This, to me, is what is the most insane: Your daughter was supposed to be younger than mine. Barely (bfp on Aug 18), but still. Now she is almost 3 months older. I hadnt realized that before.

And back to the crazy life of an infant and teething – a cold washcloth to suck and/or chew, large teething rings with “texture” to them, and just the sensation of you rubbing her gums with your fingers can help. Once the first ones are though, the rest shouldn’t be quite as bad…

I thought of you, today. I was chatting away with a mom at the neighborhood pool while our toddlers played and splashed and toddled too deep and I beckoned my daughter back to my side. After calling her no less than 15 times, the other mom told me that her toddler had a twin. They were born too early and the twin died. Her name was the same as my daughter’s name. Tears sprung to my eyes. I said I was so sorry. And asked if she lept out of her skin, every time I called my daughter’s name….she told me her story. And I like to think I didn’t make it too terribly uncomfortable for her.

I feel like being exposed to your painful, beautiful honesty has enabled me to be a more sensative Citizen of Motherhood.

It’s late. I don’t know if I’m making sense.

Thank you. Thank you for sharing your story with us. The broken bits. The jagged, sharpness. The smoothe porcelain. The inflamed. The serene.
Your honesty has made all the difference.

Sadly, all my writing energy is being sapped by my own teething baby. You think this is fun? Try molars! We go with washcloths, liberal applications of Motrin, and Orajel. I think I’m the only mom on the block who doesn’t like the teething tablets…

Take care and thanks for sharing your story

Everything you wrote was admirable. But, oddly, a couple of things leapt out at me. I was one of those mothers of a 34 week infant who was not lurching from crisis to crisis. I can remember feeling much as you did about the mothers of those large, full term infants, but it was a bit of a surprise to learn that the mothers of iller babies saw me that way. As it happens, mine had lost half her brain cells, so maybe not quite so well off as it appeared.

The other thing that caught my attention as a surviving (identical) twin is that I never really saw my mother as mourning. I do have this odd sense of lack – but I have never been able to be sure if it is real. Would I “know” I was a twin, if I hadn’t been told? Weird, rather than upsetting. My mother was always upfront that she hadn’t really wanted twins – but a lost baby is a lost baby, and the survivor a permanent reminder as well as a source of delight and comfort. Not, of course that one is likely to forget.

Again, I am glad for your honesty, and happy that you have been able to move to a new stage.

When my mom died in March 2007, and whom I was very, very close to, we siblings chose this poem for the cards they gave out at the funeral home. I’ve seen this printed before in obits in the papers. It’s appropriate for Ames too, I think:

“Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there, I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow; I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain; I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning hush, I am the swift uplifting rush of quiet birds in circled flight, I am the soft star that shines at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there, I did not die.” No one ever seems to know who the author was.

You may dream of Ames – my sister dreams of her SIDS baby boy every year around the time of his birthday. She said he gets older in her dreams. He would have been 21 years old in October of this year. A nice thing – Ames will always be with you and Scott, always looking over you and his sister.

My teething tip: Wet some clean washcloths and put them in the freezer. When they are pretty stiff and cold, give them to Simone. That’s what I did and my daughter got her first tooth at 4 months as well. You’ll need plenty because they thaw out fast.

I love reading your column, you are a very brave woman.