. I mean, a smelly super mom.

I whisked (not true. I don't "whisk" anything anymore. see: fumbled) both of my babies up the stairs, and let Annabelle wait in her crib while I changed, powdered, lotioned and buffed her brother to baby perfection while we all listened to The Beach Boys' greatest hits. By the time we got to Good Vibrations I was done with Joshua, so I put him in the crib and started getting his sister ready for the day. I was on top of the world! I was doing it - I was momming! My twins were going to look better than I was, and it wasn't even 8am! I danced Annabelle over to the crib, laid her next to her brother, and gazed at my freshly polished babies. Annabelle was a vision in pink, Josh was wearing his most adorable sweater from Baby Gap, and they looked so edible I wanted to gobble up their little hands and toes right there. And as I made my face closer, closer into their bobbing heads, Josh, possibly out of fear, projectile vomited all over.

All. Over.

I don't need to tell you what he covered with his spit up, because it was everything. Him. His sister. The crib sheets. My shirt. My computer screen. Your computer screen. It was everywhere, and now my so fresh and so clean, clean babies were back to square one. Actually, worse than that because now they both reeked of baby puke and I needed to change their sheets.

It was an awful feeling. An awful, deflating feeling. Just when you think you have one thing down with your newborn baby, something - usually spit up - happens and you are back to feeling like you will never know how to properly take care of this little, helpless human. You will always be one step behind, you will always be guessing what their cry could mean this time, always be washing load after load of their little socks and pants and onesies in a vain attempt to keep them clean for longer than...an episode of Ellen.

I really like that Ellen.

The rest of the day passed with little spit up and various states of diaper oddities. By the time we got to the final feeding before bedtime I was exhausted and ready to crawl into bed at 7pm. After both kids were fed I settled Joshua into his bouncy seat and cradled Annabelle in my arms. While Josh watched his Dad play video games and Annabelle snoozed on my chest I rested my head on the couch cushions. My family was fed, happy, clean, and quiet.

Some nights with twins make you smile.

The theory of relativity

2010-01-27T08:43:00.001-05:00

To the untrained eye this dining room table may look messy.

But to me it looks the cleanest it's been in a month.

Are you shaved?

2010-01-26T14:32:00.001-05:00

Joshua Paul Bender and Annabelle Elise Bender were born at 10:29 on 12/21/09.

As Jack and I left for the hospital that morning part of me wanted to go limp bodied on the floor and make Jack drag me out the door, through the foot of snow that had fallen over the weekend. I wasn't ready. I didn't want to go. Couldn't we just play Monopoly instead? I would even let Jack be the banker. And I would look the other way when he stole $100 bills (because he totally would). I simply was not ready for poop diapers or 2am feedings or whatever my stomach was going to look like after deflating from 9 months of stretching. But I was ready to collect 200 dollars. Getting my abdomen cut open c-section style isn't my ideal way to spend a Monday morning, although neither is sipping coffee in a vain attempt to stay awake during a Monday morning meeting at work. But rarely does a Monday morning meeting end in me producing human life, so I figured I'd try something new for a change. You know, switch it up a bit, keep everybody guessing.

First stop in the hospital was a pre-op room that looked like more of a storage closet where old operating equipment goes to die. I changed into a fashionable backlass gown (I think Drew Barrymore just wore one just like it to the SAG awards) and waited in a bed for the nurse to come in and hook me up to an IV. While we waited for her to come in Jack studied for a final while I chatted nervously to myself and tried to make jokes to take my mind off the fact that very soon someone was going to cut me open, as Jack would say, from here to here. The nurse breezed into the room and I immediately knew she was one of those people who never has a bad day. She was chatty and cheery and it was obvious that they always sent her into the pre-op ladies so they don't shuffle, still pregnant, out of the hospital, their butts hanging out of the back of their hospital gowns. While she talked me up about her kids and the cost of taxes in her county I started to feel better about the whole situation. Genuinely calmed. Ready for what was about to come next. And then she laid this one on me:

"Are you shaved?"

Huh?

Was I shaved? Well that answer was easy, no, I wasn't shaved. I didn't even have to ask her to qualify her question, as in, was I shaved where, because no, I wasn't shaved anywhere. Since I had entered my third trimester people were lucky I still showered. There were parts of me that I hadn't seen in months - I could have grown new parts down there and not have known it.

"It's just that, with young girls like you, most of you are already shaved down there, so I told the girls out there that I wouldn't have to shave you because you were probably already shaved. Down there."

I'm sorry, what? The girls out there? Shaved? Down there? You were talking about the state of my...affairs with other people? The scariest part was still to come; I had to break the news to this poor woman that not only was she going to have to shave me, but that she may have to call in some back-up for whatever was going on. Down there. Not a good start to the day.

The operating room was filled with people dressed in scrubs chirping back and forth about the Twilight saga (you know, because I was getting ready to give birth to vampires). Before I could let anyone put their hands inside of my abdomen I had to find out if they were on Team Edward or Team Whats-His-Name, but before I could get a straight answer out of anyone the anesthesiologist started explaining how I was to lean over this pillow so he could stick a needle THIS BIG in my back. I started to shiver as a nurse stood in front of me and took my hands in hers, telling me what a good job I was doing and had I read New Moon yet? As I started to explain to her that I was one of the few people in the world who hadn't read the Twilight series and didn't know all the names of the Jonas Brothers (Lucas, Joe, and Peter? Sully, Mark, and Philip?), my legs started to go numb.

There was no escape.

Jack was huddled up near my head when the doctor began to operate. Operate, is that the right word for what was going on in there? I'm not sure, but I do know that as people swirled around our heads and the doctor tugged around inside of me, my life was standing still, in transition from one world to the next. I breathed in and looked Jack in the eyes, hoping that he was ready to take this big step with me. He nodded at me, squeezed my hand, and said,

"There's a lot of blood down there."

Thanks, babe. Not exactly what I was looking for.

And then there they were.

Joshua was first. He let out a shrill cry so we would know that he was okay, but as the nurses cleaned him off he settled into life almost immediately, going quiet and waiting for everything to happen to him.

Annabelle was second. She let out a scream...and then kept on screaming. And crying. And screaming. She wasn't taking this lying down. She was going to let all of us know exactly how pissed she was that she was out here, instead of back in there where it was all cozy and warm.

You know how you see all of these photos of girls after they give birth, and you're all, "Oh my gosh, you look GREAT!" Because they do; I've seen my share of Facebook photos where my friends look perfectly coifed after giving birth, like they gave birth at the Frederic Fakkai Salon and he had just finished giving them a blow out as they gave that last push. And their skin glows and their hair looks great and their faces aren't the least bit poofy and GAWD they look perfect.

I did not look like that, ya'll.

I hope that makes someone feel better today.

Baby Benders

2010-01-23T10:29:00.010-05:00

[life.]

I've been struggling with my first post back. Because how do you write a blog post about becoming a mom for the first time? It's tough stuff (both the blog post and becoming a mom, although the blog doesn't wake me up in the middle of the night expecting to be fed and cuddled). Being a mom is the biggest challenge I have ever, or will ever, face (I gave up on that climb Mt. Everest thing years ago). Every day is different. Every cry is different. Nothing will ever be the same.

When I was pregnant, friends who were already parents would give me a knowing smile and claim that "you will never look at life the same the moment they place that baby in your arms." Of course know I now what they mean, because it is impossible to look at anything the same on 3 hours of sleep. In 2 days. What kind of a cruel world do we live in that gives new parents a tiny helpless human to take care of while running on such little sleep that I put flour in my coffee, thinking it is sugar? Cause it's not. It clumps. Oh, and I'm back on coffee. Judge me...now.

Some moments I just want them to grow up and be 9 already. I want Annabelle to come home and tell me about a boy she has a crush on. I want Joshua to play video games with his dad. I want to check their homework and make them lunches and pick them up from school. And sleep through the night, let's not forget that. But then I watch Annabelle suck on her pacifier as she drifts into a content baby sleep (for both of us). Or dance with Josh around the living room while I hold his (giant) head close to my nose and smell how sweet he is. And then I think that the rest of my life won't be long enough to spend with them and I want to freeze my family in this time forever.

Life around our house has changed. Dinners are interrupted by crying. Sleep is interrupted by crying. Movies are interrupted by crying. Pretty much everything is interrupted by crying. Showers are postponed, dishes don't get done, and our brains are turning into mush. I've actually shoved my face into a diaper with a fat load of poop in it so I could get a really good feel for the color and consistency. If a good BM didn't rule my life before, it most definitely does now. I've been peed on, caught poop in my bare hands, have spit up on most of my t-shirts, don't fit into any of my pre-pregnancy pants, and have seen more projectile substances than Linda Blair could ever produce.

But so far, it has all been worth it.

[twin secrets.]

Sleep Deprived

2010-01-13T20:00:00.003-05:00

Wow, so I have a blog? I have a computer? I have a name?

It is amazing what sleep deprivation can do to your brain. One morning around 2 a.m. I was talking to myself in the kitchen, wondering aloud if the cry I heard coming from upstairs was Benjamin or Annabelle. And then I realized that my son's name is Joshua, and I wasn't at all sure where the name Benjamin came from or why I thought that was his name. Since then I have had numerous breakdowns for various reasons including the state of my stomach and the most recent Channing Tatum movie (tell me you haven't seen those previews and sobbed on the couch in your pajamas).

I am giving myself the rest of this week to forget that I have to pay bills and keep in touch with the outside world. I promise more pictures next week and a return to all things blog, including posts about my mental state, my lack of sleep, and a detailed description of my daughter's last bowel movement.

Why don't you guys want to do this for 8 hours at a time? Why?

Baby Eve

2009-12-20T08:30:00.009-05:00

Dear Joshua and Annabelle,

Tomorrow you will be here.

When you eventually read this I know it will be hard for you to imagine a world without the two of you in it, and I expect it will be the same for your father and I. But this morning I am having trouble wrapping my brain around the fact that next Sunday at 9am I may not be drinking hot chocolate and eating warm raisin bread like I did this morning. From now on there will be someone other than myself to worry about, and since I don't think that babies can drink hot chocolate from a bottle I am starting to worry that I didn't get past the 9th month chapter in all of my baby books. I read so much about the pregnancy that I forgot to read about what happens after you get here. What will you be doing this time next week? My guess is crying, although I hope that you both excel at sleeping like your father and I do.

I think it's important that you know that I am terrified. Not scary movie terrified, more like first day of school terrified. First date terrified. Piano recital terrified. Pauly Shore movie terrified. It's that perfect mixture of nervousness, sweaty palms, indigestion, and oh-my-god-I-hope-they-like-me. Because, I mean, will you like me? What will you feel like in my arms? Will I blend the perfect mixture of discipline and love, creating my first two masterpieces? As you grow you will try so many new things, and you will find a few things that you are good at, and all the rest of the things that you should leave to the experts. The same is not true of parenting; once you are both here if we all find out that I am always destined for amateur status as a mom, it's not like parenting is a hobby that I will be able to give up and move on to something new like gardening or water skiing. I will aspire for perfection, but in the end will settle with my best if that means that you are both happy with very few tattoos.

Joshua, I think you are going to be more like me. Every time we go in for a sonogram you are very cooperative with the sonographer, practice breathing on command, doing flips and turns much to her delight, and giving a perfect profile shot even if you aren't asked for it. I think you will be a people-pleaser, will understand people's needs and then will go out of your way to meet them. As you grow be careful to give your well-meaning affections only to those who deserve it, and remember to take care of yourself sometimes too.

Annabelle, I think you are going to be more like your father. When the sonographer winds her wand around the spot on my belly where you reside, you are usually doing the exact opposite of what she needs you to be doing because you will only do something when you are good and ready to, damn it. We are always waiting on you to do your breathing or wake up from a good sleep so she can get a few shots of you kicking your brother in the head. Because you do that. All the time. But, like your father, you will always do the smart thing and catch on to concepts quickly, as evidenced by the fact that you are already head down, ready to be born, ready to explore new things other than what is directly in front of you. I think you will be as brilliant as your father, a bright light that people are drawn to. As you grow be careful with other's emotions as you explore new realities, and remember that sometimes the best things in your life are already right in front of you.

My predictions aside, I can't wait to see who you each become. Give your father and I a break and remember to grade our parenting on a curve, because we are learning while you are.

So, until tomorrow. Pick you up around 10:30? See you then.

Love,

Mom

Nursery Tour

2009-12-07T11:24:00.031-05:00

[click any image to enlarge it]

Babies, where are you? Because your nursery is ready.

Okay, your nursery is kind of ready. Your bookshelf isn't full. We still need to buy a shelf to go over the changing table. We need some more artwork to go on the walls. So the nursery, like you guys, is still a work in progress.

This is the nursery before. Green walls. Ugly switch plates. No curtains. Oh. And the ceiling?

Popcorn. Popcorn ceiling with big brown water stains. About 2 months ago Jack and I cleared the room out to paint the walls, and as he gazed up at the ceiling Jack's man gears started turning.

And then this happened. My scientist husband tore down a ceiling. My nesting instinct was in full force and the only things I had to decorate were rafters, mint green walls and a dusty floor.

It was 2 long months of pounding, mudding, and cursing.

But the final product is so worth it! Who knew Jack was so handy? It's smooth, seamless, and noticeably popcorn and stain free. I have never been able to describe anything in my life like that, so thanks to my husband something is finally worth bragging about.

[full view]

[no abc's for the Bender babies]

[books needed]

[shoe fetish courtesy of Melissa]

[family crib]

[homemade art]

[thanks bealoo]

[a little shade]

[guard bear]

[new favorite photographer, thanks Kitty Rogers]

[DJ Bird from Barking Bird Art]

[coming home outfits]

[sleepless nights]

[get ready for some change]

[senor y senora elefante, courtesy of Chrissy]

[baby girl clothes]

Sneakie Peek

2009-12-03T14:37:00.009-05:00

So I know I promised a tour of the nursery this week, but I am pregnant and I got sidetracked doing pregnant woman things like peeing and bloating and peeing again so I didn't get all of the photos taken to do the room justice. I promise that I will stage the room this weekend something proper-like and take photos of all the nooks and crannies. For now, you will have to deal with these teasers.

Beanbottom is my main man. He has never lost his place in my bedroom until now, but I think he's found his rightful place with the babies. He's such a handsome gentleman.

What is it about baby clothes that makes my insides go all smooshy? Let them poo and pee and barf all over their clothes, I will have a new adorable outfit picked out for them to parade around in. Meanwhile, you'll be lucky if my clothes match ever again.

I bought most of the artwork in the room from Etsy, Jack and I collaborated on this one. This is also a good hint for what we are naming the babies.

Kids These Days

2009-12-03T09:38:00.006-05:00

Jack and I's soon-to-be 8 year old niece is coming to visit us at the end of December, and for the past week I have been trying to figure out what it is that an 8 year old girl does to pass the day. Since I'm pretty sure she won't like to do any of the things that we already have in the house (knives, Friends Scene It, and Beanbottom, my stuffed bear) I decided to turn to the experts at Google for advice. Yesterday I typed in "activities for 8 year old girls" and it came back at me with a "did you mean pictures of 8 year old girls" and I'm thinking since when did Roman Polanski take over Google search on my computer? Obviously I was going to be on my own with this one. Last week I got her a make your own jewelry kit based on advice from her father, but I knew that she would need more to do than make 800 friendship bracelets while she was dodging our knife play in the living room. I tried to remember what I liked to do when I was 8, but my memory doesn't go much past a Christmas party I attended 4 years ago when I drank so much...everything...that I erased huge chunks of my life thus far.

By the time I left work yesterday I already had a destination in mind; somewhere I could get her numerous things to do for a minimal price. I spent over an hour there, picking out the best things I could find, chatting with the helpful clerk, and went home feeling so confident in my purchases - that totaled $10 - that I knew she would think that Auntie Hillary's house was the best, and isn't Auntie Hillary the coolest and prettiest and smartest with the shapliest legs?

When Jack got home I showed him my well thought out choices:

Books. Sweet, glorious books.

Jack seemed less than impressed with my choices. "Don't you think she'll look at the XBox, and then look at the books, and just choose the XBox?"

"I read books while you play XBox." the nerdy English major replied.

Is that damn XBox going to win every time? Will it always silently mock me from its perch beneath the tv, the controllers snuggled in warm and cozy in the hands of the ones I love? Will poor Judy Blume be beat by Gears of War or War Gears or Gear up for War or Gearing up for War with War Gears II?

The child is going to have to make a choice. I will stand on one side of the room armed with my books, and Jack will stand on the other side of the room with his XBox, and we will see who wins.

Maybe she will let me read to her while she plays XBox.

Compromise. Isn't that what being a parent is all about?

It Takes a Village

2009-12-01T15:37:00.004-05:00

Facebook, that dirty bitch, continues to keep me in touch with all of the ghosts of Hillary past. This afternoon my good friend from middle school, Erinn, sent me a quick message that included this bit of middle school nostalgia:

I was thinking the other night, when I couldn't sleep (something I am sure you are already experiencing), about some of the funny things that we did when we were young and stupid. One that sticks in my head so clearly was a movie that we had gone to with Chad and Jeff and for some reason, we thought it would be a good idea to throw ice at the screen. What were we thinking?!?!?!

What were we thinking indeed! First of all, let me say that I have no recollection of these events, and should the police come to my home and try to question me I will totally Tiger Woods them. I'm sure that many disturbing memories of my middle school experience exist that I either don't remember or have suppressed, suppressed, suppressed way down deep in my brain, intentionally locked away so I don't launch into a panic attack in the middle of a Monday morning meeting. I'm also sure that there were many moments in middle school that would make the logical adult in me question, "What were we thinking?!?!?!" But that was half the fun of middle school; my hormone to brain ratio was not even and I often found myself in the most unpleasant situations brought on by my own angst.

But that's why I'm thankful for people like Erinn. Even in middle school she was genuine, considerate, and saved me from more than a few nights alone and bad grades in Science class. I used to go to her house after school, ready to do things like prank call boys or talk about boys or talk about prank calling boys but she already had that thing...what is it called...priorities in place. She would encourage me to finish my homework before I spent a full hour working up the courage to call my fake-boyfriend's house, only to grunt into the phone something about his refrigerator running and hanging up, collapsing into a giggle fit so satisfactory that I would have to call him 8 more times before his mom would pick up the phone and ask me to stop calling. (Oddly enough, this technique got me more than a few dates in college thankyouverymuch.) Erinn would always encourage me to do one more math problem, study for just 15 more minutes, or color in that chart so I could get the extra credit. Without her help I may still be in Mr. Adams' 8th grade Science class, falling asleep in the back of the classroom while we watched a video about clouds. Snoozefest.

I know that Jack and I won't always be the only influences that our children have the opportunity to ignore, and that's why I'm thankful for people like Erinn. Even though my parents made it their full time job to raise me, there were so many other people who had their hand in making me the person I choose to be today. There was my first teacher, Mrs. Cross, who treated me with patience and love. There was Erinn, who taught me what it meant to be a true friend and proved that not every kid in middle school is evil. And who could forget the groundskeeper at my high school, who smelled like B.O. and (allegedly) saved all of his dead bodies in the shed behind the gym? I hope that my kids run into plenty of Erinn's throughout their lives, because lord knows I can't keep my eye on these kids all the time.

So Erinn, think you would want to babysit a couple of twins in, say, 3 weeks or so?

Any Day Now

2009-11-30T13:52:00.006-05:00

Now that I am officially in the "any day now" category with this pregnancy, every time I turn a corner I expect labor to be there, hands on hips, waiting to drag me out to the parking lot and give me a good beating. Strangers have been saying the "any day now" line to me for about 2 months now, I suppose because being 5' 4" and pregnant with twins makes you look like you are about to deliver around 7 months pregnant. It used to bother me when a woman in line at the bank would eye my belly and proudly announce, "You are about to pop!" I felt bad breaking it to her that no, I was not about to pop, I am only 28 weeks pregnant and now don't you feel like an ass?

But now that I am nearing the end at 35 weeks, I didn't mind today when the guy working in the produce department asked if I was going to give birth right there, right next to the cucumbers. Before I could assure him that I would hold my water until I got to at least the cereal aisle, he lifted both gloved hands and wiggled his fingers as he bragged, "I have 3 kids, I could deliver this baby for you right now!" For some reason I didn't find his over zealous desire and tomato stained apron too comforting, but he assured me that he had used this joke on another pregnant woman last week and she laughed and laughed, so I didn't take the time to ask him if he took Blue Cross Blue Shield.

Since I am anticipating these little guys at any moment, I have been starting to reflect on my pregnancy and think about all of the things I'm going to miss about this time of my life. This list obviously starts with:

1. The kindness of strangers

Have you ever had almost every stranger that you come across give you a big grin, like you just dropped 50 bucks on the ground and they are about to pocket it without you knowing? So many people want to be nice to me and open the door and fall all over themselves to carry something to my car or get me a glass of water. Before I was pregnant the only thing people went out of their way to do for me was cut me off in traffic.

2. The food

I couldn't have done this pregnancy without the help from all that delicious food. Thanks to that pork burrito with cheese and sour cream last week, for giving me the strength to make it to the couch. A big shout out to the lemon poppy seed muffin that I just ate, because without you I wouldn't have made it through the day without wanting to hurl a stapler at a coworker's face. I still try to eat healthy, and I think I manage to about 75% of the time, but that other fabulous 25% is filled with bagels, donuts, sprites, hot chocolate and buttered popcorn.

3. Kung Fu Kicks

So far I've been able to shield the babies from danger, doom, and Uncle Kracker music. But soon they will be out and about in this great big scary world of ours, ready for their little hearts to be broken and for their little toes to be stubbed and they will be forced to do things like go to school and interact with other children who can be so cruel. I've been able to take them everywhere I go, and soon I will have to let them loose and BARF live their own lives. I'm going to be that mom who cries when we drop them off at college, gripping a tissue to my chest and babbling about how I can remember when I used to change your diapers and call you my baby snoogle-puss.

But the things that I won't miss far outweigh what I will. I won't miss my cankles. Or my face bloat. Or not being able to turn over in bed. I won't miss the bathroom - we are so over eachother. The Bender water bill is going to be outrageous this month from all the flushing that's been going on. I won't miss feeling like my hips could pop out of joint at any given moment, or not being able to see my lower extremities without the help of 8 strategically placed mirrors.

So come on babies, I am ready and waiting for you! Just wait until next week because I still have to clean the house and find a coming home outfit for you, baby girl.

Stay tuned later this week for nursery pics!

Blogs I am thankful for

2009-11-24T11:25:00.004-05:00

Rather than write about how huge my ass is getting or how bloated my feet are, I decided to spare you my last few weeks of pregnancy dirty details and share with you a few of the blogs that have been keeping me busy while I haven't been blogging. So now when you come here and you're crippled with rage, like, why hasn't she posted anything in 8 days, you'll have something to read and maybe be able to get that awful vision of me struggling to get up off the couch in only a t-shirt out of your head. What? No one said pregnancy was pretty. Especially not mine. It's all belly and too short t-shirts and stains on my pants that I don't even realize are there.

So check out my new and improved Blogs Like What and pay close attention to these new guys:

1. Becoming Sarah

I never, ever have enough time to catch up on all of the posts on Becoming Sarah. Her baby girl is 4 months old which means that Sarah has a bit of a head start on me in the mom department which means she's currently blogging a great how to just for me which means thanks, Sarah! Her writing is frank, entertaining, and sometimes she will write about bodily functions. Like poop, you guys! A plus.

2. Cupcakes and Cashmere

Thanks to Emily at Cupcakes and Cashmere I now know how to properly curl my hair. Now if she could just get pregnant and show us with-child(ren) ladies how to dress without being mistaken for a pop-tent, that would be great. Her posts mix fashion, food, some home decor and whatever else catches her fancy. She's just so....cool.

3. Mabel's House

Liz at Mabel's House can decorate and antique your pants off. If you visit her site and are still wearing your pants at the end of a few of her posts, I would be shocked. She has inspired more than a few rooms in my new home, and I love her bedroom so much that one day she may come home and find me laying on her bed. Is that weird? Maybe. Is she inspiring? Yes.

4. You Are My Fave

Melanie at You Are My Fave posts all sorts of fun snippets from her adventures around the 'net. There's a ton of inspiration and lots of eye candy to keep you busy for hours. Her site is my fave.

And for those of keeping close tabs on this pregnancy of mine, I went to the doctor yesterday and both Bender Boy and Bender Girl are looking good. Feisty even. Punching, kicking, and hiccuping like real people.

It's almost time!

Are We There Yet?

2009-11-23T09:02:00.002-05:00

You know what's fun? The third trimester and all of the symptoms it brings.

Backache
Nasal stuffiness
Sensitivity to sun
Bleeding gums
Constipation
Anemia
Breathlessness
Increased heart rate
Change in sexual desire
Change in appetite
Leg cramps
Heartburn
Stretch marks
Carpal tunnel syndrome
Leakage from nipples
Fatigue
Overheating
Hemorrhoids
Edema
Lack of desire to blog

Overprotected

2009-11-11T13:25:00.007-05:00

Dear Babies,

Last night I read to you.

It's something I've been meaning to do for a while, like changing my oil or cleaning the oven. I don't think that you hear my regular voice often enough and I am starting to fear that you may think your mom is Paula Dean or one of the ladies on the Today show because I watch too much TV. When you do hear my voice it is a either a stressed work tone or an angry car screech and that seems wrong. Although get ready for my road rage. I fully believe you will learn your first curse words in the car.

The book I read to you is not necessarily age appropriate because I am not quite ready to read Hop on Pop or Goodnight Moon yet. Let me have a few adult things for just a little while longer, please. You jumped into the middle of About Grace, a book about a man who dreams what will happen in the future. Although each page is poetic, the story is so very sad because the main character deserts his daughter because he has a dream that she drowns in his arms while he is trying to save her from a flood. He leaves his daughter in order to save her, which may have sounded funny before I became a parent, but now it makes a strange bit of sense.

When you have no children and you hear of a parent who is willing to give anything - even their life - in order to save their child from harm, you think of how romantic it sounds. Before you guys the only thing I was willing to lay down my life for was a Hostess cupcake, and even then I would demand to eat the cupcake before I died. Because have you ever eaten a Hostess cupcake? Of course you haven't. But you will. And you will see what I mean. Now that you are almost here I am beginning to evaluate the world that I live in, worrying about the things that you will have to face daily, the people who will hurt you and the circumstances that will make dents in your heart. Even when you are 30 years old I will always want to hold you close, be your shelter, and keep out all of the ugly that you will have to face.

But as you grow inside of me, I realize that the desire to shield your child from such harm is so much more than a romantic ideal, goes deeper than just a story in a book. It's a reflex, a very real and uncontrollable reaction that I feel, like taking my next breath or scratching an itch on my ankle. Simply saying that I love you will never do my feelings for you justice, and I will spend every day with you, watching you grow and wishing that I could describe to you how you have awakened areas of my heart that were not being used before.

When I went to see the doctor this week, she told me that neither of you are growing as quickly as you should. While you are gaining weight, you are each measuring about 2 - 3 weeks behind schedule, which means that I am 32 weeks pregnant but you are each only the size of a baby who is 29 - 30 weeks old. This means more testing, more doctors, and the search is on to try and find out why are staying so small while I continue to get big.

This is when being a parent starts to kick in. What can I do to make you grow? I didn't mean to leave you behind. Because I would give you anything you wanted if it meant that you would feel healthy and strong again. More vegetables? Done. Even the yucky ones? Done. More water? It's yours. All of the money in our savings account? I'll wire it. The sun, the moon, some snow from the top of a mountain that I have no hopes of climbing right now? I will find a way. That cupcake we were talking about earlier? I'll give you each two. Just tell me what you need and it's yours. Just tell me how I can be better for you and I will do it.

The doctor told me that you may need to be delivered earlier so you get all of the nutrients that you need; that there was nothing I could do. But I disagree.

So I will read to you. So you know that I love you. So that while you flip and turn inside of me, you will get to know the person who wants to give you the world, even though she doesn't have it yet. Because it's the only thing I can do.

Love,

Mom

Happy Birthday, Mom

2009-11-05T12:42:00.001-05:00

In a desperate attempt to keep me out of Hamburger University, while I was growing up my mom would take me to the library and we would spend hours wandering the aisles of books. I don't think this is something that most kids do with their mothers nowadays, what with the Internets and XBoxes and Tickle Me Elmos of today. We simply can't be bothered to tickle each other, we have to tickle inanimate objects with big googly eyes.

When I was a young impressionable mind in elementary school, my mom could do no wrong. She was a goddess. She would be the first person I called when I wasn't feeling well, knew how to make the perfect cup of hot chocolate, and sang the prettiest in the church choir. As if this level of perfection wasn't enough, she also picked out the best library books for me to read. She was a pro at finding the most interesting stories that I would read cover to cover, beautiful love stories and funny comedies with an occasional spooky mystery that would knock my Baptist socks off. I always took her advice, coveted her time, and relished her every move around the house.

When I was an adolescent creep in middle school, my mom did everything wrong. What happened to her? She was the last person I wanted to talk to, couldn't make a dinner to satisfy my developed teenage palette, and sang along with the songs that were playing over the loudspeaker in the grocery store - which was horribly annoying and agonizingly embarrassing. Because, you know, what if someone heard her singing in the frozen food section? Our trips to the library became less frequent, and by my last year in middle school I wanted to go to the library with my friends, not my lame mom who may or may not want me to die of embarrassment at the tender age of 13. I stopped taking her advice, yelled at her when she made me mad, and probably made her cry more often than I would like to admit.

Now that I have shed my teenage angst, I have moved onto bigger and better adult anxieties that require more thought, more help, and sometimes more alcohol. As my belly grows bigger and bigger I think my brain is getting smaller and smaller. How do I change a baby? How often do they eat? When do they eat solid foods? And what am I supposed to do with them when they wake up at 3am? Watch QVC until we all fall asleep again? I've been reading books, but every different specialist has a different opinion, and swears that the other specialists are all wrong and trying to harm your baby and if you read anything other than this particular book your baby will die, or worse, grow up to be in a boy band.

This must be my final passage into adulthood: listening to my mother. I am asking for her opinion, calling her when I have a question, and - get this - actually taking her advice. Not since elementary school have I sat in such awe of my mom. She anticipates a need, has a fragile heart, and has transformed her role as a mother into an art form. But my mom is not perfect; she has her flaws. She still sings in department stores, drops her change purse in Target and listens to too much country music. But if she knows how to make a baby go back to sleep at 2am, she is back to near perfect in my eyes.

And Then We Ate Breakfast

2009-11-03T09:55:00.005-05:00

Over the weekend I cheated on Jack. The guy knew that I was pregnant (that's sort of hard to hide) but had no idea that I was married. Jack was away for the Halloween holiday and I had the guy over one evening. After we watched a few movies and had some sort of strange tickle war on the couch, he started to freak out, saying that he was rushing into another relationship after he and his girlfriend had just broken up a few days earlier. Before I could explain to him that I was by no means his girlfriend and this tickle trist we had going on was no relationship, one of my new neighbors came by and told us that some kids had played a Halloween prank and slashed everyone's tires.

We ran outside, and when I noticed that only 2 of my tires had been slashed I called Jack to find out what type of replacement tire my car needs. He reminded me to get high performance tires, and after I hung up the phone my parents came by and we all went to the back yard to work on the boat Jack and I were restoring.

Pregnancy dreams are crazy. And although I did cheat on Jack in this particular nightmare, in my defense he has cheated on me at least 30 other nights since I have gotten pregnant. I wake up very angry at him, and it takes at least a day or two to get over his fake infidelity with Katy Perry or that girl in his college course or the skank in the drive though at McDonalds.

Baby Shower Taco Dip

2009-10-28T11:48:00.006-04:00

See the pregnant woman in her natural habitat. Do not get too close during feeding time.

Thirtieth

2009-10-27T04:07:00.000-04:00

Dear Babies,

Today is your dad's 30th birthday. Since you will be here soon, I want you to know a little bit about him.

This is your dad. His parents named him John, but his friends and I call him Jack. You will probably call him Dad or Daddy or, if he has his way, Papa. We have been together for six years and I still smile whenever I think about him. Your dad likes to be silly, and he is going to make you laugh all the time. When I am having a bad day and I come home very upset he has this amazing way of making me laugh through my tears, until I have forgotten what I was really upset about in the first place. He will have his own special way of comforting your wounds so I hope that one day you will feel like you can tell him what is bothering you without hesitation.

Your dad's smile is contagious. He likes to spread his smile to as many people as possible, so I'm never surprised when we are at a party and he is standing in the middle of a group of people, as he entertains them with a funny story or inappropriate joke. Soon he will flash you both his trademark grin and dimples and you will fall in love with him just like I did the first time I saw them.

You guys, you will be so proud of your dad. He is a very smart man, who is going to expect you to do your very best at anything you do. I wish you could be here now to see how hard he works to be the man he has locked inside. He is going to school, going to work, and then coming home and trying to make our home ready for your arrival. He may not realize it yet, but everything that he does from now on will be because he wants you to be happy, comfortable, and safe. He won't care what you turn out to be - a salesman, a teacher, or a CEO - but he will ask that you work your hardest and use the brain that you were given.

Remember to give your dad compliments. He does so many things on a daily basis that go unnoticed, so when you see him coming home from a hard day at work make sure you wrap your little arms around his neck and tell him how much you appreciate everything he does for you. Like when he comes home from a long day at work and then helps you with your Science homework. Or when he spends his entire Saturday afternoon teaching you how to ride your bike. He may act like it's no big deal, like he goes to work for 10 hours or fixes something around the house for fun, but he will always need encouragement from his children. Don't worry, I know that he will do the same for you.

Be sure to give your dad lots of hugs and kisses. Sometimes you will give him hugs because you are so glad that he is home, or when he has done something nice for you, or when you are scared and need him to comfort you. Hold his hand often when you are younger, because when you get older you will know no comfort like when you would take your dad's weathered, steady hand while you walked down the street. He will be a better person when he feels your love, and so will you.

Your dad can tell you, especially today, that your life moves by so fast. Don't ever wait to tell your dad that you love him. He has so much to give you, and I would hate for you to miss out.

With love for you and for your dad,

Mom

Birthday Weekend

2009-10-26T11:46:00.008-04:00

From scratch, with mom's help.

Fall Table: now how will we eat those candy corns?

With love, to Jack on his 30th birthday.

Samson, I think the calls are coming from inside the house!

In the butt

2009-10-23T19:25:00.002-04:00

Dear Miley Cyrus,

I was in Walmart today buying some popcorn and hot chocolate so I could have a crazy adult Friday night in. When you get older and married and pregnant it can't get much crazier than that. I walked by the new clothing line you designed with Max Azaria and was thrilled when I spied these black leggings with a lace trim. I've been looking for something that will give a bit in the everywhere area, and I haven't been able to find a pair of leggings since school started this year. Apparently leggings are the new cool thing to wear, and I didn't start to show until after every 13 year old went back to school shopping. You young people shop for fashion and acceptance, I shop for my ever growing thighs and mid-section.

I couldn't turn down the leggings for a price of $6. You really know what it's like to be a middle class American citizen, don't you Miley? Is it alright if I call you Miley? No? Sorry about that, Ms. Cyrus. As I was saying, when I got home I couldn't wait to try on my new pregnant fashion find. Finally I would be fashionable AND comfortable, something that is very hard to achieve when you are 7 months pregnant with twins and bloated in the everything.

They fit wonderfully. My legs were not squished. My belly was not strangled by fabric. They were snug in all the right places.

I have just one question.

Where is my ass supposed to go?

When you were designing these leggings, did you forget that some of us who did manage to get through puberty have, you know, a butt? You know how your teenage body can eat anything that you want right now and all you have to do is walk to the mailbox to work off that Big Mac and fries? Not so when you are in your late 20's. You have to count calories and skip the bagel tray at work and eat frozen yogurt that tastes like cardboard when you feel the need for something sweet. Yet your body still spreads out and sags and gains weight no matter how long you work out on the elliptical.

So remember for next time: good price, more room in the bee-hind.

Thanks,

Hillary Bender

Third Trimester Blues

2009-10-22T08:49:00.005-04:00

Give Me All Your Donuts.

You know that thing that you had for breakfast? Yeah, I want it. And you know that thing that you packed for lunch today? I want some of that too. I pass by a Starbucks and I immediately want a hot chocolate and bran muffin; that is, until I pass by a McDonalds and think that I may swerve off the road if I don't get a sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit. I want to eat everything, all the time, as evidenced by my growing arms and thighs. I'm that bully at your school who beats kids up for lunch money. So far I've collected $8.73 and been kicked out of three Elementary Schools. This is way past cravings. This is a requirement.

You Jerk. I Love You.

Buckle your seat belts folks and keep your hands and arms inside the car at all times, we're going on a wild ride around Hillary's emotions. I've never been angrier about absolutely nothing in my entire life. Seriously, don't throw that banana peel away in my trash can or I will dump it over your head the next time I see you. And then I will cry because I'll inevitably feel bad about my actions, and then I'll resent you for making me feel bad because IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT. Men seem to be the source of my random outbursts, because most (most) of the women I surround myself with are thoughtful enough not to comment on how much bigger I look this week than last week or how funny it is that I can't button my shirt down all the way. How is that funny exactly? Earlier this week a man mentioned how wide his pregnant wife's ass was getting and how she eats everything now because she's pregnant. I excused myself from the room before I either erupted in a flow of Mt. Vesuvius tears or stepped on his nuts so hard that his grandsons would be able to feel it in the future.

Be a Love and Bring the Backhoe Round, Will Ya?

I can't get into the car. If I do manage to get into the car, I can't get out of the car. Once I have collapsed in bed, I can't get out of bed. If there was a fire in the house and I was on the couch, I would perish in the flames. I have the mobility of an elderly, infirm sloth. I can't bend at the waist to pick something up because there is a watermelon keeping my hands from reaching their destination. And I can't bend at the knees because if I try to balance my weight on the balls of my feet I immediately fall face or butt first onto the floor. I just want to pick up that pop tart that fell on the floor. Or tie my shoes. I want to scratch my ankle. I need to reconnect with my feet.

Do You Have That in a Size 14?

My feet have gone from a size 7 to size enormous. My ankles are gone. My calves have eaten them. What happened to my adorably petite feet? I could take Miss Smith's 3rd grade class for a hay ride on these things. Remember your grandma's feet at your last family reunion? All bloated from the edema? And when she took off her therapeutic shoes there was that chub indent where her shoes were strangling her feet? That's my new reality. Instead of buying new shoes I just cram my feet into my old ones until mid-morning when they start to cut off my circulation.

Baby Weekend

2009-10-19T16:37:00.009-04:00

Three cups of sugar, three sticks of butter, now the babies have diabetes.

Baby Shower Aftermath.

This looks like a nursery, right?