The Curious Georges

Got Octuplets? What we can learn from the fate of twin pandas.

Today as Nicole and I were waiting for over an hour at the allergist's office, I had a lot of time to read to her from her "Highlights" magazine.  There was a fascinating article on giant pandas and I sure learned a thing or two.  For one, a baby panda is so small that the mother panda has no "bump" and thus zookeepers have no idea that the panda is pregnant.  At birth, the baby panda weighs significantly less than its mother.  In July 2005, a 235 lb panda gave birth to a baby that weighed 4 ounces, which is typical.  Pandas subsist on bamboo, which is not nutritious enough to produce bigger babies, or even very many babies.  But they still have twins about 50% of the time.

The panda article got me thinking about the higher-order multiple births in the news.  There is a family who just had quintuplets in our neighborhood and then of course, we have the recent birth of octuplets to a woman who already has six kids.   We're talking high-maintenance here!  Likewise, baby pandas are extremely high-maintenance.  The mother has to sit up for six weeks to hold the panda cub and keep it warm and safe.  The harried panda mom does not get to eat or drink for two weeks.  They nurse the babies up to 12 times a day.  Also, daddy panda doesn't help at all.  For these reasons, a panda mom is almost always incapable of caring for more than one cub and the second cub will die from neglect.  In an effort to save the species, they've implemented programs where the twin cubs are separated, cared for by zookeepers and fed formula.

Now, we know human moms can care for more than one child at a time.  I should know.  I had twins when my daughter was only 19 months.  However, it is hard!  It's still hard.  I'm constantly being pulled in three directions and doing mental triage has become second nature.  This means that the child who is being the most outrageously annoying is usually the one who gets the attention.

This leads us to this crazy mom of fourteen!  I am not going to mince words here.  The woman is a lunatic!  What woman willingly brings this many babies into the world without resources or even a father?  What kind of life will these babies have?  All the appearances on Oprah and a house built on "Extreme Makeover" aren't going to make up for what these babies will lack, namely a quality bond with their parents.  The details of how this selfish woman got pregnant are still fuzzy, but the possible scenarios bring up many ethical issues.  If she did IVF, what kind of doctor would willingly implant eight embryos?  Human females are not physically made to give birth to a litter.  It is extremely dangerous for both the health of the babies and the mother.  Even though these babies made it to 31 weeks, that is still fairly premature and many of them will likely experience a host of life-long problems.  Who is going to drive all these kids to their many appointments with physical, occupational or speech therapists?  How will they coordinate for extracurricular activities?  What kind of car will be able to accommodate this many children?  Oh, the list of how wrong this is goes on and on.

The answer to these questions is that someone besides the mom will be doing and providing all these things.  They will survive on hand-outs and volunteering from individuals, corporations, the government and the most insidious of all, the media.  Maybe they'll do a "Jon & Kate Plus Eight."  We think all this careless breeding is cute, but what a life!  How sad to be forced to live in the glare of media attention.  But will they have a choice?  In my mind, this is a glorified orphanage ... with cameras.

So what can we learn from our panda friends?   Pandas do not willingly have twins and they know their limitations.  In the future, nature will adapt when it has figured out that panda mommies should stick with singletons.  Now, human beings can handle twins or even triplets and most will not willingly neglect their offspring, but the red flags are a-wavin' when some nut-job decides to have a litter of eight (especially when she is already a single mom of six).  The reality is that one person cannot raise this many children, especially if they were born at the same time.  My friend just told me the saddest story of a family with five kids under the age of six.  The youngest child recently drowned in the bathtub.  When I asked her how this happened, she alluded to the chaos in the house with five young children.   I'm not advocating big-brother-ish control here, but can't something be done to stop the madness?  Or will society go on condoning this outrageous behavior all for the sake of good entertainment?  For the sake of these poor children, I truly hope that someone comes to their senses.

Posted on Mad About Multiples by Lisa George.

Original post from The Curious Georges.

Back in the Saddle

I have been woefully remiss in blogging recently.  I have all sorts of excuses ... Facebook is sucking up all my time, the holidays, the January blahs, etc.  But the reality is that I've been having, in the words of my hubbie, "an existential crisis."  (Yes, he really talks that way.)  So, what exactly is this crisis about, you ask, ever so obligingly?

Well, the problem is, I'm a doer.  If I'm not accomplishing something, I feel adrift.  Now, you would think that  raising three young children and managing a household would be "doing something," but apparently that's not enough for me.  I've talked before about how hard the role of stay-at-home mom is.  Raising the future adults of the world is really the most important job there is, but it's just that the results are not as obvious.  No one gives you an "A+" or a raise if you're a good mom.  My kids are too young to say, "Hey I appreciate what you do for me."  Don't get me wrong.  One smile or cute remark from the kidlets and it's all worth it, but somehow this doesn't always keep the existential crisis at bay.

So, back to the blogging stuff.  I thought that if I put some advertising on this site, I would be able to contribute some money to the household and then feel like I was "doing something."  Well, it hasn't really worked out that way and I'm realizing that that's not really what this blog about.  It will always only appeal to a very short list of family, friends and fellow parents.  I don't want to be contrived and start scheming of ways to drive traffic to this blog.  This just gives me post traumatic stress from my days in advertising when things like "driving traffic" were utmost on my mind.  Right now, my kids are utmost on my mind, and that's how I'm going to keep it.

The existential despair also stems from wanting to use my creativity in ways that matter.  I love taking pictures, cooking, traveling and writing.  Isn't there a way to make these things into something with tangible results that go beyond mere hobbies (as in some sort of job)?  Well, the answer is, "right now, no."  I barely have a spare hour in the week so embarking on these quests is pretty much out of the question.  I have made a conscious decision to be home with my kids and when it comes down to it, I wouldn't want it any other way.  Still ...

My mother, never the most supportive of people, called me a "dilettante" because I always seem to just dabble in this and that.  Yes, it was meant as a put-down and unfortunately these words have stuck in my head.  Maybe if I did something really big, I could prove to the spirit of my mom that I'm worth something.  Barton says to ignore this inner critic (mom) and move on.  I think I will.

Nonplussed

I love words, but I don't love the word "nonplussed."  This has to be one of the most misused words in the English language.  Logically, the word sounds like it would mean blase, underwhelmed or untroubled.  You take the negative "non" and put it with the positive "plussed" and it would seem that they would cancel each other out, producing a word to describe a non-reaction ... sort of the null and void of the word world.  But, noooo, here's the real definition:

non·plus

 (nn-pls)

tr.v. non·plused also non·plussed, non·plus·ing also non·plus·sing, non·plus·es also non·plus·ses

To put at a loss as to what to think, say, or do; bewilder.

n.

A state of perplexity, confusion, or bewilderment.

This is the opposite of being underwhelmed.  It is being so taken aback that one doesn't know how to react.  Apparently, the incorrect usage of this term is trying to edge out the correct usage.  According to the MSN dictionary, "nonplussed is increasingly used in the almost opposite sense of 'untroubled,' especially in U.S. English (Nonplussed by the criticism, she continued to direct her films in the very same offbeat manner for which she was famed.). This new meaning is not yet accepted as standard, and it may cause ambiguity in sentences such as He seemed nonplussed by the news."

Barton and I often joke about "nonplussed," using it in sentences to describe a blase reaction, then adding, "in the incorrect sense of the word."  Does that make us word geeks?

Anyhoo, Dane and Logan have embarked into the world of potty training and they are the opposite of "nonplussed" (in the incorrect sense of the word).  To say that they are excited about using the Bjorn bear potty or mommy and daddy's big potty would be putting it mildly.  This has been brought about with absolutely no encouragement on my part.  I know how hard it is to keep up with just one child in the throes of potty-training, let alone two, so I've just been putting it off.  This has not dissuaded Dane or Logie in the least.  They just drop trow and do their business.  It has definitely been a messy affair since they insist on throwing the pee from the Bjorn potty into our porcelain one.  I still haven't put them in underwear so maybe we can stall this process a while longer?  I know, this must make me the world's worst mom, but I'm just trying to maintain my sanity -- no small feat at Casa de George.


Toilets can be fascinating

Seven Years Later

My friend, Akemi, who also has twin boys, "tagged" me for a game of "remember when."  It's a blogging game where you detail what you were doing when certain significant events happened.  Unfortunately, I can't remember where I was for the majority of the events, so I'll have to gracefully decline.

I do know where I was during the attack of the Twin Towers in 2001.  I was sleeping.  In fact, it wasn't until Barton came knocking on my door around 10am that I had any knowledge of these tragic events.  As a little background, on 9/11/01, I was a "freelance consultant" which is a euphemism for "laid off."  Like many people in San Francisco after the demise or perhaps it should be called "flattening" of the dot.com industry, I was out of work.  The dot-com boom that brought me to San Francisco in 1999 for advertising work was officially over and we were all holding wakes for accounts such as "Petstore.com" and "HomeImprovement.com."  There were absolutely no jobs in San Francisco at the time and I figured this was as good a time as any to catch up on my beauty sleep.  Hence, the sleeping. 

When Barton roused me and told me that "planes had crashed into the World Trade Center," I, in my bleary-eyed state, could not for the life of me figure out what he was saying.  At first, I thought it was some sort of accident.  In pre-9-11, the synapses in my brain were not wired to think "terrorism" as the cause of disasters like they are now.  Like a lot of people, I think of the time before this tragedy as a time of innocence and naivety.

As the day progressed, the unfolding of the events was surreal.  Barton's family friend from Honolulu, Mary Ho, had a daughter, Heather, who was a pastry chef at Windows of the World, the restaurant atop the World Trade Center.  Mary Ho lived right around the corner from us in SF and we went over to her apartment that afternoon for moral support.  Under the circumstances, Mary was in good spirits, if somewhat dazed over what had happened.  At this time, it was too early to know what had happened to her daughter.  The fact that Heather started work at 5am every morning to prep for the day was not a good sign, but one always hopes against hope.  We later learned that Heather died that day, as did countless other innocent people.

The aftermath of 9-11 was a time of mourning and also self-reflection.  Times of tragedy and grief are intertwined with both haze and clarity.  Unfortunately, it often takes loss for people to appreciate what they have.  On a national level, patriotism was at an all-time high and it was beautiful to witness this sense of unity with one's country.  On a personal level, the grieving made people realize that life is short so what am I doing with my life?  There was an urban myth that birth rates spiked nine months after 9-11, but Snopes debunked this.  For every person post 9-11 who decided that now was as good a time as any to get married/have a baby, there was another person who decided to move on from a nowhere relationship.  Both may have been spurred on by the tragedy, but not necessarily in the way that was reported.

Seven years after 9-11, our stats are staggering:

- one week after 9-11, Barton and I moved in together
- five months later, we were engaged
- one year later, we were married
- five pregnancies
- two early miscarriages
- lost two babies
- had three wonderful children
- lived in 3 cities in 2 states
- 5 moves

There is a quote by Theodore Roethke that says, " In a dark time, the eye begins to see."  I'm not saying that I attribute the events of my life to the tragedy that occurred on 9-11.  But, as someone who has lost many loved ones, I feel that these losses shape who we are and how we react to life.  When I worked in advertising, I remember having co-workers/stress junkies say how calm I always seemed in the midst of chaos.  It's not that I didn't feel stressed, but I would just put it in perspective.  Particularly after my mom died, I just couldn't get that worked up about the "small stuff" of advertising.

On the 7th anniversary of the tragedy, we reflect on those who we lost and how this influenced our nation and us as individuals.  Post-9-11 was indeed a dark time.  I'm sure we all have stories about how it shaped our perceptions, and ideas on how to "see" in a way that will foster both personal and global peace.

Thoughts on Loss

This week, four years ago, I was 26-weeks pregnant with identical twin girls, Nicole and Peyton.  I had bought countless coordinating outfits and decorative blocks with the letters "N" and "P" on them.  I was just about to buy a double stroller, but thankfully, I procrastinated. 

Those close to us know the tragic details of Nicole's birth and Peyton's death.  We celebrate Nicole's birthday on the 18th of August, but we also mourn the loss of her angelic twin sister, Peyton.  Every year, I throw myself into a birthday extravaganza for Nicole.  I think there are two reasons for this.  The most obvious is that I want to celebrate the miracle that is Nicole, our 2-lb 27-week preemie who defied the odds and made it.  She hasn't just "made it;"  she's is an astounding little girl -- bright, sweet and of course, very curious (hey, she's a Curious George).  The second reason for going all-out on her birthday is that it takes my mind off the loss.

So that brings us to tonight.  Yes, dear readers, behind this happy facade, lies a person who is very prone to sadness.  I've had too much loss in my life and sometimes it's just unbearable.  The Summer Olympics are bringing back unwanted memories of lying in a hospital bed with one baby gone and another fighting for her life.  I would look up at the tv screen and try to immerse myself in the athletic marvels, but I just didn't care.  How could I care about an Olympic swimmer or gymnast when my daughter may or may not live through the night? 

I didn't need Olympic heroes, I had my own.  Barton was and is my rock.  He got me through the hell that was the NICU and helped me cope with the loss of Peyton.   For the first few days, I was too scared to love Nicole.  I felt that if I loved her and then lost her, I would not survive.  Barton believed in Nicole.  He said to me, "She is going to live" with so much faith and confidence, that I believed him.  I had to believe him.  It was this faith that got me through it all. 

Barton comes from a long line of determined individuals.  His father, Peter, literally was an Olympic champion.  He competed in three Olympic weightlifting competitions and won one gold and two silver medals.  This winning ethic is all about determination and believing in yourself.  It is this quality that makes Barton a wonderful, and at times frustrating, husband.   Nicole and the boys also have the George "stick-to-it-ness" and the boys obviously have their "Dedo's" physical strength.

Since Nicole and Peyton were identical twins, I have no problem imagining what Peyton would look like.  I do wonder what her personality would have been like and how Nicole and Peyton would have interacted.  Would Peyton have been as feisty and determined as my other little monkeys?

I have mentioned to Nicole several times that she had a twin sister, but Barton thinks she's too little to process this.  I do want Nicole to grow up knowing that she had a twin and to not feel like it is a taboo subject.  The losses of Peyton and our little boy, Luka (at 20-weeks of pregnancy), are part of who we are and I don't want the sadness to ever go away completely.  Because if we lose that sadness, we may stop remembering these little beings who were so briefly in our lives, yet touched us so deeply.

 

putting flowers on Peyton's grave in San Jose