Four Bean Salad

I know, I know, I never call, I never write, I am quite simply a bad blogger.

My only excuse is that I have 3 month old twins at home and my opportunities for prioritizing have been reduced to, "should I go take a shower or eat something today." Yes, the Beans twins have arrived, bringing great joy and chaos into our household. Unfotunately, the twins (a boy and a girl) came into the world 11 weeks early and spent the first 70 days of their life in the NICU. While other bloggers have admirably updated the outside world from the confines of the hospital walls, my writing capabilities were reduced to signing insurance papers and "informed consents."

Mrs. Beans and I have described the whole experience as a very unfunny version of "Groundhog Day", the Bill Murray comedy vehicle, in which he plays a weatherman living the same day over and over again. I canceled my classes for the rest of the semester and we basically spent every day in the hospital or at some hideous baby store retrieving all of the gear that we had convinced ourselves we had plenty of time to obtain.

The good news is that we have two happy and healthy little babies who are the center of our universe. This marks the end of my blogging efforts for the moment, but I may return in another format. To those of you who have traveled with us on this journey, I say "thank you," and to those who are just starting out or who must continue to fight long odds on your way to parenthood I wish you the best of luck.

Peace,

Frank N. Beans

Beans Family Update!

So the goal was to have a glorious return to the blogosphere, Ph.D. in hand, and a tenure track position secured at Ivy U (after negotiating a live-in nanny for the little beans).

Alas, the dissertation is still a few weeks from completion and my job search now involves repeatedly hitting the refresh button on my e-mail with the hope that some search committee chair will contact me to profusely apologize because my application accidentally slipped behind the radiator and they simply have to meet me immediately so they can shower me with grant money and book contracts. Yes, that is the stink of desperation that you smell. Just one more "bitch" about an academic job search. They generally don't bother to tell you if you are rejected and it is considered uncouth to check on the status of the search. So, basically there is a lot of waiting and wondering involved.

Despite the stresses of jobs and living arrangements the babies are doing excellent. We just passed the 24 week mark and Mrs. Beans is doing fantastic. Both babies are measuring "singleton" size and it is hard to believe that they will continue to grow (tip for dads of multiples, don't let your wife see footage of John and Kate plus 8 on TLC). Our evenings involve a routine of heating pads, ice cream, and the dreaded maternity fashion show as Mrs. Beans tries to determine what to wear to work the next morning. Frankly, I don't get it. We have a lot of nice maternity clothes that we purchases or that was given to us by friends and family, yet Mrs. Beans insists on trying to squeeze just one more "wear" out of every outfit. I swear I heard her jeans cry out for help the other night. Now, I think that she looks beautiful and I tell her this on a regular basis, but she is only reluctantly starting to wear her maternity outfits with any regularity.

Actually, I might need to start wearing her maternity clothes soon. I have come down with a classic case of couvades (sympathy pains) and put on 15 lbs. This came as a bit of a shock because I had lost a ton of weight while we were doing the "healthy lifestyle changes" while preparing for IVF. You know, cutting back on the crack and trying to limit my exposure radioactive materials. It turns out that husbands who go through ART are more likely to get sympathy pains (and this must be true because I read it on google). Did this happen to any other fathers out there? In any event, I am running again and preparing for some serious car carrier lifting.

Speaking of which, we registered for some baby shower items recently... holy crap! We had no intention of doing a shower, but fell for the "everybody else is doing it, so why not us" argument, and thank god we did. Now, we are neither frugal nor extravagant, but I don't think we had really thought about the extra costs of twins. Even if you are trying to shop wisely and gently used, the baby "start-up" costs are astronomical. As someone joked on another blog, "I hope that come out ready to mow some lawns." That's silly babies can't mow lawns... but they can launch their own brand from a sitcom full of cheesy puns (and co-starring Steve Guttenberg)...

He's a struggling musician. She's a bounty hunter with a sordid past . Together they are trying to raise twins as they travel across the country in search of hot gigs and cool cons!

Look for "Double Trouble" coming this fall to UPN!

We hope that all is well out there, and we will be updating more frequently as we hit the home stretch. Thanks for you patience and I am looking forward to catching up with the blogs.

Time Out!

Okay, I have been having a serious case of "the guilties" over the past few weeks for not blogging so I am calling an official time out for the next 4 to 6 weeks.

I don't believe that I have ever mentioned this before, but while my wife is carrying twins, I am gestating a dissertation and searching for a tenure-tracked position in academia. Unfortunately, I have yet to find an institution that will acknowledge the value of my vast knowledge of pop culture. Alas, I am left with no choice but to complete my dissertation immediately and go knocking on the doors of various ivory towers. This whole situation has become a huge source of stress as we try to plan for the arrival of the twins with no knowledge of where we will be seven months from now. That being said, I need to take a small break and focus on meeting some self-imposed deadlines.

I will be back to update the Beans family saga in about a month and checking in on your blogs! In the meantime, enjoy these pics of the twins at 12 weeks!

Celebrating a "Happy Ending"

The past few weeks have been quite eventful for the Beans family. Last Wednesday marked the final day of progesterone injections and on Friday we had our first appointment with the new OB/GYN.

While the final shot has occurred, Mrs. Beans' butt continues to bear the tell-tale tracks of someone with a severe heroin habit. Apparently her poor little rump was a bit more damaged than we had anticipated, as layers of skin have started to peel and flake off. Yuck.

Frankly, we are both relieved to be done with this part of the process; although, our initial needle resentments primarily centered on the limitations that the timing of the shot put on our social life. That really isn't a problem anymore, since Mrs. Beans is now exhausted from playing the role of a 24/7 "hostess with the mostess" to our unborn children (now in fetus size!). Case in point, a few weeks ago we made a trip to Target and had an early supper (4:30) at a Friendly's in the mall parking lot. Let's just say we were a little out of place.

Seinfeld used to have a bit about the employees who worked at the movie theater. Something about all of the ticket takers being either 14 or 84 and that it took 70 years to move three feet. The same can be said about the clientèle of a Friendly's restaurant, everyone was either under 20 or over 80. And can we discuss the "Happy Ending" dessert? Who the hell came up with that marketing campaign? Is it a joke? Do they have a special training for the wait staff so they can practice asking customers if they want a happy ending with a straight face? Is there any estimate on the number of WWII vets who were disappointed after ordering a meal from the senior menu with the promise or a FREE Happy Ending, only to realize later that it is a clown shaped ice cream cone and not a sex act?

In addition to our outrageously exciting social lives we have also transitioned to a new OB/GYN. The atmosphere in the waiting room could not be more different. Imagine a world where it is permissible to make eye contact! We did get quite a chuckle out of our first appointment. First or all, we had never realized that the world is so rife with STDs! Of course, we had been screened during our fertility treatments, but we must have answered a dozen questions and this is also the first chapter in most of the pregnancy books that we have been reading.

The highlight of the exam was when the nurse asked me if I had fathered any other children.

"Ummm, have you seen my lab results?"

Glances at computer

"Oh. I'll just check no."

We were a little disappointed that we did not get another ultrasound (we were eager to check in), but apparently in the fertile world they do not monitor you quite as closely. However, since we do have twins and are technically "high risk" we are having an Early Risk Assessment next week, so we will get to take another peak. Apparently, they can get a much better idea about any developmental issues by taking a blood sample and taking some extensive measurements using the ultrasound. Based on the results we can decide if we need to do amniocentesis in the 16th week. Pretty cool stuff and we are excited at the prospect of getting more information and potentially avoiding a rather invasive test later on.

And finally we received our due date, July 9th! It really doesn't mean much since twins tend to go earlier, but we are still excited to have a target date in mind.

Please, Don't Feed the Beans

I have not felt sympathy for an inanimate object since I read the Velveteen Rabbit as a small boy. I did feel some brief pangs of pity for some of the characters on the Island of the Misfit Toys in Rudolph the Red-nose Reindeer, but it was fleeting, as claymation tends to freak me out.

Yet, the other day I found myself feeling sorry for the holiday cupcake that Mrs. Beans demolished in about 2.3 seconds. It is difficult to find an appropriate metaphor for the combination of pure efficiency and animal instinct that Mrs. Beans employed when she devoured that cupcake. Has anyone ever seen a calf-roping contest? They release the poor calf and it runs like crazy for about 10 feet until it is lassoed and hog-tied by the pursuing cowboy in about 3 seconds. You feel awful for the poor little calf, but at the same time a small part of you thinks, "Holy shit! I can't believe how fast that was!" I think this might best describe the experience and I literally stood there slack-jawed.


In any event, I found myself feeling sorry for the poor little cupcake. What did it do to deserve a fate like that? I know, I know, its the circle of life, and perhaps if the cupcake wasn't so darned delectable with its buttery frosted goodness and sassy holiday funfetti topping it could have lived a longer and fuller life, but it just seems wrong. I am strongly considering the purchase of one of those hand held catapults that you use to throw tennis balls for your dog. I mean doesn't the cupcake deserve a fighting chance?

I think part of the problem is the realization that I am now living with a full-blown predator. I am left to pick over the remains of whatever Mrs. Beans has devoured and I have taken to stashing a small package of Saltines in my dresser door. I break out in the chills when the packaging crinkles and makes a noise as I attempt to open it in the confines of my closet.

crinkle, crinkle

"What are you eating!?!?"

"Mmmm.... uh, N-n-nuthing." As I frantically wipe crumbs off of my chest.

Frankly, keeping the cupboards stocked has become a major priority for me. I've seen the way she eyes me when she thinks that I'm not looking. I'm just one false move from becoming an appetizer.

Man Seeking Minivan... Wood paneling a plus.

There is an old proverb that goes something like, "A spoonful of honey will catch more flies than a gallon of vinegar."

And that old proverb is dead wrong.

Today was our final appointment at the fertility clinic and it could not have gone any better. Mrs. Beans and I were expecting some scowling faces, especially after we reiterated our desire that the doctor from our previous examine not be present. However, it was all kittens and rainbows down at the baby factory. Sure, the nurses and doctors were probably pointing and whispering behind our backs, but who cares!? Our face-to-face interactions were easily an 11 out of 10. The doctors couldn't have been any nicer and walked us through the exam in great detail. It is too bad that you basically have to raise hell to get what you need. But I digress. The results are in...

And....

TWINS!!!!The wand doctor had no more said, "Let's play a little game called 'just the tip,' see how it feels" when the babies floated into view. Yes, two healthy little Beans were spotted "spooning" in the upper reaches of Mrs. Beans uterus. They are both the same size (7 weeks, 2 days) and have heartbeats of 165 and 147 (I will assume that this is a resting heart rate since they didn't seem to be doing too much). Mrs. Beans is technically 7 weeks and 5 days, but according to the doctor the "size lag" is no big deal. One of the babies has a much larger gestational sac/apartment, but again we were assured that "size doesn't matter." I am feeling excited and Mrs. Beans is feeling tired and hungry! She is snacking for 3!

Bean Wolf!

Over the past few days I have been trying to catch up on my blog reading and I have noticed that some bloggers have transferred me over to the "expecting" category on their blog rolls. This is totally fine (and accurate), but this came as a bit of a shock. Mrs. Beans and I still "knock on wood" about about every ten minutes. As previously mentioned, we are very nervous and continue to worry incessantly about the status of Mary-Kate and Ashley. I know that at week 12 the chances of "that which shall not be named" decrease significantly, but I think that I might continue to work over the ol' worry dolls until the birth... or maybe even high school graduation (side note: In 3rd grade I "shop-lifted" a worry doll on a field trip to an international fair in Minneapolis, and then in a fit of irony proceeded to use the worry doll to lament my crime and inevitable capture/incarceration).

It is a little awkward to shift identities. One day I am "Infertile Frank" and the next I am "Fertile Frank" (with 14,000 dollars worth of assistance). Strange as it seems, I had grown accustomed to the label of "infertile." It is a label that has brought so much pain to our lives, but at the same time it has become a part of my identity. Now I need some time to learn a new role, that of an "expecting father," but I am hesitant to try it on for fear that it might be stripped away. Okay, this is getting pretty deep, pretty fast... hmmm, I need an inappropriate and light hearted analogy.... Got it!

This transition from "infertile" to "expecting father" is not unlike the character transformation detailed in the 80s hit film Teen Wolf! As you may recall, the protagonist is Scott Howard (played by Michael J. Fox), an average Midwestern teen, who starts to undergo a series of mysterious changes (to him anyway, not so mysterious if you saw the movie poster). Initially the signs of the transformation are subtle, a long chest hair, rapidly growing fingernails, glowing red eyes, etc., but eventually he loses control and completely morphs into his werewolf alter ego.

Thanks to the help of his best friend "Stiles" and his prodigious basketball skills, he is embraced by the students and the town-at-large. Unfortunately, the rapid transformation triggers a minor identity crisis in Scott and he struggles to adapt to his new powers. Eventually, he comes to learn that the old Scott wasn't so bad and that the "wolf," while a significant part of him, does not define him as an individual. Perhaps it is the same way with my transformation. Certainly fatherhood will change me in some fundamental ways, but "Infertile Frank" is still an important part of who I am and always will be.

Also, some lingering Teen Wolf questions/observations:

The antagonist in the film is Mick, who competes with Scott for the girl Pamela Wells and on the basketball court (he plays for the Dragons). Yet, somehow they also attend the same high school? Can someone please explain to me how they can attend the same small Midwestern high school and yet play for different high school teams?

Next, is dribbling really an obvious "wolf" skill? If anything, I would think that the elongated hind legs would be a hindrance to an individual's hoop skills. Furthermore, I think that the immediate acceptance of Scott by the rest of the student body was a little too quick. I don't know about the rest of you, but "different" didn't exactly fly at my high school.

Finally, what kind of nickname is Boof? I looked it up on IMDB and the character's name is "Lisa 'Boof' Marconi," so it is not like Boof is short for Boofinski or something. "7th Grade Frank" always thought that Boof sounded dirty, but my 7th grade body also found algebra vaguely erotic (I also giggled that the team mascot in the movie was the "Beaver"). "Modern Frank" still thinks that Boof is a little suspect and frankly, it didn't seem like that was her first time "in the closet" if you know what I mean. I would be willing to bet that Boof's name is carved into quite a few bathroom stalls in Beacontown High School.

Anyway, Happy Thanksgiving everyone... and to our Canadian friends, well Boxing Day is just around the corner.