Episode 7- Girly Hands

Captain's Log:  3:42 AM- Friday

Amazingly profound things occur to you when you are exhausted and hanging on by a thread.  This was tonight's tasty morsel: I am a complete and utter failure as a man.  I don't mean in the sense that I don't take care of my responsibilities as a husband and father... I mean in the sense that I am the least-handy person in the universe... maybe the entire galaxy.  Oh sure I have a toolbox, but it's just for show.  It's for putting together IKEA furniture and hanging pictures.... I don't even know the names of the tools that I have, much less know how to use them.  This worries me now that I have the twins.  I really need to work on becoming more of a man for their sakes.  They need to see me doing more manual, man-type labor around the house.  The male/female roles need to be more clearly defined.  I need to man up.

My lack of manliness was never a problem until 15 years ago... that was when I married into a family full of elite alpha-males.  Treicy was raised on a farm in Puerto Rico.  My father-in-law is a farmer who just recently retired after working over 30 years for the power and light company on the island.   When Treicy was a little girl, he would work all day climbing telephone poles and fixing power lines... and then come home to work the farm in the evenings and weekends.  He built the house that they grew up in, from the ground up, with his own two hands.  She has 2 brothers.  One is a  technician for the power and light company like their father, and the other is a master electrician.  All of her uncles and male cousins earn a living in very manly ways as well... they are construction workers, farmers, civil engineers, horse breeders/trainers, mechanics, factory workers, soldiers and bar owners.  These are men that know how to work with their hands and they pull 14 hour days without blinking an eye.  They all have farmer's tans and own multiple pairs of dirty work boots and all are prone to tinkering under the hood of their many vehicles and motorcycles.  They are men's men and as tough as they come.  The women of the family also fell in line and married real men with real outdoor jobs.

Treicy, in a fit of family rebellion or perhaps in some sort of a reaction to blunt force trauma to the head... married me.  A writer.  An indoor creature with a penchant for Ramen and Pop Tarts who'd much rather be in a bookstore than a Home Depot.  That poor family never saw it coming.

My brothers-in-law and cousins who live in Puerto Rico have an affectionate nickname that they have for me.  They call me 'Manos de Nena" which loosely translates to 'Girly Hands".  My hands are smooth and callous-free while theirs are littered with nicks and cuts and scars and scabs and gashes and blisters and scrapes.   I try to tell them that I have the hands of an artist... they tell me that they have another name for that on the island.  That's when I usually change the subject.

I think the girls will be one of each.  Renata will be a do-it-yourselfer like her mother who installs ceiling fans on her own (while I, her trusty flunky sidekick, hands her tools and holds the heavy fan motor for her)... and Catalina will call the handyman (or call daddy so he can call the handyman).  I say this because of the way they approach things now.  Renata does not want you to feed her anymore.  She rips the bottle from your hands and wants to do it herself.  Catalina leans back with a smile and caresses your hand during her feedings.  Renata will sometimes hold the pacifier in her hand and insert it into her mouth whenever she sees fit, always in complete control.  Catalina depends completely on you for her pacifying pleasures.   

At the end of the day, I know, that it really doesn't matter as long as they are healthy and happy.  But I can't help but look to the future as I imagine my girls as pre-teens in Puerto Rico visiting the family on the farm.  Renata will be on horseback with her uncle or on the back of a motorcycle with her grandfather while Catalina captures it all on her I-Phone and then uploads it later on her YouTube Channel.  I'm sure she will not be mocked for being an artist like her father was.  I guess it's okay to have girly hands when you actually are a little girl.

Episode 6- Holidays and Other Major Inconveniences

Captain's Log- 3:12 AM- Tuesday
My brain is slowly swelling inside my head.  I swear I can hear it.  Is that even physically possible?  I'll bet it is because I can hear it rubbing up against the inside of my skull as it grows... inflates... and then will eventually ooze out my ears.  Why all the head trauma drama?  There was an incident last night. .. well, more of an accident really.  It happened when the girls woke us up for the midnight feeding.  I smashed my face and forehead against Catalina's crib while trying to retrieve a wayward pacifier that she lost during the 9 o'clock.  Actually... "lost" is not the correct word.  What she did was spit that thing out and send it flying across the room with alarming velocity during a sudden hiccup attack.  I'm serious... that thing became a dangerous flying projectile that bounced off of 3 walls before landing, like it usually does, in the most inconvenient place in the room possible... under the crib.  While this might make for an interesting anecdote, it brings up an issue that has me very concerned lately.  Apparently, both of these girls posses a weird sort of mutant baby strength that they use in order to inflict copious amounts of pain in a variety of different ways.  Is this normal?  Has this happened to anybody else out there?  Is this like... really a thing?  Because if it is then I'm going to need to speak to someone in authority.  Because it is bad enough to be outnumbered in your own home by your children, but when 2 of the 3 children in your house have super-human strength... that's just not fair.  I believe it was Peter Parker, aka Spiderman's Uncle Ben that said it best when he said:  "With great power comes great responsibility."  And that's exactly the problem.  These girls don't always use their powers for fighting evil... they also use them to beat up Mommy and Daddy.  For example: they are both prone to grabbing fistfulls of Treicy's hair and putting a death grip on it until we are forced to call in the fire department so they can bring over the Jaws of Life.  They also have razor-sharp finger nails that they use with ninja-like precision in order to hit key pressure points on my arms, neck and face.  Whenever people ask me about the scratches that I have all over me I tell them that I raise ferrel cats as a hobby.  Renata is also prone to throwing sudden and devastating head butts during the burping ritual.  She smashed me in the right temple so hard last week that I think I went color blind for 17 minutes... although this last fact is hard to confirm for sure since I was in a completely dark room when it happened and I had my eyes closed in agony the entire time.  All in all, this experience with the twins has reminded me a lot of my high school days.  I'm in love with the most popular girls in school who only use me in order to get what they want and I'm getting my ass kicked about once a week.  Ahhh to be young again!

Captain's Log; 3:33 AM- Wednesday
I never liked holidays as a kid.  I know it's a weird thing to admit to but I'm so exhausted at this moment that I do not have the energy to lie to you, believe me.  And as long as I'm coming clean... I also do not like chocolate, The Game of Thrones TV Series, Coffee, The Harry Potter Books, Surprise Birthday Parties, Blueberries, The Blue Man Group,  Porcelain Dolls, Sour Cream or Sofia Vergara.  My point is that my likes and dislikes are extremely random.  I dislike without reason or prejudice.  And for some reason I've always felt awkward during holidays, even as a kid.  I grew up in a big family with a lot of cousins running all over the place and holidays were a huge deal where everyone got together and celebrated en mass.  Normally, this would be the setting for a wonderful Norman Rockwell-style holiday experience.  But something always seemed to go wrong...

My Top 3 Worst Holiday Experiences:
1) Halloween 1979- I was so excited to go trick or treating that I did not "prepare" properly before heading out into a long night without access to a bathroom.  Long story, short... I crapped all over myself and my brand new Star Wars costume inspiring my cousins to refer to me exclusively as "Poop Skywalker" for the next 3 years.
2) Easter Sunday 1982- A lake-side cookout goes terribly wrong when one of my uncles arrives with 20 blue-dyed baby chicks in a crate as a wonderful Easter  surprise for all of the cousins in the family and then sets them free.  Oh, the joy!  Another surprise that day was the fact that my grandmother's dog "Diablo" was also at the party and laid waste to the entire flock in a matter of seconds as all of the cousins screamed in horror.  We were picking little blue feathers out of our hair for two days.
3) Christmas 1984-  My uncles have a little too much egg nog on Christmas Eve and decide to pull the hilarious prank of wrapping the entire Christmas tree in toilet paper. as a surprise for everybody.  Problem: This was before safety temperature-controlled  Christmas lights were invented and the hot bulbs caught the toilet paper on fire... which, in turn, caught the Christmas tree on fire... which, in turn, caught the presents on fire.  Merry Christmas Kids!  Enjoy your melted Trivial Pursuit Game!

All of those warm family memories aside... the shoe is on the other foot now.  It is up to Treicy and I, as parents, to create, produce and deliver memorable holiday moments for our 3 children.  Esteban is a grizzled veteran of holidays by now and he loves them all, but this is all new to the twins.  Up to this point, the girls have experienced Memorial Day, Columbus Day, Halloween and the Thanksgiving holidays with us.  And I am happy to report that there have been no reported incidents involving poultry massacres, Jedi bowel movements or Pine Tree Bon Fires.  I realize that its a strange thing to be proud of... but as beat up as I'm feeling right now... I'll take whatever I can get.

Episode 5- Hail to the Chief

Captain's Log:  3:29 AM- Saturday

The pain in my back has now officially moved down to my outer butt and nested there.  I feel like I'm 150 years old.  I had to get some work done last night so I didn't get to bed until just after midnight.  I'm operating on 2 hours of sleep and 3 Red Bulls right now.  The girls are developing beautifully so I know we are doing something right but I can't continue on for too much longer like this.  I'm going to have to start napping in my car during my lunch hour at work.  The thing is that, with two cribs, we only have room for one rocking chair in the nursery so I always sit on an ottoman that we have in there for the feedings.  The baby goes on my lap and I hunch over and feed her while rocking back and forth for the entire 20 minute process.  For some reason, I usually stare at my feet during these late night feedings.  I need something to focus on while I try to convince myself not to pass out.  After 12 weeks of this practice 2 things have been made perfectly clear to me.  1) I now have constant back pain because of this awkward position and 2) I have horrible feet. 

Captain's Log:  3:03 AM- Sunday

I cannot compete with my wife when it comes to parenting, not even close.  That is not an ode of love to her nor is it me taking an opportunity to kiss her butt on a public forum... it's just a cold, hard fact.  She is so freaking good at it that it is infuriating.  She's 100% a natural.  Just like Tiger Woods with a golf club... Billy Joel with a piano... Or me with fatty foods.  These last 4 months have shown me how amazingly good she is at this gig, even though she is exhausted and stressed beyond belief... she still manages to put on her Mommy face everyday for all 3 of our kids.  I got a little glimpse of this action when we got Esteban 7 years ago.  Don't get me wrong... she was amazing with him too but he was 11 months old... he was practically a fully-formed human being already.  This ninja training that we are going through right now is a whole different bag of frijoles.  The schedule that these girls have us on is insane, inhuman and impossible... for me.  I struggle daily just to hold my end up while she excels and dominates.  For example... I, currently, am feeding Renata and fighting back the urge to weep uncontrollably while begging my baby daughter for mercy and to please go immediately to sleep after her bottle.  That's how desperate I am.  Meanwhile... my wife is softly singing Catalina to sleep... Really?  I can't gather up the energy to speak in complete sentences right now, much less attempt to carry a tune.  The girls respond to her differently than they do me.  They are immediately soothed by her presence and touch.  They immediately feel comfort and warmth and are lulled into a sense of security that relaxes them right away.  In contrast, when I hold them they look like they are being interrogated by the FBI... Like they are walking a high wire without a net.  They are stiff and uncertain.  They sense my inexperience and it makes them uneasy.  And who can blame them?  How would you feel if you were about to undergo a major medical procedure and then you look over at your doctor and he looks exhausted, disillusioned and ready to cry?  Not good.  

Things that my wife can do that I can't that piss me off:

1) She can change a diaper with one hand.  I've seen her do it while holding the other baby... Really?  Even using two hands I once managed to get poop behind Catalina's left ear.

2) She can rock them both to sleep at the same time like a boss... Unimaginable.  I have shin splints from pacing back and forth trying to get just 1 of them to sleep every night.

3) She can feed them both at the same time, if necessary... Impossible.  One of them always ends up with a face full of milk whenever I try it.

4) She can actually go out in public alone with the two babies without any help... Unless we're escaping a house fire... That's not happening either.

5) She always hears them.  Every whimper... every cough... every sigh.  She can be in a deep slumber but if Renata farts in her sleep (as she is prone to do), Treicy will hear it from the other room.  I, on the other hand, have been found dead asleep in the baby room rocking chair with a screaming infant in my lap before.  I have a lot of catching up to do if I'm even going to come close to her level.  The problem is that she's also getting better at this everyday.  Sigh... I'm never going to catch up to her.  Maybe when they're teenagers I can woo them with cash prizes and goodies in order to become their favorite.  All bullshit aside... Treicy is my savior and my hero... and I would not be able to survive a moment of this amazing experience without her.

Meanwhile... back at the Renata feeding... Her bottle is now empty and she is showing no signs of sleepiness.  She is wide awake and ready to party.  Im ready to offer her anything she could ever want.  She wants a tattoo when she's 15?  Let's do it, it's on me!  She wants a trip around the world with her friends when she's 18?  I'll book that thing right now... how many are going and for how long?  Daddy's buying!  She wants her boyfriend to move in to the house with us when she's 19?.... Uh.... ok let's not get carried away... I don't think I'll ever be that sleepy.   

    

Episode 4- Snooza-Palooza

Captain's Log:  3:11 AM- Wednesday

The mind games have begun.  They waited until we were weakened and vulnerable and then they started messing with us.  They threw us, what appeared to be, a life saver.  A ray of hope... a flash of light at the end of the tunnel.   And then they shut the door in our faces again and reminded us who the real bosses are around here.  After months of battering us with feedings every 3 hours like clockwork, the girls threw us a curveball a couple of nights ago.   They skipped the midnight feeding and slept continuously from 9PM to 4AM.  

What?

You read me correctly.  Let me repeat it so that we are all 100% clear.... On Monday night, we were allowed 7 hours of uninterrupted sleep! (insert applause SFX here)  It was bliss... It was nirvana... It was one of the best experiences of my life.

1)  It was better than my first kiss.  It was during a middle school Halloween party and the girl in question mistook me for someone else wearing the same costume.  Apparently I was not the only KISS fan at the party.  She was mortified,... I was in love.  Thank you Gene Simmons.

2)  It was better than my first paying job.  My grandfather used to pay me a little money on the side to be his secret errand boy when I was a teenager.  My responsibilities included delivering covert payments to various fortune tellers and witch doctors behind my grandmother's back and assisting with the maintenance and general up-keep of his toupees (yes, that is a plural... he had 3).

3)  It was better than my 9th grade prom.  Couldn't get a date so I went stag with a good buddy of mine (another dateless heartthrob) and we ended up leaving the dance after 15 minutes and going straight to McDonald's, in rented tuxedos, to drown our sorrows in Filet-o-Fish sandwiches and apple pies (the original fried ones that were filled with molten lava apple-flavored goodness that caused 3rd degree burns to the roof of your mouth).

I thought that we had turned a corner for sure.  It was going to be 7 hours of sleep at a time, every night from now on and then maybe in a couple of weeks... the holy grail... the 10-12 hour extravaganzas that Esteban pulls every night.  It was going to be great.  I was going to start shaving again (I've been opting for the scruffy look in exchange the extra 15 minutes of sleep lately)... Treicy was going to go back to her normal routine of preparing breakfast for Esteban every morning before school (now, she feeds the girls upstairs while I'm in charge of his breakfast downstairs).  We've been getting by.  A lot of cold cereals and Pop Tarts for the most part... although, truth be told, I was running extremely late one morning last month and he had orange Jello and String Cheese for breakfast the car on the way to school.  He loved it... we never told mom.

But the 7-hour snooza-palooza was not to be.  The following night, and every night since, has been back to the normal 3 hour feedings.  They were just sending us a little message and letting us know that someday we may very well be sleeping normal hours... but not yet.  Not quite yet.  Now I know why sleep deprivation is the preferred "motivational" tool used when interrogating terrorists. 

Captain's Log:  3:44 AM- Thursday

Quick story about my dad.  He lives out-of-state so our main method of communication is through the computer on SKYPE.  As we were catching up one evening, he commented about the bags under my eyes and how exhausted I looked.  He advised me to try to pace myself and not overdo it.  He suggested small naps throughout the day.  I promised him the I would try.  Then something occurred to me... "Hey Dad" I said.  "I don't ever remember you taking naps when we were kids.  You were never exhausted or cranky.  You never needed a break or anything like that."  "That is absolutely correct, son" he said.  "Would you like to know what my secret was?" "Yes!" I screamed.  "Please!"  "Go get a pad and pencil and write this down" he said...  "It'a  little complicated... You ready?" "Yes" I said.  "Go ahead."

"I was 27 years old" he said.  "That's when normal people have children.  What kind of a moron starts a family when he's in his forties?  Huevon!"  

I just sat there with my pad and pencil in hand watching him on my computer screen as he laughed himself into a 5 minute coughing fit.  When will I ever learn?  Nicely played, old man... nicely played.

Episode 3- Sibling Rivalries

Captain's Log:  3:55 AM- Tuesday

Where does the term Charlie Horse come from?  Does anybody know?  It's a weird name for a leg injury, isn't it?  I know I obsess about little things like this late at night, but unless some guy a long time ago named Charlie got kicked in the leg by a horse...  Does that even make sense?  Why would they name an injury after them?  Is that allowed?  I should Google it but I'm too tired to type it into my phone.  I ask only because Esteban snuck into bed with us at some point last night and when Renata started crying at 2:59 AM (every night like clockwork), he jerked awake and kneed me 3 times in the thigh and groin.  Sigh... That was an unexpected bonus from the 8-year-old fart machine.  Because nothing accompanies exhaustion better than a severe hematoma. to the groin area  This morning's assault aside, he's a great kid and an even better older brother.  

We adopted Esteban in 2009 from The Gladney Center for Adoption's international program.  He is from Cali, Colombia and we spent 5 weeks over there getting his papers in order before we were able to come home with him.  Those 5 weeks in Colombia were an amazing learning experience for us,  and I felt that that experience had fortified me as the type of parent that could handle new-born twins.  I mean, what could possibly be different?  I  was now experienced in preparing bottles, changing diapers and rocking a child to sleep.  It's going to be exactly the same thing, right?  It couldn't be that much different, right?  Wrong.  Not even close.  Esteban needed constant care when we got him but he was already 11 months old.  He was eating from a spoon... He was teething... He was sleeping through the night.  That is the biggest and most impactful difference between these 2 adoptions (aside from the fact that Esteban is from Colombia and the girls are from Ft Worth, Texas).  The difference between a new-born and an 11-month-old is massive, I know that now... and then multiplied by two?  Forget about it.  I didn't prepare properly.  I was over-confident.  "How much of a difference could 11 months possibly make?" I asked myself in the mirror one morning.  "I got this." I said with a wink.  You know what?  I don't got this.  Never had it, not even once.  I'm lucky that Treicy excels at this.  She's constantly bailing me out.  I'm in a perpetual state of confusion and desperation.  I've never been so in love in my life... and at the same time, I've never been so overwhelmed and intimidated by anything weighing less than 12 pounds in my life.  I just need to hang on until they start sleeping through the night.  That is the carrot that I have dangling in front of me.  If I can start getting more that 3 hours of sleep at a time, I feel I can return to being a contributing member of society instead of the sleepwalking zombie that drives the whole way home from work with his computer bag on the roof of his car  (true story).   I could not find the remote control for the TV for 2 days last week.  I checked every logical location and was about to give up  and declare it an unsolvable mystery when Treicy found it inside the refrigerator next to the beer.  Sigh... Daddy needs a nap. 

Captain's Log:  3:09 AM- Thursday

As tired as I am, I can't help but be really pleased with the progress that the girls are making.  Their personalities are starting to really come through.  Renata, the oldest by 30 seconds, is the Alpha personality in this equation.  She is strong-willed and very much the leader.  Their entire schedule is dictated through her.  They eat when Renata decides that they're ready to eat and they get diaper changes when Renata announces to the entire neighborhood that she just pooped herself all the way down to her socks (also a true story).  Catalina, on the other hand, is much more subdued.  She is patient and willing to wait for her tempestuous older sister to be attended to first, before getting any attention.  Renata is fire and Catalina is ice.  Renata sleeps with a furrowed brow while Catalina sleeps with a smile on her face.  Catalina loves scalp massages from Daddy that relax her and put her to sleep while Renata doesn't want anyone, anywhere near her hair... ever.  Catalina is a better sleeper but Renata is a better eater.  Catalina's burps sound like children laughing  Renata has the burp of a 40-year-old truck driver with chronic heartburn  Catalina likes to sleep face-up without a pacifier while Renata prefers the downward facing dog position, with her little butt in the air, and a pacifier in her mouth.  They both react positively to Esteban's kisses and he is very gentle and loving with them.  It's too soon to tell which personality he will connect with more but for now they both get equal amounts of love and kisses from their older bro.  There have been no incidents of jealousy from him as of yet and he's been great about donating his baby blankets and old teddy bears to them.  But they're infants right now.  They are not independently mobile yet.  Not like when they become toddlers and start going after his beloved Star Wars action figures.  That will be the ultimate test of sibling love.  Because sharing a security blanket is one thing... sharing Boba Fett is a different level of comittment altogether.