Salbutamol Redux

The first time either child was exposed to Ventolin or Salbutamol was when they were about 28 weeks in utereo and their combined weight was tricking my body into thinking that I was just about carrying ONE full term baby and it had better get ready to kick the baby out by practising contractions. The problem was that 28 weeks, they were no where near ready to leave the safe confines of my uterus. So, to stop the contractions my lovely doctor put me on Salbutamol. It was meant to reduce the contractions and it did for a while before the contractions got too strong for it to handle and I had to get that dosage upped and add to that nifedipine which is basically hypertension medication.

We seemed to have come full circle. Sunday's fever for Evan has developed into a cough. Not any ol' cough but one that has affected the lungs and has chosen to see fit the lungs as a perfect storage place for mucous. It's called bronchiolitis. It affects the tiny airways in the lungs. And on an 11 month old, the tiny airways are even tinier and even more prone to congestion. Thankfully we were not sent home with a whole host of medication. We were just sent home with Salbutamol, this time, not to reduce contractions or prevent pre-term labour but for what it is usually used for, to open up airways.

My little son may be predisposed to respiratory ailments because a) he is a boy and boys are apparently more susceptible and b) because his father before him has a history of such ailments. Of course, his grandmother, upon hearing about his phlegm-buoyant condition suggested that the best way to solve the situation was to teach my 11 month old to be bulimic. Stick a finger down the throat to trigger the gag reflex that will then bring up the phlegm therefore working like an expectorant and not needing medication. Of course forgetting that gagging usually causes a shock to the system, acid into the mouth, tears in the eyes and on an 11 month old, loud screams to follow. And without the guarantee that it will bring up said phlegm.

I know she means well but under no circumstance is anyone sticking a finger down any child's throat. I'm hoping that I don't have to contend with eating disorders just yet, if ever.

Anyway, there is the possibility of hospitalisation which scares me to no end. We're considering rescheduling our flights and arrangements because I think it will absolutely push me off the edge if he does get hospitalised and I'm not around to be with him. But at the same time, I've been assured by both doctors in the family that hospitals see it as their responsibility to give you the most doom and gloom and ominous prognosis just to make sure they've covered their asses. Well, cover their ass they do at the expense of my emotional and mental well-being.

Plus on top of that, cuddling and comforting Evan and allowing him to nuzzle and kiss (read:slobber) me has caused me to feel like I'm going to come down with something too, even though I'm certain my bronchials are sizeably larger than his are.

Postscript: I think Jordan's got it too. She's hacking in her sleep. Just my luck. That's the other thing about having twins. When one falls ill, the other is bound to follow suit regardless of precautionary measures taken.

Technorati Tags: babies, salbutamol

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Losing my mind

I've been waiting, most exhaustedly for this weekend because it heralds the beginning of a month long break for Packrat and myself. We've been told by various people that we look like crap and I tend to agree with them. Well, we feel like crap.

But our dreams of sleeping in and doing fun things with the kids were thwarted last evening when I felt Evan's head and it was unusually hot. And his eyes were bright and lips red like he'd gotten into my make up and eaten some of my cherry lip balm or something. So we took him to bed with us and that was the beginning of the night that never ended. Despite the panadol, that the boy loves for its thick, cold sweetness, the fever would not break. Through the night, he alternated from being wide awake and giggling and wanting to play to being semi conscious and moaning and fussing. His body must have hurt because when I moved him, even so slightly to make space for myself on the bed we were all sharing, he would cry.

By 5 this morning, I was getting slightly hysterical because not only did the fever not break through the night after 2 doses of the pink stuff, it was heading headlong towards the 39 degree mark. By 7, I'd decided we were taking him to the first available doctor we could find. By 7.15, I'd decided I wasn't waiting till 10 am when my paediatrician would start seeing patients so, I marched Packrat into the shower so that he could take us to the paeds Emergency. There, we were isolated till we were seen, to prevent anyone else from catching HFMD or SARS or whatever other frightening acronymn there was out there. The wait wasn't all that bad although Evan didn't like being carried by the nurse, popped onto the gurney, have this mouth and throat checked or a bag stuck between his legs. To rule out UTI, my son got stripped of his diapers and a bag with double sided tape was stuck round his crotch, to catch whatever pee would dribble out of him. It is an extremely challenging task trying to keep an 11 month old from trying to yank it off just because it was there and dangling, asking to be yanked off. The minute we collected 20 ml of pee, I yanked the thing off and with the other hand, beeped the nurse to take it away before he had the chance to try and take it away from me and spill pee all over the bed and have us repeat the entire procedure again.

The diagnosis, viral fever. A higher dosage of panadol and lots of fluids.

We've spent the whole day trying to manage his temperature. It seems to only subside an hour or 2 after he takes the panadol and doesn't last all that long. Even though I seemed to feel totally rational and calm while tending to his needs, I was also extremely aware of the neurotic, wild eyed mother that was growing and ready to burst out forth and consume me.

I'd told Packrat in the car on the way home that I could never get used to this. This being the kids falling ill and me being cool cucumber Jo about it. I was terrified that it would get worse, I was terrified that Jordan would get it from him and of course, deep down inside, I was terrified that I might lose him. What my friend in Sydney said, when her son got sick recently, came to mind- that she would have willingly taken what he was feeling and borne it herself than to watch him go through it. I would have and I would have taken a second load if it guaranteed that Baby J would be spared.

To make matters worse, I have to leave them on Wednesday and be away for 10 days. These are plans that cannot be changed but once again, neurotic and occasionally superstitious me is wondering if it is a sign that this trip is a bad idea. I've been assured that he should be on the mend by then but I still feel a mixture of guilt, paranoia, anxiety and pain every time I think about being away from the both of them during this time.

At the same time, a somewhat surreal revelation that occurs to me while all these inner histrionics are going on is that mothers have an amazing ability to worry about everything and worrying themselves silly doesn't even begin to cover it. I've been told that one of my strengths is that I have a remarkably creative imagination. The problem is that it is my downfall here. With my extremely creative imagination, I can conjure up the scariest of scenarios to scare myself silly.

Packrat has been very zen and rock like for me. When I remarked somewhat accusingly that he was so zen while I was fluttering around, he said that he had to be zen because I was driving myself to the edge of insanity all by myself and didn't need him to add to it. On top of that, the numerous people who see it as my obligation and fully expect me to cancel the trip on account of Evan being ill and judge me for having not yet cancelled my trip.

It's almost as if my inner demons are not enough for me to contend with, I have to contend with other people making judgement on my decisions when I know these are the decisions I'm making to the best of my ability and situation rather than me not prioritising my children. This gives rise to more anxiety, more anger, more emotional outbursts that are unnecessary. Packrat's solution is for me to ignore these people and to NOT talk to them but I'm far too polite to do it and end up making myself more upset.

This incessant need of mine to do what is right by EVERYONE is what will be the death of me. I cannot please or serve so many masters and everyone wants me to live by their expectations, I forget my own needs and forget sometimes that all I should do is to make decisions that will benefit my family and myself. For now, barring the fact that Evan gets worse or Jordan falls sick, it is to leave them in the capable hands of the help and their grandparents because we do look and feel like crap and surviving on 2-4 hours of sleep per night for the last couple of weeks will be the death of me if the judgey friends that I have aren't.

So, I will just pray that Evan gets better and that Baby J withstands the bugs flying around and that they will not forget us while we are gone and selfishly, for me, forget how to breastfeed but that's another post for another time when I'm not so angsty.

Technorati Tags: babies, viral fevers

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11 month old newborn

I haven't blogged for a while. Primarily because I've been exhausted. More exhausted than usual? Yes. How can that be? It's totally possible, what with the rising crescendo of work and one very finicky 11 month old. The 11 month old in question is Baby J. Those that have been reading the blog will know that she has feeding issues. I can't say an 11 month old has eating disorders, but I think she's as close as they come. On a regular day, it's an uphill battle to convince and coax her to drink half of what she is supposed to be drinking.

Add to that, the girl is teething. So gums, painful. As a result, she will allow no rubber teats near her sore gums and in the day, she's far too interested in playing than to take the boob. That means she gets most of her feeds at night, direct. I'm happy to accede to her needs for milk at night but it gets a little bit ridiculous when she's wanting milk every hour. It's not a comfort thing because she does take long drinks each time. The outcome for me is nipples as sore as they were when I first started breastfeeding and an extreme lack of sleep. Even with a newborn, whose needs are comparatively less complicated, being up feeding through the night can drive a mother to a distracted hallucinatory state. What more a mother of 11 months who has a job that requires her to speak coherently first thing in the morning?

It's been like that for the past few nights and my head really felt like it was going to blow yesterday. Every time I found myself close to 'idling' my eyes would shut. I came home, napped a little bit while Evan was napping in my room and then was semi conscious till their bedtime where I subsequently gave up fighting as I tried to coo Evan to sleep. I slept for a glorious 4 hours before waking up to relieve slightly engorged boobs and crawled back into bed as soon as I could.

Now, I am human enough to feel like I've been run over by a truck and the end in sight being a 10 day sojourn from the babies next week. I'm looking forward to the sleep and the weather but the bit about leaving the kids behind, not so much. I have irrational fears about that. All of which have to do with how the kids will forget me and discover they don't need me any more. As it is, Evan has decided he no longer likes the boob and doesn't require my services in that area. I worry that Baby J will go the same way and even though it would mean no more hourly night feeds, I don't want that to happen. Just call me crazy but I'm entitled to be. I'm a mommy.


Technorati Tags: babies, weaning, teething

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Happy Mothers' Day

I could blog about how wonderful it is to be a mother and be all gushy and gooey eyed about it being my first Mothers' Day. But I'll leave that to family service advertorials, Hallmark cards, deluded parents or parents who have kids old enough to give them a little bit of a break. I shall blog about the reality that was today.

I have had no illusions about Mothers' Day. Perhaps, it would have been nice to be thanked and appreciated for the few hours of sleep that I put in, weight I've put on, six pack abs I've given up but that would be far too calculative. Plus, my kids are kinda young to understand that their Mommy needs to be loved too. As a child, I grew up in a family that didn't put all that big a premium on Mothers' Day. I think it was only when we were older that we started making a bigger deal about it, much to the chagrin of my cantankerous father.

So in a way, I didn't expect much. And I didn't think the kids would let me off all that easily just because it was a commercially declared day of celebration for mothers all over the world. And they didn't. It also didn't help that my all indispensable Aunty Daisy was off today and I'm still wrestling with stitches and add to that a headache that won't go away. The kids don't mean it but at the end of the day, I'm still wiped from having tried and failed to get Baby J to sleep, not once but twice (even though the second was a half hearted attempt while we wanted for Aunty D to finish cleaning up)and feeling a little bit blue. Baby J also doesn't let me forget that mothering is very obviously NOT a Hallmark card moment because she never fails to make me work for every ounce of her affection. The sun in my world rises when she smiles and stretches out for me and no matter how much I try not to take it personally, my heart quivers and sheds a tear for every time she turns away or struggles out of my hold for someone else to carry her and make her feel better. I constantly feel that I need to work harder to be at the top of her pecking order but it's not fair when I devote all my attention to her because she does have a very sweet and less demanding younger brother whom I love dearly as well. Evan's pecking order is pretty horizontal. Anyone can pretty much do the job with him and he's happy to flash his million watt grin at you.
But even then, chasing him, keeping up with him, bringing the both of them to the playground, feeding them both lunch and dinner and countless changes of clothes (it is THAT hot) and the diapering has left me drooping badly and stealing seconds to doze in the car on the way home from Grandma's.

It's led me to feel very dazed and not at all celebrated and not all that special. Between cleaning up puke, being shoved away a multitude of times and having dried pee, spit, porridge and whatever else on my clothes, I ask myself, what of this is worth celebrating? The fact that my children love me? Heck, I'm not even sure about that one.

Anyway, it's felt like any other Sunday or perhaps, that little bit worse because of all the hype that I, the romantic softy at heart and wish for, end up buying in to despite the brave, indifferent exterior.

Technorati Tags: babies, Mothers' Day

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Turning up the temperature of the hothouse

Singaporean parents are the most kiasu parents in the world.

Ok, that's a statement I have no statistical data to support. I just know it. Deep in my gut. It goes against all my training in empirical research. But I stand by it and I vouch for it. All great methods of proving a hypothesis, I know but well...

How do I know this?

Example 1.
I've had to enrol my children in kindergarten/ nursery even though they are still pre-verbal. The wait list is about 6 classes long so I'm guessing it's close to impossible to get them in. And I've had to put them on the wait list and pay 100 bucks just for that glimmer of hope that 66 kids drop out of the morning session and 34 kids out of the afternoon session. I want to put them in that kinder, not so much because it was featured in the papers and everyone wants to go there, because it's a good Christian kindergarten, it's nearby enough, the fees aren't exorbitant and they've got great grounds. I wouldn't have thought to ring them and enquire if I wasn't told of the sheer impossibility of getting them into nursery. There's no way this could be logical. I thought it only happened in the US, in NY city where a child is judged by which school he's enrolled in and where the kindergartens hold interviews for the newly- verbal, possibly not even toilet-trained child.

Packrat drew the line at putting them on this kinder's wait list. He said we weren't to be crazy parents that put our kids on the wait list everywhere in the area. I agreed. We'd be broke just paying the registration/application fee. And there wasn't a discount for twins.

Example 2

This morning I was at McDonalds, but of course. It was a rather nice one. It was open air, when you looked out, there's greenery all around. Peaceful. I liked it. What spoilt it for me was this mother sitting in front of me with her child. I think the child was about 5. He was quite happy eating his hotcakes. Everytime I'm at Macs in the morning, I'm always overcome by this need to bring my kids for breakfast there. Not because I want to feed them the type of junk they can produce, but because of what it can potentially represent- alone time with mommy and possibly daddy, just playing and enjoying being out. Unfortunately, this boy wasn't getting that treat. With every bite of the hotcake, he had to respond to flashcards his mother was flashing at him.
And with the drink of his Milo, he got a lesson, a formal lesson, about how water condenses from water droplets onto the outside of his cup. The straw that broke this Mommy's back was when she whipped out some building blocks and got him working on it. I think she had some idea of what she wanted him to build because everytime he tried to join the blocks or stack it in a manner that he wanted them, she stopped and corrected him, trying to teach him to do it some other way. Needless to say, the boy got extremely frustrated. He would fuss and thrash his legs because he didn't know what to do. I came close to going up to her and telling her to stop stressing him out when she grabbed his face, angled it towards her and told him "don't scream, just ask for help". Yes, rational advice, but one to be given to a boy who was obviously upset? I think not. She eventually dragged him off. Probably to Popular, to buy him assessment books.

It irked me no end. I mean, it was breakfast for crying out loud. If she was going to take him to McDonald's as a treat, it should have remained that way, a treat. Fun. Not a working treat. Just like a working holiday is NOT a holiday, neither is a working treat a treat. This mother probably felt that she had to compensate for not spending enough time with him and also not intellectually stimulating him enough. So in order to indulge him and to assuage her own guilt, she brought him out for breakfast. But there was also the need to catch up so that he didn't lose -out because she hadn't time, so multi-task. Breakfast, flashcards, science and a lesson on creativity.

I'd like the twins to be bright and smart and I know a lot of it has got to do with opportunities and experiences but surely there'e a better way of doing it than to do it over breakfast.





Technorati Tags: babies, hothousing, raising children in Singapore

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Playtime

After the twins' nap every afternoon, they have a spot of tea and play however they want to. I believe it's called unstructured play time at the play schools but when you call any particular period of time unstructured, it then becomes structured.

Anyway, they play. Essentially, everything becomes a toy to them. The mail gets devoured and furniture becomes part of their jungle gym. Most days, I'm at work so I don't get to see them up to their high jinks but in the last 2 weeks, I've been home a lot more and have been tickled silly by what they get themselves up to.

I've attested to their monkey nature before but now, there's an added dimension to it. The twins have
a) Discovered the ability of doing things under their own steam. Jordan can stand on her own and has taken wobbly drunken sailor steps of her own.
b) Discovered they can bend at their wrists and flick stuff. So, put the 2 of them in a tub filled with balls, it inadvertently becomes babies in the tub, balls all around the tub. No balls in the tub.
c) Discovered that they can breech the walls of the tub quite easily. Once there are no more balls to throw, there's no more point staying in the tub, so it's time to escape to the grass where all the balls are.
d) Discovered one another. I mean, I think they always knew one another existed I think but now they've discovered that they can be partners in crime as well as they are one another's play thing.

After looking at this latest lot of pictures, I was thinking, if my helpers and I had inordinate amounts of energy, patience and time in the day after they've gone to sleep to get on with what we need to do, we really didn't need to send them to playschool. I've been calling play schools up, finding out about programmes. And there is a certain amount of pride that they have when they rattle off about unstructured play time, water play, imagined play, outdoor play and tea times.

The kids do all that at home. And they have loads of fun. If only I could fill up on Beroca the way a car fills up on petrol or that I was the Duracell bunny that could go on and on and on.



















Play in the ball pen. Till there are no more balls, at least.

Jungle gym or trying to be a gymnast on the parallel at least. And playing together, fighting for space and attention. Evan hasn't figured out that he's larger than Jordan. When he does, he will realise that Big sister or not, he can elbow her out of the way.

























And they get to play with their buggies. They complement one another here. Jordan likes to be pushed around, like the little Baby Dowager that she is and Evan just likes pushing things, so it works fine. They're not both fighting to push the buggy or to sit on it. And when they're bored, they just swop over.


















Water play- all that is needed is a big bath tub, some bubbles and some toys and we're good to go. The problem was getting them out after even when their fingers and toys were wrinkled like prunes.




















I am a Lion, hear me roar. Or is it a Tiger. Or... Who cares? Roar. My son, into Method acting.



















And also able to squelch up his face. He actually really really really likes his yogurt. I don't know why I managed to catch him looking like I was feeding him the most foul and vile of foods, which in his father's opinion, would be bittergourd and yam blended together.



















So, like I say, if we had enough energy, I think they're getting all they need at home. And there really isn't a need to hothouse them. More on this another time. For now, I have two impatient munchkins waiting to be taken to Mama's where they can play, some more.

Technorati Tags: babies, playtime

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Becoming Lorelai

One of my favourite television shows till they ruined it for me was Gilmore Girls. I loved it for many reasons. One main reason was Lorelai Gilmore.

1. I learnt about Kate Spade from the show.
2. She sure had quirky clothes, that were either too bo-ho or too glam for me to carry off.
3. She went everywhere in boots or stilettos.
4. She spoke really fast and went off tangent most of the time. I loved her ability to do the stream of consciousness talking but make sense in another dimension.
5. And most importantly, she was a cool mom.

She and Rory had a great relationship. They were friends, they talked, they shared clothes and did silly things. Basically, everything a real mother-daughter relationship lacks, they shared. When I knew I was having a girl, secretly I hoped, despite my Asian hang ups and having been brought up in an extremely patriarchal, authoritative family, that I would be able to share that sort of relationship with her.

When Packrat heard about it, he laughed and told me it was impossible. Like Hollywood romances, Hollywood mother-daughter relationships are a myth. I think I was complaining that Jordan wanted her Grandpa to carry her instead of me and I was trying not to feel slighted about it. My eternally patient Packrat rationalised that she does the same with me when I carry her, holding on to me with a koala grip and having to be peeled off. I petulantly demand that I wanted to be at the top of her pecking order. I know I can't force it. Neither can I force that my children will tell us everything when they are older.

This was where we started talking about what we wanted our relationships with our kids to be like. Idealistically speaking, I want them to be able to come to us when they're in trouble. Packrat thinks that we should be resigned to the fact that we never told our parents everything and we shouldn't expect the same of our kids. That we always had friends to go to or siblings to confide in. And even then, we never told our siblings everything either. This was the point where I began to get suitably antsy. Now, knowing how much paranoia and anxiety a mother can go through, I feel the irrational need to know everything that will happen in the lives of my children. Of course, these are concerns that won't matter for a long time yet, but building that relationship of trust has to begin now otherwise, the poor child like the children I see ferried to school everyday will sit in silence and wait to be released from the car into the welcoming arms of his or her friends. Or the parent that comes to school to talk to the teachers about his child but has absolutely no clue what class the child is in or what subjects the child does in school.

I know what I don't want. I know what I want. A lot of what I want is impossible but I guess the point is to try even though that needs to be tempered. I don't want to bend the direction of the paranoid mom who shelters her kids to the point that they live in a bubble and don't know how to tie their shoelaces. But at the same time, I don't want to give the kids so much autonomy that they'd rather turn to their friends than to us.

We don't have very good role models ourselves. Ours was the generation where parents were disciplinarians more than anything else. And I remember being annoyed with my mom so much of the time. I think I need to figure out why I was annoyed with her so that I can try my darndest not to be like her but at the same time, figure out how to do this parenting business.

If only I could be Lorelai and things were that straightforward. But it is the real world out here so the lessons are harder to figure out.


Technorati Tags: babies, Gilmore Girls, Mother-daughter relationships

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Child cruelty

This has got to be illegal in some way or other. It's the modern day equivalent of

Rock a bye baby on the treetop
when the wind blows,
the cradle will rock.
when the bough breaks,
the cradle will fall
and down will come baby,
cradle and all.

But worse! It isn't even a trampoline at the bottom catching the poor bouncing baby. And how sure is the thrower that he won't miss?

Goodness. Almost stopped my heart. Although it did not stop me from shrieking.

Technorati Tags: India, Baby dropping

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Growing Up Baby Part 2

Evan may be two minutes younger than Jordan but he's overtaken her in terms of size and physical abilities. He eats and drinks more than she does. He seems to be an easier baby to handle because he has an easy laugh, a ready grin and a quick sense of humour. Much like his father.

And he is a boy in every way. He loves trucks, anything with wheels. He loves balls. He even watches golf with his grandfather and his eyes are riveted on where that tiny white ball lands. Packrat harbours great hope that he will take a liking to basketball. I harbour the hope that he will take a liking to rugby but that's just because ther are rugby traditions in my family. He is also a climber and loves getting up to monkey business.

In fact, both of them are little monkeys, climbing rails that could pose great danger to them and swinging on them as if they belonged in the primate kingdom of the zoo. I'm beginning to think that they would benefit greatly from Gymboree because it's an environment where they can bounce around and jump around and I will not have to fear them falling and cracking their heads open. At the same time, I won't need to burst stitches, keeping them heaved up there because even though they won't admit it, their little arms are not strong enough to hold them up.
















































Look. All sweaty and messy. That's how they spend their afternoons. And that's how he likes it.

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Growing Up Baby Part 1

The twins are definitely growing up. Evan's Godpa just recently had his own baby and we went to visit little Grace and Mommy in hospital. When I looked at her, I couldn't quite believe that my two munchkins had been that tiny once upon a time. Especially when I look at them squirm around now.

Jordan, actually both of them, has taken to entertaining herself by playing fetch all on her own. Toss the toy, crawl over to it and toss it further. If we didn't worry about her slipping and banging her head on the hard marble, she could entertain herself for hours. I mourn the loss of their baby soft skin, especially round the knees. Her knees are perpetually black and red and the skin's become callused. Another sure sign that my baby is growing up.























She is also able to articulate herself and express herself emotionally. Falling backwards and banging her head on the ground, two days ago, she looked pointedly at every person in the room, in turn and cried and babbled the same cry, in the same tone with the same look. Asking for sympathy and fussing till she got it. That girl sure has developed the beginnings of feminine wiles.




























But at the same time, she's a toughie that will stand no nonsense. She shows herself to be the elder of the two. Strong willed, determined and non nonsense. Unlike her brother, she can't be coaxed to do something she doesn't want to do. Evan is more trusting, more easily distracted. In a sense, more easily fooled to do something he doesn't want to go. This little girl, there's no pulling wool over her eyes. She'll call you on it. And call you so loud, everyone in the neighbourhood would know that you were trying to fool her.





Technorati Tags: babies, siblings

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Here's looking at you babe

The one thing I hope to pass to my children is my mega watt "don't mess with me" look which is often translated into what is known affectionately known as the Ng look. Since the birth of the twins, everyone has remarked how much they look like Packrat's side of the family.

On an irrational level, I feel rather slighted. I mean, after all, I was only the one who contributed half of their DNA and I was the one who waddled around with them for 9 months in-utero. And the insinuation that follows is often because I'm a girl and my genes don't count cause me to want to kick people in the shins.



























We managed to take these photos over the weekend and it's allayed my insecurities a little bit. Only the Ng-ness in them could cause them to give such looks. The look that says, "I may be small, but don't mess with me. I will bite you with what teeth I have and all my gum". When it was shown to me, Packrat said rather disapprovingly, "oh no, they have that look" but my reaction was one of sheer joy. My children, finally displaying a trait that is me and only me. Hurrah!

Postscript- There is a Peranakan term for the way Jordan looks. It's called "Jer-ling". That's my little Nonya Anak.

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Mugshots

We've decided to try to take the twins away in June. To take them away means that we need to get passports for them. To get passports for them means that we need to take passport photos for them. To take passport photos for them means that we have to take them to the studio. ( We tried with the digital camera but our babies can be easily passed off as squirmy worms).

Thankfully the twins have become somewhat camera whores and the whole process was done in one take. Here're their mugshots and what amazed me was that my fraternal, non-identical boy girl twins actually looked like siblings.























Someone I showed the photos to commented that they would obviously look like siblings since they are after all brother and sister. Obviously this person hasn't seen my brothers and I.

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