Namesake

One of my favorite memories of being pregnant was the day we found out that we were having two boys. It was a very scary day, medically speaking, because the doctors thought we had Twin to Twin Transfusion Syndrome - a very scary disease that only affects identical twins. I had a series of tests that day, so we asked the ultrasound technician to write down the sexes of the babies on a piece of paper so we could open it with Eliza. That night we were all cuddling in bed and Eliza opened up the paper. Pete and I started hooting and laughing. Eliza was so proud of the fact that she opened the paper.

Instantly we knew their names would be Jack and Colin.

Jack Bradbury is named after Pete's grandfather and my father.
Colin Charles is named after Pete's father. The Colin piece is simply a name we love.

That night Pete looked up the meanings of Jack and Colin.

Jack: With God's Grace
Colin: Victorious

From that moment, I knew the boys would be okay. With God's grace, they will be victorious.

And they are.

Out of the mouths of babes

Out of nowhere tonight, Eliza asked me what my dad's name was. I said his name was Brad. She asked where he lived. I told her Heaven. She asked where is Heaven. I told her it was everywhere. Then she asked if he ate his dinner before he went to Heaven.

These are the moments that I want to spontaneously combust as a parent. It is all at once tragic in truth and beautiful in reality. To a 2.5 year old, Heaven is just some place that you go before or after a meal. If we could only boil it down to be that simple, would we be lighter? Would we be less stressed?

I wish I knew, and I wish I had a better answer for that question should she ask again.

Beyond Words

On August 1, 2011, we welcomed Colin Charles Bigelow and Jack Bradbury Bigelow into our lives.

Get prepared for A LOT of cliches.

I will never be the same.

My heart is literally exploding.

I do indeed have enough space in my heart for three children.

My husband is and was my rock.

I'm tired. Really, really tired.

There is nothing like baby smell. Nothing.

And it goes on and on and on...

This pregnancy was not easy. It was an emotional roller coaster filled with doctors appointments and really scary syndromes that come with having identical twins. Every worst case scenario we were presented with knocked us down a morale notch. But with the grace of God, we had two healthy twin boys.

I am grateful beyond words.

Big Sister Eliza is taking it day by day and has her moments that we all expected. Some we didn't, but she is okay. We are all learning to live with our new normal.

Here is a slideshow of the first week of Jack and Colin.

So close yet so far away

In a week (plus or minus a day), the Bigelow family will welcome Pancho and Lefty into their lives. The feelings I have about the arrivals swing between such extreme happiness and anxiety that I wonder if I'm going to leave labor and delivery in a straight jacket.

I have this image in my head of maniacal laughter mixed with tears of joy and fear - I just hope that stays at bay in front of the residents. Poor suckers might be doing their only OB rotation and they get to deal with me .

Perhaps one day I will run into one of them at Target and I will say "Hey! You were in the delivery room when I had my twins. Did you go into Obstetrics?" Young resident blushes and looks down and says, "Er, no, that day I decided I was better suited for Orthopedics."

I am being induced Sunday night and hope to have the babies at some point on Monday, August 1st. However, my OB informed me today it could take as long as 48 hours. For the record, I punched her.

For those that know me well, know that I was in labor with Eliza for three days. So my body likes its long labors. I have a gut-wrenching-sinking-suspicion that this is going to be a long labor. Yes, end result will be worth it, but as I stare down three days of labor, I do have a hard time truly accepting the joy.

This time, however, I will get the epidural a lot sooner than last time. I asked for it today at my OB appointment but they told me I had to wait until I was in actual labor. Well that's just ridiculous.

Pete was all over the epidural questions. He wanted to know how soon I could get it. He remembers all to well what it was like to wait for the last one. Sometimes I find him crying in the in the corner of our room, rocking himself, and its because he is having flashbacks of what it was like before I got the epidural with Eliza. He would like it administered as soon as possible.

So next week it will all change. This party of three turns into a party of five. Pray for me and send Pete a lot of liquor.

Don't go breaking my heart

Dear Eliza,

Please don't hate me for bringing two new babies home. My fears of breaking your heart are becoming almost overwhelming. I don' t want you to ever think that the babies are more important than you, but yet, here I am, worried sick over it.

You are emotionally aware of everything around you. You eat up this world with a ferocious appetite for learning. And this is why I'm worried about you. You will notice the difference in our lives, and I know that no matter what we do, it will affect you in a way that I can't change.

Yesterday, on the drive home from daycare, you started in on your "the babies won't eat my toys" speech that you give on a daily basis now. After I told you no, I asked you why you thought that.

Your response broke my heart.

You said, "The babies are going to make me sad and then dadda will give me a hug." I asked you why you thought the babies were going to make you sad and you said, "Because they will."

That's it. You just know you are going to be sad. This kills me.

I realize that I am putting adult emotions on you but I know you are going to be upset. I know it's going to rock your world. But what I hope happens even more is that you fall madly in love with your siblings. That they become your world too.

When your dad and I were deciding to go for the second kid, we talked about our siblings and how life, in all sincerity, would have totally sucked without them. Sure, there were times when we found our siblings to be a bother. But, my darling, I promise you that those thoughts are small in comparison to the ones that make you feel totally complete to have brothers to call when you just need someone to talk to. Especially when you want to bitch about your parents. I promise they are going to follow you around when babies, and seek your advice when they are adults. I promise you that they will comfort you when you are sad and make you laugh.

And I promise you that my enormous love for you will not change.

I love you.

Mamma

Teenage Girls Scare Me

When I found out I was pregnant with twins, I was pretty convinced they were girls. Perhaps because my family has always said I was only going to have girls, or because I had all these weird girl premonitions. But when we found out we were having boys, one of the first things that ran through my head was: "Oh Thank GOD! I don't have to live with three teenage girls at some point in the future."

I wasn't an awful teenager, but I wasn't a model one either. I got into my fair share of trouble, but never arrested or knocked up. Based on those experiences and the online leaps of the past two decades, I'm very, very scared of the 2011 model of a teenage girl.

I know they are not all that bad, but even if they don't fall into the "mean girl" category, they will inevitably be struck with the disease we all know so well: I'm fat, I'm ugly, no one understands me, I hate my hair, and why don't I have a prom date yet. That, mixed with teenage hormones, is a frightening atmosphere to dwell in.

My darling Bean already displays some behaviors that are suspiciously teenage-esue. Let me remind you of her age - 2 years, 4 months.

There are days when you have no idea why she doesn't want to be around you, but she doesn't. She will be happily playing and I will sit down next to her to play. Without looking me in the eye, she says "no momma, you need to go away." UHHH, SERIOUSLY??!!! Did she actually just say that to me?!? I often go into my "DO YOU KNOW WHAT 50 HOURS OF LABOR FEELS LIKE, KID?" rant but then I scale back because it obviously falls on deaf ears. And besides, I'm saving that little gem for a different night - her prom night.

Her recent teenage behavior is "the look." You know the look of a teenager who has just been informed by a parent that her curfew will not be later than 11. Yeah, it's that look.

Par example:


Bean was eating a banana yesterday. She knows she is allowed to eat in the kitchen, or right outside the kitchen if I'm cooking BUT she has to stay on the wood floors. Well, I got the look-on-steroids yesterday when she looked me in the eye and without saying a word, just started putting her little toe on the carpet in the living room. It was a test. She was testing me. The way I tested my mom when I was 16 over far more dramatic things such as spring-break trips and curfews. I sternly said "Bean, if you are going to eat, you have to stay on the hard wood" She would drag her foot back and look at me like I had two heads. Turn my back, and sure enough that little foot was on the carpet and she is staring me straight in the eyes with a look that says "I'm smarter than you and I will get away with this."

In that moment, I saw myself in her and it scared me. A lot.

We have our hands full with her. She is dramatic, testy and impatient. Sound like a teenage girl to you? Exactly! I just described myself at 16, so if she is already displaying these delightful features at 2 years, Pete and I are going to be in need of a few things: a very stocked liquor cabinet, a dial-a-therapist, and really understanding grandparents who will watch her while we vacation.

Your reactions

I have loved the reactions from my friends when I tell them we are having twins.

It normally unfolds like this:

Me: "I'm pregnant,"
Friend: Oh that's so exciting, I'm so happy for you,
Me: I'm not done yet...we are having twins.
Friend: Face drops down to avert my eyes/laughter/hysterical NOOOOO's

But, my all time favorite reaction is from my friend Danielle. I emailed her the news and this was her response, "Wow! Did you ask them to go back and look for a nanny in there too? Because you are going to need it." I still laugh every time I think of this reaction.

I'm going to need my friends more than ever after these babies are born. To be patient with me when it takes months to respond to a call/text/email. To answer my call at 2 in the morning when I don't think I can be awake for one more minute (okay, I will email you not call) and to just send out the "those babies sleep great vibes" all the time. Thank you for already understanding, dear friends.

To An Athlete Dying Young

The Time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the marketplace
Man and boy stood cheering by,
and home we brought you shoulder high.
A.E. Houseman To An Athlete Dying Young

The first time I heard this poem, I wept. It reminded me of my father. An athlete who died young. My father was a swimmer - he had a wing span that crushed every competitor along his wake. He was strong, built to win. A herniated muscle ruined his chances at the Olympics, but he always "looked" like an athlete. And, to be totally honest, had the ego of an athlete.

My father was 46 when he died in an instant. He had a heart attack. An athlete dying young.

Today marks 21 years since he died. I was 12 years old. I remember every detail of the day he died. Every detail. Smells, sounds, temperature, what we watched on tv, what we ate for lunch. But I can’t remember much more than that. I don’t remember a lot of our memories before that. It’s weird because I know we were happy, I know we laughed, but I don’t remember it all.

So, today, on this 21^st year without Kenneth Bradbury Batla, I will eat German Chocolate Cake, go swimming and laugh with my family. It’s the only thing I can do to make sure I remember something that I know he would have loved.

You can't fly, lady

I'm huge. Yes, I realize I'm carrying twins but the belly is massive and it gets a lot of attention. Bieber-style attention.

When you are pregnant, people have a filter malfunction that sometimes leads them to say really stupid things. When you are pregnant with twins, no matter the tact on the human being, that filter was checked at the Jerry Springer door.

The comments about my belly have been incredible, and there really are too many to list, so I will give you my favorite so far.

On my last business trip, at 23 weeks pregnant, the TSA screener at the Detroit Airport said, "Oh Sugar, they won't let you get on the plane that close to your due date. Pilots don't like delivering babies on planes." To which I responded, oh I'm not due for another three months and I'm pregnant with twins so I look bigger than your average preggo. Instead of "oh, wow, congrats" the sweet, sweet TSA lady looked at me in horror and said, " Jesus, Mary and Joseph, where's your belly going to go?"

I just smiled and said, "Everywhere, I guess."

Irrational Love

When Bean was a newborn, Grandma B. sent us a little stuffed black-and-white puppy that she won at her nursing home's bingo match. I remember receiving it and thinking, "Oh, I wanted something black and white for E. because, apparently, black and white is good for brain stimulation." That was as far as that thought went, because I was too sleep deprived to consider color effects on a 2-month old.

Puppy stayed in the living room and after a while E. gravitated toward him. She would always reach for him over other toys, and he quickly became a MAJOR part of her life. From those early days to now, she sleeps with Puppy during every nap and night.

Two years later, Puppy is a part of our family. I know that sounds very strange, but to illustrate mine and Pete's love of this animal, I give you the following story:

E often "adopts" baby dolls at her daycare and throws fits if she can't take them home. Our sweet daycare lets her bring them home now and then. Last week, "Keeta" was brought into our house. A cute little cabbage patch doll. When it was time to go to bed, E said, "I want Keeta to sleep with me. Take Puppy away." P. and I looked at each other and thought "HELL NO!" so we put puppy in the corner of her crib and walked out of her room.

As we shut the door, this is what happened:

Pete turned to me and said "Eff that little interloper who's trying to replace Puppy. That ain't happening."

I find this amusing for so many reasons. Mainly because Jersey Pete came out over a stuffed animal (my, oh my, how times have changed) and because we both have this protective love for a stuffed animal. I know there is deep sentiment, because it came from Pete's grandma, but it goes beyond that.

We often find ourselves saying hi to Puppy, even when Eliza is not around. He is our daughter's first friend, in a way, so we will always love him.

He has comforted her when we couldn't possibly understand the fit she was having over, say, the fact that I grabbed the pink cup instead of the purple cup, or tried to change her diaper when she was busy doing a puzzle. Puppy gets it and Pete and I are forever grateful.

And Eliza might not admit it, but when she woke up in the middle of the night to see Puppy by her side along with Keeta, there were no complaints.

He Said/She Said

These little boys are wreaking havoc on my body. I wish I had never read those stupid Twilight books because now I'm fairly convinced that I'm having a vampire baby. One who is growing at 20 times the normal gestation. One that can actually crack my rib.

I won't bore you too much with what it's like to be pregnant with twins. If you want a run down, ask Pete, it's his FAVORITE game - the "what part of my body feels like it just broke" game. He L-O-V-E-S it.

Instead I will share with you the "he said/she said" version of finding out about them with guest blogger, Mr. Coloradoanmichigander.

She Said

I went in for an early appointment at about eight weeks because I was having a lot of pain in my right side. P. could not go with me, so I was by myself. At the appointment, my doc said she wanted to do an ultrasound to check everything out. She and I were both thinking something was not right with all the pain I was having.

Here is how it unfolded:

Doctor: "Okay, I am going to look in your uterus now. oh! OH!"

Me: "WHAT? WHAT?"

Doctor: "I see two hearts."

Me: "My baby has two hearts?

Doctor: "No, your baby has a friend."

Me: "What the hell does that mean?"

Doctor: "You are having twins, I'm trying to tell you that you are having twins."

Me: "Actually, that's not possible, it doesn't run in my family and I'm not on fertility treatment."

Doctor flips monitor around and points to the screen and says "I see two babies. Do you see two babies?"

I then laughed uncontrollably for a solid hour. She went on to talk a bit about twin pregnancy but I have no idea what she said. At the end of the appointment, I was still laughing so hard that she grabbed my knees and said "I need to know you are okay to drive." I was not. I was manic.

I immediately starting calling Pete who was in the middle of a huge breaking news story...

He Said

So I was on the phone with a source on the coaching search story – someone who I had been trying to get to call me back for several days. Having someone who's actually relevant to a coaching search call you back is met with the same joy of, say, meeting the Dalai Lama, so this was huge for me.

I had even left my desk to take this call in the private hallway one floor below my office, so that I wouldn't pique the curiosity of any of the other reporters and overlords who were eager for coaching search news.

So needless to say, when the call waiting first flashed my wife's name, I totally ignored her. When she called right back, I grew more annoyed and ignored her call again. When she battered me with a third consecutive phone call, I nearly threw the phone down in anger, but then something clicked in my head and I remembered she had scheduled a doctor's appointment and got a lump in my throat.

"Hey (highly confidential source)," I said. "I'm going to have to call you back."

So I call E back, and she's hysterical.

I immediately think the worst, and start assembling some sort of "its-ok-and-we-can-try-again-soon" script in my head – whatever sort of textbook response you are supposed to recite when your wife tells you she had a miscarriage. She's totally bawling.

But before I could blurt out anything stupid like that, or maybe it was during my intro, she's stammering between the hysteric sobs – or where they laughs? – something like, "no ... no, ta ... ta... twins! We're having twins!"

It was at this point the hallway started spinning like after I have five too many gin-and-tonics, and I really can't recall anything about my response or anything else that occurred in the next few minutes, other than that my wife was driving to my office so we could together process the momentous news.

(Ed's Note: She is still laughing. He is still drinking).

What's Cooking

I'm a self-proclaimed chef. I'm the daughter of an actual chef - seriously, did you guys know that my mom had an affair with Emeril and that's why I have the dark hair and eyes that everyone else in my family lacks? Okay, kidding, though when I was born my uncle accused my mom of infidelity because I seriously looked nothing like my family. Don't worry, therapy and DNA testing has proved this wrong. Again, kidding, therapy never helped.

But, back to the chef thing ... my mom owned a bakery, The Gingerbread House, when we were kids. It was in Richmond Rosenberg, Texas, which, at the time, was nothing but country. There were horses in the back and we fed them sugar cubes and did very pastoral-type things. No, not cow tipping, but lots of ant squishing.

My mom's food was and is incredible. I joke that she can make a pb&j taste like it came from a five-star restaurant. In my mid 20s, I spent many months standing beside my mom in the kitchen of my childhood home. I learned the key to her amazing food - butter, and lots of it. And her delicate spicing and knowing exactly how much salt and pepper should go into anything. The woman is a genius.

Fast forward a few years, I meet P. and we fall in love, and we cook. All the time. We love cooking together, trying new recipes. I unfortunately let my control freak flag fly in the kitchen, so it's not as much fun for him, but I'm trying to work at it.

(Ed’s note: No comment).

All that is a roundabout way to introduce you to a feature of my blog called “What's cooking.” I'm going to post a new recipe and my take on said recipe (I very rarely follow a recipe) and more importantly P's reaction. He is an amazing taste-tester.

So, for the first post, I bring you ... drum roll ... banana coconut muffins. Coconut is a new obsession of mine. I thought I hated it until last summer I tried toasted coconut ice cream at Kilwin's Ice Cream Parlor in Petoskey. Let's just say I'm a changed woman and coconut is now my go-to menu item.

Without further ado, I bring you Banana Coconut Muffins

Ingredients:

• 1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon baking powder
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 2 very ripe bananas, mashed (3/4 cup)
• 1 stick (1/2 cup) unsalted butter, melted
• 1/3 cup sugar
• 1 large egg
• 1/2 teaspoon vanilla
• 3/4 cup sweetened flaked coconut
• 1/2 tsp cardamom
• 1/2 tsp cinnamon
• 1/4 tsp nutmeg
• 2 tbs coconut milk

How I changed the recipe - I added cardamom and coconut milk to the recipe. I think this made the recipe.

Preheat the oven to 375. Mix bananas, sugar, egg, vanilla, butter and coconut milk in a mixer. Then fold in the sifted flour, baking soda, salt and spices. Last, fold in a 1/2 cup of coconut. Used lined muffin tins, sprinkle with remaining coconut and bake for 25 minutes. Let it cool for five before you burn your mouth off tasting the deliciousness. Good luck with that wait. I still can't say the word Yes without is sounding like Yeth thanks to my patience that only let me wait 2 minutes to try them.

Tips:

I mashed the bananas up. I do this with banana bread too so that you don't have to over mix the batter to get all the banana mashed up.

Also, I suggest that your sous chef look like this:



Here is the finished product, batch one. Batch two included putting coconut on the tops of the muffins and letting that get all toasty. I suggest this but watch that the coconut doesn't burn.

Finally, if someone could figure out how to get rid of this problem

...

P. has suggested an Alice from the Brady Bunch type houseguest. We'll see.

P's response: "Damn I'm glad I married you woman. Now get back in that kitchen and get me a beer." (Ed's note: Not really. Just the first part).

If I could be anyone, it would be Tina Fey

In her new book, Bossypants!, Tina Fey wrote a prayer for her daughter where she is poignant with such raw humor that you can't help sigh and laugh at the same time. I'm totally ripping her off here and applying this to my own daughter. Here is the prayer:

First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, May she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her
When crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels.

What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.

“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.

Amen.

Where we are we?

This title has little to do with the post, but it’s one of my favorite sayings from the toddler who roams the halls of my house. Anytime we pull up somewhere, new or familiar, the Bean looks at you and says, “Where we are we.” Not sure if its the saying, the way her sing-song inflection hits the words like its a musical score, but I’m already sad for the day when she just says “where are we.”

So, seriously, where we are we? If you are a Bigelow, you are somewhere between the here and there: a reality that you never thought about, never dreamed about and never ever fathomed. The reality of having three children under the age of three.

There are so many scary things about being pregnant with twins and I will save that for later fodder, but today, after a particularly rough week of tantrums, stomach flus, and crazed work schedules, I’m terrified of the “How.” How are we going to do it? How are we going to raise three children under the age of three and not guarantee that at least one, if not all, will end up in analysis because I forgot them all at Target one day because my head was so full of to-do lists and the line at Starbucks was too long for toddlers so I didn’t get a venti-whatever-cracked-out-caffeine drink I needed.

I realize that we are not unique. We have not cracked the mold here. We are not reinventing the American family. We are just two people who got lucky as hell with their fertility and are going to have a much larger family than anticipated. But, still, I just don’t know HOW we are going to do it.

So to bring you along in our journey, I share with you my top ten list of “how the hell will that happen?”

1. Quick trip to the grocery store on the way home from daycare. You have a toddler who refuses to sit in a cart and two infants. My solution – drive-through grocery stores.

2. How are we ever going to cook something beyond noodles and steamed veggies. It has to be a 1-2 process or we will all end up eating ramen uncooked.

3. The Gym? Oh, you old friend, I bet we will reunite in 2029. (For the record, I call that our magic year – it will be the year the twins go to college), but for now, I have to hope the amount of times that I’m asked to go upstairs and retrieve a certain toy will suffice for all types of cardio health needs.

4. My house will undoubtedly begin to resemble the fraternity houses of our college years. Don’t believe me. Read this. This is my house now – in a few years I will live in that house on steroids.

5. Date nights? Connecting with your spouse? There are too many reasons to write on why I fell in love with my husband – at the very top of my list has to be the incredible conversations we have. Since Bean was born, those conversations have lulled but they have not died out. I fear the death of our verse due to sheer exhaustion, not interest.

6. Speaking of exhaustion – am I always going to look like I just rolled out of bed? I only have one child now and I feel that way because I’m just so darn tired. This really is never going to end, so how am I going to get through a day that includes getting three children out the door, work, work and more work and then picking those same children up and somehow feeding them (see 1 & 2)

7. My car used to explode in the sounds of NPR and good music. Now I have to listen to “Hello Everybody” on f-ing repeat. Sometimes I want to kill small furry animals after I listen to a children’s cd on repeat. I mean would it kill the kid to listen to at least one other song on the CD?!?! How can I drive with my ipod in my ears and still pretend to pay attention to my children?

8. Swagger Wagon USA. We will only have one car between the 2 of us that will cart the three children around. That is going to take some serious coordination. Do you know when coordination falls apart at the seams? (see number 6 for the answer)

9. How do you nurse two babies at once? I was told recently by a very famous person (seriously, this person has won an emmy and happens to have twins herself) that nursing twins is easy – “it’s why you have two boobs.” Aaaaand scene.

10. And, finally, the “how” that keeps me up at night... How the hell am I not going to mix my children up and one day give poor Pancho’s schoolwork to Lefty’s teacher and then poor Pancho fails first grade because when I abandoned poor Lefty in Target, he was never able to catch up. Pete’s brilliant answer to this is: tattoos. So, readers, what sort of tattoos should each boy have so we can forever tell them apart? (please don’t report me to cps here – I really am half joking). (Ed’s note: I’m not).

I know we will figure it out. It will be the only reality we know. But, man, oh man, am I scared.

I'm baaackkk....well, we'll see.

Yes, it's been, oh almost three years since my last blog post. But, a lot has happened in those three years. I had a baby, changed jobs, said baby didn't sleep, husband's newspaper shut down, husband got a new job, I started traveling insanely for work, said baby still didn't sleep, but we somehow managed to get knocked up again, only to find out that we are having twins...oh, and said baby is still not sleeping.

Wait, Whaaaaaat? Did she say she is having twins?

Yes, you read that right. The Bigelows will be welcoming identical twin boys this August. Now pick yourselves up from the floor and come back to my blog. Why? Because I'm going to try a little harder to update it. By harder, I mean at least three posts before the babies are born and then maybe one or two before they turn 18. I will make it easy on you, though, and become one of those people who posts their blog to facebook to prove how very witty and amazing I am. Sound good? Okay!

I actually have been writing a lot lately to help wrap my brain around the incredibly scary yet exciting journey we are about to embark upon. It's going to be a marathon people and I really look forward to seeing you all again in, say, 2029 when the twins go to college.

More to come...