Motherhood by the Numbers

I wrote this piece the last time Mother's Day fell on the anniversary of the boys' birth.  Happy 10th Birthday, sweet baby Ray and fiesty Alex.  I love you. 

Numbers are important to mothers.  Take any baby to a grocery store and you’ll be inundated with number questions.  “Is he your only?”  “How many children do you have?”  Mothers-to-be ask number questions, too.  How long was your labor?  How long did you push?  How many days in the hospital?  New mothers obsess over numbers:  minutes of nursing, hours of sleep, days till doctor’s appointment, weight, height, head circumference, number of wet diapers.  

A mother’s life is ruled by numbers.  Bed time is at 7, naptime at 12.  School gets out at 2:35; gymnastics is at 4:45.  Anna weighs 52 pounds and takes 2 teaspoons of Claritin each morning.  Vinnie weighs 23.7 and has an ear-check appointment on the 17^th at 11.  

I’m an English teacher by profession, a reader by choice, and someone who spends most of her days devoted to the pursuit, enjoyment, and study of words and language.  Numbers do not come easily to me.  I bungled my way through high school math classes, relieved to make it to college where a class called Critical Thinking fulfilled my math requirement.  And yet, I find my mind often drifts to numbers.  Loading the dishwasher or sweeping the living room, numbers present themselves to me.  I roll them around my mouth, wear them down until they are smooth as sea glass and as familiar and battered as the bracelet I’ve worn since my daughter’s birth.  They go in pairs or trios.  26 and 70.  4 and 9.  10, 14, and 19.  4, 3, and 2. 

Spring is the season of numbers for me.  It used to be that every month brought with it a new challenge of numbers.  Every month has a 10^th, a 14^th, a 19^th – days that I mark as beginning and ends.  But now I’ve gotten to the point when it’s only those days in May that really make me pause.  

My twin boys, Ray and Alex, were born on May 10^th, 2005.  Ray died on May 14^th.  Alex died on May 19^th.   If they were alive, we’d celebrate their 4^th birthday on Mother’s Day.  

In a catalog I found a necklace that I’d like to receive for Mother’s Day.  It’s a silhouette of a bird on a branch with a baby bird facing her.  Customers can specify the number of baby birds to add to the branch.  I wonder for how many baby birds I should ask?  Two would make the most sense to most people, but four feels like the honest answer.  A necklace with five birds on it reminds me of the name-plate necklaces my friends wore in college; me wearing a necklace with five birds is the equivalent of wearing “Samantha” when everyone knows you as “Sam,” “Elizabeth” when you’re really “Liz.”  A necklace with five birds seems ostentatious and showy.  A necklace with five birds would invite questions.  A necklace with three birds would not result in awkward silences and me feeling the irrepressible urge to apologize.  A necklace with three birds is easier on everyone.  

But I’ve had four children.  

I cry a lot, but I don’t like to cry in front of people, even people I love.  I rely on the numbers to get me through painful conversations.  Numbers, as I appreciate now so much more than I did in Trigonometry, are safe.  I practice in front of a mirror, saying the phrases and keeping my eyes dry.   The numbers tell the story for me and help explain.  They were born at 26 weeks.  They had a 70% chance of survival.  

I avoid saying, or even thinking, words like “just” or “should”.   Numbers have no connotation.  No drama.  Numbers are factual, simple, and honest.  Numbers are finite.  Ray lived for four days, Alex for nine.  If I focus on the numbers I can keep bitterness at bay; I can fend off retrospection and doubt and fear.  If I think about the numbers, I think about what is, not what might have been.   

They would be four.   They could be playing tee-ball and wearing big-boy underwear and playing with their big sister.  They could have been starting preschool and learning letters and shapes and colors.  They could be tearing apart my house and giving me wrinkles and grey hair. 

Sometimes, I don’t feel big enough to hold all these numbers.

26 weeks.  70%   3 days.  9 days.  

May 10^th, 14^th, 19^th.

Four babies, three pregnancies, two children.

I lost my boys four years ago.  They were born at 26 weeks due to complications from Twin to Twin Transfusion Syndrome.  Ray lived for four days.  Alex lived for nine.  My daughter Anna is 7 years old.  My son Vinnie will be 2 on June 14^th.  

Four babies, three pregnancies, two children.  And me.