Nature? Nurture? Nature.  I don’t know the answer, but when I notice the parallels between these little moments in time, 8 years apart, I see that some people are just wired the way they are wired.  And I know that if I added in stories for most days that fill up the 8-years in between, similar stories are there in abundance. Here’s a little glimpse into my opportunities to step up to the challenges of parenting:

April 6, 2009: I am not quite six months pregnant with identical twin girls. I’m working full time, and have a not quite 14-month old son at home.  All is going smooth (considering the facts just stated).  I have a routine ultrasound, and the two little baby girls are content and healthy and happy inside me.  Growing nicely and evenly, sharing all the necessary nutrients and blood.  My cervix is closed.  All my vitals and tests are 100% normal. My body completely healthy, as are the two growing baby girls.  No sign of anything other than happiness in there.  Peacefulness.  ALL IS SMOOTH. ……. April 9, 2009: Not but just three days later, ALL IS NOT SMOOTH.  Should you think 3 days is a long stretch of time when you are 6 months pregnant, it is not.  They space out routine checkups by months – weeks at worst. Three days is safe.  Nevertheless, three days later, I’m cramping and have a tiny spot of blood.  I go into the hospital and am 4-cm dilated (for those not familiar, this isn’t a great thing to be when you are not quite 6 months pregnant and want the baby(ies) to stay inside).  I spend 48 hours laying on an inverted hospital bed, my head lower than my legs, never once letting my feet touch the ground, including for any necessary bodily function.  Every doctor and every nurse reviews my ultrasound reports and medical records.  What was wrong that they missed? Nothing.  They check again and again and debate, but nothing wrong.  I spend 9 more days in the hospital bed, although with my head back to normal position. Taking 1,000 medications to stop the contractions that won’t stop happening.  What happened to these peaceful, content babies? Why are they fighting to get out? NO ONE CAN FIGURE IT OUT.  I fight to keep them in, they fight to come out.  Is Baby A or Baby B causing havoc? No one knows.  They are just causing havoc and I’m trying to manage it. I get them under control, the contractions stop.  I think I am in the clear, the contractions start.  I meditate the contractions stop.  I blink and the contractions start. April 20, 2009, 6:00pm: The monitor around my stomach picks up the contractions regularly for nine days and then doesn’t anymore.  I tell the nurse, I am having bad contractions but the monitor isn’t going off.  She says, no you aren’t having them.  I say yes, I am.  She moves the monitor, checks its functionality.  Tells me I am not having them.  I say I just had a baby fourteen months ago, the feeling of contractions fresh in my mind.  These are in my back now.  No monitor will pick them up apparently because they are not of the kind picked up by normal monitors. Sure enough, my doctor comes and I’m 9 cm dilated (for those not familiar, there is no turning back now).  We try one last thing to keep the babies in, but it just makes me hot and in pain. April 21, 2009, 12:19am: Baby A comes out, after I cursed out my doctor (who I love) because of the pain she (Baby A, or her sister, who knows) was causing me. April 21, 2009 at 12:21am: After hiding in my rib cage for an extra minute of pleasure, Baby B arrives.  Two tiny, tiny little things, no one can figure out why they came but all in the NICU are impressed by how strong these two little birds are.  The NICU, you see, is a good place to be strong and resilient and stubborn.  It’s good to remember this is how it all starts.

July 15, 2017, 8am: Baby A, now known as Sasha, has a dentist appointment to get a tooth pulled.  The tooth has a cavity down by the nerve (her only one), and no sign of the tooth being loose, so she’s getting it pulled.  She was previously scared of the dentist – not because she was scared of getting her teeth worked on, but she was scared of gagging if anything was put in her mouth (because the thought of her throwing up scares her more than even the thought of being kidnapped, murdered, clawed by a wild bear, ANYTHING).  But we conquered that fear and she wasn’t that scared.  As a precaution given the process, she was going to get a little dose of medicine that was to make her “happy and relaxed.”  Gemma had this before, and it did just that and then some.  She was also going to wrapped up in what I called a “swaddle”, to ensure her arms wouldn’t push the dentist away, and she liked that thought.  She was okay with everything.  We got to the dentist and they weighed her to gage the amount of “happy” medicine to give her.  The scale said 73 pounds.  I had an instant premonition that the dose they were going to give her wasn’t enough.  I had them reweigh her 5 times as I was certain her weight should be closer to 85 pounds.  I had them weigh Kai and me both for a reference for if the scale was accurate.  It seemed accurate, but I was still certain this dose wouldn’t be enough.  She took it quickly, and after 10 minutes was still herself (happy, but no more relaxed and loose than normal).  20 minutes the same.  30 minutes – when the medicine should be fully kicked in and then some, basically the same.  We walk back to the dentist share, she willingly lays down in the pedi-wrap and they wrap her up so her arms and legs are secure, and she’s okay with this.  The dentist leans over her, talking about how she’s gonna take a look in her mouth.  All is fine AND THEN IT’S NOT.  Suddenly, she screams GET ME OUTTA HERE.  GET ME OFF THIS CHAIR.  GET ME OUTTA OF THIS THING.  She kicks and struggles with her arms, and they come out.  We talk through it, and try again.  And the same thing happens again.  And we try one more time, and this time as fast as possible the doctor gives her the shot in her mouth and I hold her legs down and the doctor pulls the tooth.  And then she kicks and struggles her way out again.  I give her a hug and I say, Sasha, I know you were scared but your tooth is out now.  She asks “Can I have a toy AND a sticker” and all is good.  I’m exhausted, though.  The dentist apologizes for not giving her more “happy” medicine but says she never gives any child more, even those that weigh more.  Sasha seems herself and tries to act a little silly because her sister and brother expected her to be silly after the medicine.  She wasn’t.  We do a couple quick errands and go home.  July 15, 2017, 11:30am: We are at home, eating lunch.  All kids happy, Sasha is drawing a picture of her favorite book character, Pigeon.  She finishes the picture and I say, “Sasha that looks awesome.  I love the way the pigeon is smiling.” SHE STARTS CRYING.  Real, elephant tears.  Huge tears.  “Momma, I just feel so sad.  Why am I so sad?”  I DO NOT KNOW.  “I can’t take the sad inside me.”  She falls on the floor. Gemma and Kai look stunned, and I laugh because I don’t know what to do. “I’m just so sad. I’m sad that I’m sad.  And you are laughing at me. I’m more sad.”  She gets up and runs to the living room and cries some more.  Hysterical crying.  She asks, “What did you do to me?” I DON’T KNOW.  I can’t help but think of girls I knew in college (and adulthood) who get so, so sad when they’ve drank too much.  But, I am not quite sure what to do.  I console her as much as I can, but nothing works.  She is just sad.  I try to get her to lay in bed and take a nap.  She refuses, and says she wants to cry the sadness out of her.  Fair enough, but not the most peaceful process.  Because her crying involves throwing herself on every corner of the floor and against every wall, in the most dramatic of fashions, boneless hard flops.  July 15, 2015, 2pm: She throws herself into the bottom bunk of her bed, and sleeps soundly.  July 15, 2017, 5pm:  She wakes up, happy.  All is fine.  I make a note to myself, don’t let her drink when she’s older, as she’ll be a sad drunk for such a happy girl.

July 15, 2017, 7:30pm: To be clear, that is LATER THAT SAME DAY.  The kids and I are at Cupcake Studios in North Hollywood, along with about 125 other people (and a few more to come) to see the play Legally Blond.  Everyone is excited.  Everyone is happy.  This includes SASHA.  She is happy.  The studio is intimate.  The check in process was easy.  Many of the people dance with me at the studio I dance at.  The kids had the option of buying candy or popcorn when we arrived.  I had the option of a cocktail.  Just for the taste of it, I was wanting a whiskey & coke.  I ordered it “light”, but then also made it a double.  (In hindsight, great call.)  We have great seats in the very front, so aren’t crowded between others and have an unobstructed view of the stage.  July 15, 2017, 7:40pm: We are all sitting down, happy and laughing.  July 15, 2017, 7:45pm: The happiness continues.  July 15, 2017, 7:46pm: Sasha starts to cry.  I say what’s wrong.  She screams. She says she needs to leave. I say don’t leave.  She runs out anyway.  I look at Kai; we are both confused.  Gemma is happy.  I tell Gemma and Kai to stay there and save our seats.  I make a little wish that Gemma, who is normally my child who freaks in crowded loud places, doesn’t start freaking, too (I can only handle one breakdown, at most).  I go out to the lobby and Sasha is crying.  “Why are those people so loud, Mommy?”  They are just excited, they are just excited for the play.  “I thought adults behaved.”  They are behaving, sweetie.  They will get quiet when the play starts.  “I don’t want to go back in there.”  We have to, Gemma and Kai are in there and the play will be good.  But we can take our time.  “I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m scared.”  Okay, it’s okay.  What is she scared of, I DON’T KNOW.  The noise got slightly higher as more people filled in, but nothing severe.  I say, Let me give you a hug.  Then, she says, HELP ME THIS LADY IS TRYING TO HURT ME. I look around and there is a lady from the theater, who was being a bit boisterous and loud, ordering another drink. I think, Oh, it’s her Sasha is scared of.  She is a little loud. I thought of the instance, a few weeks ago when we were at a dance performance and there were some women talking behind us loudly and nonstop before the show started, and Sasha had told me, “Mommy, I’m not trying to hurt anyone’s feelings, but I don’t like those women because they are loud.”  So clearly, I think in my head, this is the woman that is scaring Sasha enough to make her scream right in this moment.  So I say, No, Sasha, she’s not trying to hurt you.  She’s just getting a drink….and I continue to wrap my arms around Sasha.  Then, Sasha screams more loudly THIS LADY IS HURTING ME.  DON’T LET HER TAKE ME.  SOMEONE HELP ME.  HELP ME.  And I realize, um, she’s talking about me. Me.  ME.  And I look around the lobby and there are about 10 people, including the GM of the theater, watching.  Fortunately, they saw us all night long, so knew that (a) I am her mother, and (b) I am not trying to hurt her.  But, nevertheless, they are trying to figure out what’s going on.  AS AM I.  So I take a deep breath (which works, thanks to the slightly relaxed nerves compliments of my double whiskey and coke).  And I ask Sasha to sit next to me and say we can wait to go in.  And we do.  And we take deep breaths together and we sit there, my arms tightly (but not too tightly) around her, our feet planted on the ground, just waiting it out.  I can’t help but contemplate, I am so easy going. I am so low maintenance. I can endure anything. I can ensure nothing bothers me that much, at least outwardly.  How am I supposed to be in tune with the finest, smallest, thinnest slices of energy that swing my daughters from happy to sad and then back to happy?  How? And, honestly, how can we be so upset at a place called Cupcake Theater, that serves M&Ms and whiskey and coke? I don’t know. I have no clue. I just keep trying to figure things out, and take deep breaths.  July 15, 2017, 7:59pm: I ask Sasha, want to try to go peek in with me?  I know Kai and Gemma saved our seat.  And the theater is a little quieter.  She says Okay Mommy.  We go in.  No drama, we sit down.  July 15, 2017, 8:01pm: Sasha and Gemma and Kai start laughing hysterically from the first note of the show, as they sing “Oh my go, Oh my god, Oh my god you guys…..”  For the next three hours, there is laughter and happiness and joy.  From all three of them (mark the date, they were ALL THREE HAPPY FOR THREE FULL HOURS). They choose not to leave at intermission, they all three want to stay.  July 15, 2017, 11:30pm: As I’m tucking Sasha in, she says, I’m so glad we went to the show.  Me, too, Sasha.  And she adds, I’m glad no one got mad at you when I said you were hurting me.

Yes, Me, too, sweet thing.

Post Script: On the way home from the play, she said “I still don’t understand why the play was called Legally Blind.  Her eyes were open the whole time and I know she could see.”  I explain that it was “Blond”, as in my hair color, not “Blind.”  She digests this for a bit, and as I’m tucking her in, she loops back and says, “I don’t understand what hair color has to do with law school or love.”  So, maybe not every puzzle is unsolvable.