I am not a compulsive home pregnancy test (HPT) taker. I'll take one hpt the day of the actual lab work. And while I have kept my brain busy during waking hours, apparently it gets back to the baby business while I'm sleeping.
I dreamed one night that Bryan was holding quintuplets in his lap, beautiful bouncy black boys of about nine months old. Needless to say, his lap was pretty full. In the same dream, I learned I was pregnant with triplets. The rest of my dream was spent wandering the house, contemplating which corners could support the weight of baby hammocks to accomodate our rapidly growing brood.
I've dreamed about quadruplets. Sure, why couldn't both embryos split? ;-)
Last night I dreamed that my HPT could tell me the exact hcg level. I read the test and saw a 2170. Oh, that's a huge number, I thought. (For frame of reference, my positive tests thus far have ranged from 76 to 250's for my first blood draw.). And then, dream me looked at the HPT again and read a 20,170. WOW! Dream me was almost bowled over by the enormous number. And then my dream fast forwarded to the clinic and the first ultrasound. And we're all staring at the screen trying to count just how many heart beats we're seeing.
Apparently my subconscious is trying to set me up for my own TLC show.
Sunday, September 14, 2014
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
The Transfer Itself
Part of the embryo transfer protocol is a valium administered about an hour before the transfer itself. Technically it helps to relax the uterine muscles. But there's that ancillary benefit too, taking the edge off any nervousness or anxiety that might be felt.
Yesterday was the first time the nurse had ever made it sound like the valium was optional. She knocked on the door and asked, "Would you like a valium?"
"Oh, yes, please!" I responded, my words practically running together in my eagerness.
As she smiled and left the room to retrieve my dose, I asked Bryan, "Do you think I should have hesitated before answering? Was I too eager?"
He just snickered at me.
I can say that between the valium and all the myriad of prayers that have been said (and are continuing), my nervous energy subsided.
I'd like to introduce you to "Dash" and "Violet".
Dash and Violet were created in 2008 and vitrified five days after fertilization. (And, if you're new to our story, we adopted them this past spring.) These are blastocysts, and this picture was taken shortly after the thawing process. These two were vitrified and stored in separate straws and thus thawed separately. The one on the right was thawed first and is a teeny bit more re-expanded/re-hydrated than the one on the left due to that approximate fifteen to thirty minute head start.
The embryologist was very patient with my myriad of questions. Both of these embryos look great, with no noticeable cell loss. It takes about fifteen minutes or so to thaw a vitrified embryo. After the thawing process, each embryo "rests" for a few hours in a solution.
The outside rim of each embryo is called the zona pellucida. This is basically like a shell on an egg. Through time, embryologists have learned that frozen embryos have a tougher than normal zona pellucida. To help encourage embryos to hatch (a necessary step that must occur before the embryo can implant on the uterine wall), embryologist nowadays use a technique called "assisted hatching". See that notch in the zona pellucida of the embryo on the right? That's what the embryologist did to assist the embryo in its future attempt at hatching. Both embryos had this done (it's actually standard practice at our clinic on all frozen embryos). The left embryo had rotated since the assisted hatching was completed - the notch was there, we just couldn't see it.
You can just sort of make out an outer layer of cells, just inside the zona pellucida. If I remember correctly, this layer is the trophoblast and will become the placenta.
The embryo on the right is a little clearer to see due, perhaps, to its short headstart from thawing first. At any rate, you'll notice inside the outer rings are two masses, one a cell mass in the left center, and the other a clearer area in the right center. The cell mass is what will grow into the baby and is called the "embryoblast". I didn't think to ask what the clearer section becomes but it is called the "blastocoel".
Here's an color picture I found online that labels the blast components (this embryo is further along developmentally than Dash and Violet as pictured above).
Our clinic here in Texas has a big screen tv in the operating room. We are able to see the embryos right before the transfer and watch as the embryologist sucks them into the catheter and brings them into the operating room. There is probably a technical term for "the act of sucking into a catheter" but I do not know what it is. ;-)
You want to know something truly amazing? The embryos had both noticeably grown in the short time since the first picture was taken. I don't know exactly how much time had lapsed between the first picture and the transfer itself, but it could not have been more than a few hours. And both embryos had visibly grown - it was incredible!
The blastocoel (the clearer inner mass) had grown considerably on both embryos. One embryo was more than two thirds filled with blastocoel, the other about half filled. And, one embryo was already hatching, almost like the random internet picture below. The embryo was just starting to hatch, though not near as far along as the one pictured below.
I didn't really notice the moods of the crowd in the OR (and there was a crowd: techs, doctor, intern, embryologist, plus me and Bryan). But Bryan said everyone seemed very upbeat and encouraging about Dash and Violet and their growth.
Our clinic had recently changed their post-transfer procedures, so we didn't have to rest for any requisite amount of time. Just transfer, bathroom (as procedure is done with a full bladder you cannot underestimate the necessity of this step), change back into civilian clothes, and then we were released.
We then had some of the best burgers in our life at Hopdoddy's. I had the Greek burger and it was AMAZING. Perhaps I was still on a bit of a valium high and riding the good vibes from the transfer, but that was one good lunch.
We then wandered a unique toy store (Terra Toys, if you're ever in the area) and then headed back home.
I slept wonderfully last night and my nervous energy is mostly gone today. This is due in part to the encouraging-looking embryos but most of all due to your prayers. I am so very thankful for the family, friends, and even relative strangers offering up a few words on our behalf.
I do not know what the future will bring. However, I know that today I am pregnant. Today, I have both Dash and Violet on board. I am choosing to live in the moment and embrace it. And pray without ceasing.
Yesterday was the first time the nurse had ever made it sound like the valium was optional. She knocked on the door and asked, "Would you like a valium?"
"Oh, yes, please!" I responded, my words practically running together in my eagerness.
As she smiled and left the room to retrieve my dose, I asked Bryan, "Do you think I should have hesitated before answering? Was I too eager?"
He just snickered at me.
I can say that between the valium and all the myriad of prayers that have been said (and are continuing), my nervous energy subsided.
I'd like to introduce you to "Dash" and "Violet".
Dash and Violet were created in 2008 and vitrified five days after fertilization. (And, if you're new to our story, we adopted them this past spring.) These are blastocysts, and this picture was taken shortly after the thawing process. These two were vitrified and stored in separate straws and thus thawed separately. The one on the right was thawed first and is a teeny bit more re-expanded/re-hydrated than the one on the left due to that approximate fifteen to thirty minute head start.
The embryologist was very patient with my myriad of questions. Both of these embryos look great, with no noticeable cell loss. It takes about fifteen minutes or so to thaw a vitrified embryo. After the thawing process, each embryo "rests" for a few hours in a solution.
The outside rim of each embryo is called the zona pellucida. This is basically like a shell on an egg. Through time, embryologists have learned that frozen embryos have a tougher than normal zona pellucida. To help encourage embryos to hatch (a necessary step that must occur before the embryo can implant on the uterine wall), embryologist nowadays use a technique called "assisted hatching". See that notch in the zona pellucida of the embryo on the right? That's what the embryologist did to assist the embryo in its future attempt at hatching. Both embryos had this done (it's actually standard practice at our clinic on all frozen embryos). The left embryo had rotated since the assisted hatching was completed - the notch was there, we just couldn't see it.
You can just sort of make out an outer layer of cells, just inside the zona pellucida. If I remember correctly, this layer is the trophoblast and will become the placenta.
The embryo on the right is a little clearer to see due, perhaps, to its short headstart from thawing first. At any rate, you'll notice inside the outer rings are two masses, one a cell mass in the left center, and the other a clearer area in the right center. The cell mass is what will grow into the baby and is called the "embryoblast". I didn't think to ask what the clearer section becomes but it is called the "blastocoel".
Here's an color picture I found online that labels the blast components (this embryo is further along developmentally than Dash and Violet as pictured above).
You want to know something truly amazing? The embryos had both noticeably grown in the short time since the first picture was taken. I don't know exactly how much time had lapsed between the first picture and the transfer itself, but it could not have been more than a few hours. And both embryos had visibly grown - it was incredible!
The blastocoel (the clearer inner mass) had grown considerably on both embryos. One embryo was more than two thirds filled with blastocoel, the other about half filled. And, one embryo was already hatching, almost like the random internet picture below. The embryo was just starting to hatch, though not near as far along as the one pictured below.
I didn't really notice the moods of the crowd in the OR (and there was a crowd: techs, doctor, intern, embryologist, plus me and Bryan). But Bryan said everyone seemed very upbeat and encouraging about Dash and Violet and their growth.
Our clinic had recently changed their post-transfer procedures, so we didn't have to rest for any requisite amount of time. Just transfer, bathroom (as procedure is done with a full bladder you cannot underestimate the necessity of this step), change back into civilian clothes, and then we were released.
We then had some of the best burgers in our life at Hopdoddy's. I had the Greek burger and it was AMAZING. Perhaps I was still on a bit of a valium high and riding the good vibes from the transfer, but that was one good lunch.
We then wandered a unique toy store (Terra Toys, if you're ever in the area) and then headed back home.
I slept wonderfully last night and my nervous energy is mostly gone today. This is due in part to the encouraging-looking embryos but most of all due to your prayers. I am so very thankful for the family, friends, and even relative strangers offering up a few words on our behalf.
I do not know what the future will bring. However, I know that today I am pregnant. Today, I have both Dash and Violet on board. I am choosing to live in the moment and embrace it. And pray without ceasing.
Monday, September 8, 2014
Thoughts Before the Transfer
I've done a good job keeping my mind busy and not over analyzing all the transfer possible outcomes. Until last night, during my shower. I felt my spirits plummet as I started down the black hole of "what if's".
I wallowed for a few minutes, hopelessness creeping in.
And then I decided if I have to go to an extreme, I will choose the other extreme. The one of faith and hope.
I am clinging to these beliefs for dear life, attempting desperately to banish those dark, heavy thoughts.
If I believe in a God who can move mountains, then I will choose to believe that He could even turn two into three and grant us triplets if He so desired.
The important thing is not really the exact words I'm saying but the acts of faith and hope that I am deliberately choosing to utter.
God, I believe.
I trust.
I hope.
I wallowed for a few minutes, hopelessness creeping in.
And then I decided if I have to go to an extreme, I will choose the other extreme. The one of faith and hope.
I am clinging to these beliefs for dear life, attempting desperately to banish those dark, heavy thoughts.
If I believe in a God who can move mountains, then I will choose to believe that He could even turn two into three and grant us triplets if He so desired.
The important thing is not really the exact words I'm saying but the acts of faith and hope that I am deliberately choosing to utter.
God, I believe.
I trust.
I hope.
Thursday, September 4, 2014
Four Days
Four days until we meet our last waiting ones, our last snowflakes. For a while there, I kept telling people I was terrified of this final embryo transfer. And then, after some contemplation, I realized I'm not.
I am not terrified.
I am not exactly sure what I am. Resolute is the word that keeps coming to mind, but I've rechecked the dictionary and that word doesn't quite fit.
I have hope. Not excessive hope, I don't see things through rose colored lenses. But I do believe that these embryos will complete our family. For a while, until I get the adoption bug again.
I have courage. Sometimes it's hard to march back into the same situation, in this case the clinic, when the prior three times have not ended as desired. I am moving forward. And with a smile. It may be a teeny tiny little Mona Lisa smile, but by golly, I will smile and go forth with cheer.
I have respect. For the genetic parents who chose to give up their remaining embryos in hopes of fulfilling another couple's dreams. For the adoption agency, for believing these embryos are worthy of life. For Bryan, for walking down this road of hopes and dreams, again.
I have been busy and that's helped limit my daydreaming. Don't know if anyone else is like this, but whatever I daydream never comes to fulfillment. So for now, I limit myself to one of two scenarios. A negative. And a positive yielding triplets. Both situations are possible, though I'd like to think highly unlikely. And, honestly, after the length of this road, part of me (perhaps the less sane part) would welcome triplets. (The sane part would be hyperventilating into a pillow.) Statistically, since we're transferring two embryos, triplets are possible if one of the two embryos splits. Not altogether unheard of, but extremely rare.
A negative is a real possibility too. I recognize that. I don't want it, but I name it as a possibility. For the sake of transparency with myself, I have to admit that a negative could happen.
I guess in some small way maybe I am finally learning to put my hopes fully in God? With each of our last three transfers, I always had that back up plan - we can use the remaining set of embryos, or rematch. I still exerted some miniscule amount of control on the situation. But now, we're done. This is it and there's nothing I can do except pray and follow my drug protocol.
One startling aspect: my type-A brain might actually be more relaxed in totally relinquishing control to God.
"Dash" and "Violet", we'll meet you soon. Your first parents love you. We love you. See you Monday, little ones.
I am not terrified.
I am not exactly sure what I am. Resolute is the word that keeps coming to mind, but I've rechecked the dictionary and that word doesn't quite fit.
I have hope. Not excessive hope, I don't see things through rose colored lenses. But I do believe that these embryos will complete our family. For a while, until I get the adoption bug again.
I have courage. Sometimes it's hard to march back into the same situation, in this case the clinic, when the prior three times have not ended as desired. I am moving forward. And with a smile. It may be a teeny tiny little Mona Lisa smile, but by golly, I will smile and go forth with cheer.
I have respect. For the genetic parents who chose to give up their remaining embryos in hopes of fulfilling another couple's dreams. For the adoption agency, for believing these embryos are worthy of life. For Bryan, for walking down this road of hopes and dreams, again.
I have been busy and that's helped limit my daydreaming. Don't know if anyone else is like this, but whatever I daydream never comes to fulfillment. So for now, I limit myself to one of two scenarios. A negative. And a positive yielding triplets. Both situations are possible, though I'd like to think highly unlikely. And, honestly, after the length of this road, part of me (perhaps the less sane part) would welcome triplets. (The sane part would be hyperventilating into a pillow.) Statistically, since we're transferring two embryos, triplets are possible if one of the two embryos splits. Not altogether unheard of, but extremely rare.
A negative is a real possibility too. I recognize that. I don't want it, but I name it as a possibility. For the sake of transparency with myself, I have to admit that a negative could happen.
I guess in some small way maybe I am finally learning to put my hopes fully in God? With each of our last three transfers, I always had that back up plan - we can use the remaining set of embryos, or rematch. I still exerted some miniscule amount of control on the situation. But now, we're done. This is it and there's nothing I can do except pray and follow my drug protocol.
One startling aspect: my type-A brain might actually be more relaxed in totally relinquishing control to God.
"Dash" and "Violet", we'll meet you soon. Your first parents love you. We love you. See you Monday, little ones.
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
It's Go Time
You know how sometimes time zips past and other times you seem to be aware of the passing of each and every second?
Much of the summer was the second scenario. And now that we're in the transfer cycle, I feel like every time I blink, a day or more has passed.
I have lots of little house/school projects that I have more or less postponed until now. And we took our trip to San Antonio last week. And Moms Group is starting back up at church. And I'm toying with the idea of teaching a prek/k science class. And I'm the leader of the family readiness group for Bryan's work. And there's this thing called homeschooling...
In a three week period, we will have driven round trip to San Antonio once, Round Rock once, Austin three times, and Houston once. Many people wouldn't blink an eye at that. But I'm a homebody. That much driving kind of makes me twitch a bit.
My baseline ultrasound was yesterday (just a status check on the state of my ovaries and uterine lining among other things). Everything looks good. Dr. H. thinks these embryos look very promising. I know she's trying to reassure me, to offer me some hope. It's been a long road with her. Can you believe we're now experiencing our FIFTH cycle prep with this clinic? One cycle, last November, ended up cancelled, but still...
Assuming next Tuesday's lining check and progesterone labs are good, our transfer will be Monday, September 8.
I want to feel hope. I do daydream from time to time about being pregnant again. But this time I am guarded.
Cora and Mac are accompanying me on this journey once again. Cora pretends to take her medicine at each meal, just like I do with my estradiol doses. Apparently she is going to have two babies, a boy and a girl. She is undecided on the names as of yet. And Mac takes his "reminder" role very seriously. "Momma, don't forget to take your pills!"
Cora and Mac each assure me that they will be a good big sister and a good big brother. And they will, I know it, whenever that day comes.
I wish I could tell them with some sort of certainty when that day will come. When they can greet new siblings in person. I have no idea. God willing, late May. Right now, this whole embryo adoption process is sort of a fantasy to them. Momma takes medicine, goes to the doctor several times, and then we end up with more babies in Heaven. That's our status quo thus far. And I pray that it will change. Short term. I still want all my children, present and future to end up in Heaven. Just hopefully after a lengthy time here with us.
Jesus, I trust in You.
Jesus, I trust in You.
Much of the summer was the second scenario. And now that we're in the transfer cycle, I feel like every time I blink, a day or more has passed.
I have lots of little house/school projects that I have more or less postponed until now. And we took our trip to San Antonio last week. And Moms Group is starting back up at church. And I'm toying with the idea of teaching a prek/k science class. And I'm the leader of the family readiness group for Bryan's work. And there's this thing called homeschooling...
In a three week period, we will have driven round trip to San Antonio once, Round Rock once, Austin three times, and Houston once. Many people wouldn't blink an eye at that. But I'm a homebody. That much driving kind of makes me twitch a bit.
My baseline ultrasound was yesterday (just a status check on the state of my ovaries and uterine lining among other things). Everything looks good. Dr. H. thinks these embryos look very promising. I know she's trying to reassure me, to offer me some hope. It's been a long road with her. Can you believe we're now experiencing our FIFTH cycle prep with this clinic? One cycle, last November, ended up cancelled, but still...
Assuming next Tuesday's lining check and progesterone labs are good, our transfer will be Monday, September 8.
I want to feel hope. I do daydream from time to time about being pregnant again. But this time I am guarded.
Cora and Mac are accompanying me on this journey once again. Cora pretends to take her medicine at each meal, just like I do with my estradiol doses. Apparently she is going to have two babies, a boy and a girl. She is undecided on the names as of yet. And Mac takes his "reminder" role very seriously. "Momma, don't forget to take your pills!"
Cora and Mac each assure me that they will be a good big sister and a good big brother. And they will, I know it, whenever that day comes.
I wish I could tell them with some sort of certainty when that day will come. When they can greet new siblings in person. I have no idea. God willing, late May. Right now, this whole embryo adoption process is sort of a fantasy to them. Momma takes medicine, goes to the doctor several times, and then we end up with more babies in Heaven. That's our status quo thus far. And I pray that it will change. Short term. I still want all my children, present and future to end up in Heaven. Just hopefully after a lengthy time here with us.
Jesus, I trust in You.
Jesus, I trust in You.
Friday, August 15, 2014
7 Quick Takes: Prayer Requests
I thought originally I had seven prayer requests. I'm sure I have more than seven, but some are more personal intentions while others are ongoing prayers. In the end, I only am putting into words the six more time sensitive prayer requests.
1. My best friend's sister-in-law is slightly younger than me and has three darling children. And has had anything but a restful summer given her recent breast cancer diagnosis. Erin had a lumpectomy Wednesday and, while the cancer hadn't spread, she is at a high risk for it returning. She'll be starting chemo and radiation soon. Please lift up Erin and her family as they negotiate these difficult trials. St. Peregrine, pray for Erin and her family.
2. There is a blogging family I've followed for years, Joy Beyond the Cross, well, stalked may be more like it since I'm terrible about commenting on others' blogs. I digress. Her newborn daughter Katharine Therese, started having cyanotic episodes one day after birth. And the medical professionals have no idea what's going on yet. Yet, that's the key word here. Please hold the B. family dear as they struggle to find answers. Sts. Jude and Colette, pray for baby Katharine and her family.
3. I am a member of a rapidly growing Embryo Adoption/Donation facebook group. Two of the women I've gotten to know a little bit are living both their dreams and their nightmares at the same time. Both women have grown their respective families first through infant adoption and now they're experiencing a second dream - pregnancy through embryo adoption. Unfortunately, both women are facing scary diagnoses. A. has recently learned that her male twin is missing a hand and one bone in his forearm, possibly due to a uterine band defect. Since the exact cause is not yet known, the doctors have not ruled out the possibility of further disabilities. K. has recently learned that one of her female twins likely has Trisomy 18, a condition that is not compatible with life. Please lift these ladies and their families in prayer, as they shoulder new burdens and shower love upon the little lives they are growing. Sts. Gerard, Jude, and Colette, pray for these families.
4. My mom is a bit of a connundrum for her doctor. She is in exceptional health for her age. Except for the recently discovered 2.5 cm hole in her heart. Apparently it's so unusual for an adult to have a hole in their heart that her cardiologist is using her file with his cardiology students. Right now, the plans are to close the hole through a cardiac cath next week (I don't know the exact date yet). Please pray for my mom that the upcoming procedure be a success. St. John of God, pray for my mom (and my dad, as he may be a nervous wreck).
5. Cora and Mac have named our two remaining embryos "Dash" and "Violet". However, the twins have informed me that "Dash" and "Violet" will not be born with any super skills as babies can't do those things yet. I pray that "Dash" and "Violet" will indeed be born and we will see them in this world. Sts. Gianna and Padre Pio, please hold close these little ones and encourage them to grow when the time is right.
6. Me. I've worked hard to try to cultivate hope for our upcoming final embryo transfer. But, it is hard. I alternate between estimating transfer dates/subsequent due dates and then imagining giving all our baby items away if this transfer is once more unsuccessful. I told a friend recently that I've downgraded myself from a "when" to an "if" (when we get pregnant vs if we get pregnant). I don't view myself as a pessimist, but there is, unsurprisingly, some amount of self-preservation present. I may have said this before on here, but my motto lately has been to "find joy in the present and hope in the future". Some days are way harder than others. St. Rita, pray for us.
Saint explanations (All prayers help, but some Saints have a special place in their own hearts for particular intercessions):
St. Peregrine - patron saint of cancer patients
Sts. Jude and Colette - patron saints of sick babies
St. Gerard - patron saint of expectant mothers
St. John of God - patron saint of heart patients
Sts. Gianna and Padre Pio - patron saints of the unborn
St. Rita - patron saint of those struggling with infertility
Tuesday, August 5, 2014
Kid Funnies
The kids have been trying my patience enormously lately, so I thought it'd be a good idea for me to remember their charming moments. Good theory, right?
1. We came home from the grocery store one morning and Mac really wanted to play out front. Much to his dismay, I told him no, that I had to put the groceries up and couldn't watch him in the front yard. Cora then placed her hand on my arm and looked me in the eyes, "Don't worry, Momma, I can watch him for you!" Apparently that forty minutes headstart she has over her brother makes her infinitely older.
2. The kids invent words; I'm sure that's very normal. Mac often takes being a wordsmith to an extreme though, making up a word and thoroughly embedding it into his vocabulary. The past two weeks he's been using "ferociouness". It sounds like ferociousness but without the 's' at the end of the ferocious part. I asked one time if he meant ferociousness and was corrected abruptly. It means precisely whatever he wants it to, which is not ferociousness.
3. I've had a lot of talks with Cora about listening to her body. Your body will tell you when you need to go potty - don't ignore it! Similarly, your body will tell you when you need air when swimming under water - don't ignore it! (Explanation on the latter: she's highly competetive and challenges herself to underwater swimming contests; these don't always end well.) I walked into her room the other day and saw clean clothes strewn about. "Cora, why are your clothes everywhere?!" "I listened to my body and it said "NO" to these clothes."
4. Mac was holding a one dollar bill. "That's George Washington. He's our first President." And I smiled, surprised by his keen sense about money. And then Mac continued, "He went to the pyramid and came back with money." And my smile was swallowed by chuckles and a brief correction. Only very brief because I have no idea why the pyramid is there! Anyone care to educate me, to save me the time researching it later?
5. There are inherent differences between boys and girls. Raising boy/girl twins really allows a parent to see this since both children have equal exposure to toys (we don't enforce any gender particular rules when it comes to toys). That being said, Mac makes weapons out of things and Cora does not. We have a decent collection of lego duplos. Cora lately has been marrying off Cinderella to each male lego figure. Mac, instead, made "funeral spray". The spray, apparently, has a fairly obvious use: "you spray someone and they turn dead."
1. We came home from the grocery store one morning and Mac really wanted to play out front. Much to his dismay, I told him no, that I had to put the groceries up and couldn't watch him in the front yard. Cora then placed her hand on my arm and looked me in the eyes, "Don't worry, Momma, I can watch him for you!" Apparently that forty minutes headstart she has over her brother makes her infinitely older.
2. The kids invent words; I'm sure that's very normal. Mac often takes being a wordsmith to an extreme though, making up a word and thoroughly embedding it into his vocabulary. The past two weeks he's been using "ferociouness". It sounds like ferociousness but without the 's' at the end of the ferocious part. I asked one time if he meant ferociousness and was corrected abruptly. It means precisely whatever he wants it to, which is not ferociousness.
3. I've had a lot of talks with Cora about listening to her body. Your body will tell you when you need to go potty - don't ignore it! Similarly, your body will tell you when you need air when swimming under water - don't ignore it! (Explanation on the latter: she's highly competetive and challenges herself to underwater swimming contests; these don't always end well.) I walked into her room the other day and saw clean clothes strewn about. "Cora, why are your clothes everywhere?!" "I listened to my body and it said "NO" to these clothes."
4. Mac was holding a one dollar bill. "That's George Washington. He's our first President." And I smiled, surprised by his keen sense about money. And then Mac continued, "He went to the pyramid and came back with money." And my smile was swallowed by chuckles and a brief correction. Only very brief because I have no idea why the pyramid is there! Anyone care to educate me, to save me the time researching it later?
5. There are inherent differences between boys and girls. Raising boy/girl twins really allows a parent to see this since both children have equal exposure to toys (we don't enforce any gender particular rules when it comes to toys). That being said, Mac makes weapons out of things and Cora does not. We have a decent collection of lego duplos. Cora lately has been marrying off Cinderella to each male lego figure. Mac, instead, made "funeral spray". The spray, apparently, has a fairly obvious use: "you spray someone and they turn dead."
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