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When my son was born at thirty-one weeks, we were immediately ushered into the preemie life. But at just three and a half pounds, we quickly realized that when it comes to the littlest of little ones, some products work better than others.

Here are a few of my thoughts on some of our favourite preemie baby gear.

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Today marks the six month birthday of our beautiful Alistair! Half a year with this little one.

My heart swells when I look at him and think of just how far along he’s come. Inquisitive and determined, always bursting with smiles, he’s the sweetest, funniest little man. With tiny feet that are now as long as his arm was at birth, he’s grown exponentially before our very eyes. His three month clothes are being packed away for a bigger size and our arm muscles quickly tire when snuggling all fifteen pounds of baby chub. Alistair loves to sing and squeal, coo and gurgle. He’s strong and has the most adorable, squishable, baby rolls.

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Yep… this non-cook is trying to cook again.

It’s a well known fact that my sister is the best baker and cook in the family. Flakey bread that melts in your mouth, chocolatey cupcakes with expert piping, hearty bowls of Alfredo laden pasta, gooey raisin oatmeal cookies, creamy vegetable soups and sugary cinnamon buns – she can make it all! I on the other hand, inherited none of that passion or skill for working with food. A particular spaghetti incident (think flaming noodles) cast me out of the kitchen at the young age of fourteen and left me with no desire to return.

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It was Tuesday evening. I was 31 weeks pregnant (seven months) and had been on maternity leave for a week and a half. We had spent the week getting the boys room ready:  two cribs built, framed photos hanging on the wall, two carseats and a double stroller purchased and sitting in the living room.

Andreas and I were sitting on the couch, chowing through a bowl of noodles and watching an episode of Downton Abbey. But at that moment, not even Maggie Smith’s classic one-liners could chase away my growing sense of unease; a gnawing “mother’s instinct” that was threatening to build into an all out state of panic.

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We were grieving the loss of our firstborn while spending all of our energy and time at the hospital with a preemie son. We were drained emotionally and physically. We needed help.

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This time last year, my husband was standing on a rocky beach in White Rock, waiting to dash into the freezing Pacific Ocean for an annual “Polar Bear Swim.” My family and I stood a few feet away from a swimsuit clad crowd who were busy dancing around, trying to stay warm while waiting for the signal to dive in. A horn sounded without warning and confusion reigned as towels and sweatpants were tossed aside. Leading the way was a tall, red headed, Swede (he prefers to be called Viking Warrior). A couple hundred thrill seekers splashed in after him, paramedics on the standby, and my family giggled from the warmth of our winter coats as everyone scrambled to get back out of the ocean.

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Every year, for as far back as I can remember, we’ve spent Christmas Eve at my grandparents home. While I thoroughly enjoyed stuffing myself with baby onions, mini pickles and tiny quiches, the highlight of the evening was always Grandad’s Shrimp Dip. Upon arriving at my grandparents house, I’d kick my shoes off and race – socks slipping and hair flying – into the living room, where a glass bowl heaped with dip sat on the coffee table. I would dig through the bowl for shrimp and shove salty, dip laden chips into my little mouth as fast as I could.

Grandad

This year, our tiny apartment was the place of honour for the Smith family Christmas Eve gathering. Sadly, Grandad passed a couple days before Christmas, which makes me all the more thankful for holiday traditions that are passed from one generation to the next. I will proudly carry on the shrimp dip tradition and, in the process, share this delectable recipe with you.

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‘Tis the season of Christmas Cards. Unfortunately, this Christmas your fridge will sadly be lacking a picture from the three of us. Perhaps next year we’ll get our act together soon enough to create a holiday photo (complete with colour coordinated outfits and a smiling Alistair wrapped up in Christmas lights.)  But we did manage to put together a little something special. What’s better than a super adorable picture of Alistair? That’s right. A super adorable Christmas video of Alistair (and his parents of course.)

Merry Christmas from Andreas, Liz & Alistair!

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Our Christmas tree doesn’t have a particular theme beyond the mismatched assortment of ornaments that I have collected over the years. Perched on the branches are  half a dozen of my baby ornaments, a couple miniature figure skates, and two, brightly bedecked snowmen sitting on the words, “Our First Christmas Together.” I love the jumble of gold and silver beads, tiny chips on plastic apples and the paper Swedish flags purchased from this year’s Christmas market. Each ornament brings me back to a specific time, a certain memory. They’re mini snapshots of a Christmas past.

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From the start, our pregnancy was classified as high risk simply because we were carrying twins. Truthfully though, since the beginning of our pregnancy was so smooth, I really didn’t pay much attention to this label. Until one takes a quick glance at the statistics regarding twin or triplet pregnancies, it’s easy to forget just how delicate a multiple pregnancy can be.

Compared to singleton pregnancies (one baby), multiples are almost 17 times more likely to be born prematurely, with half of all twins having a birth weight under 5.5 lbs. And, as was such in our case, women carrying twins are twice as likely to experience a stillbirth.*

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I’ll always remember our first ultrasound photo; a grainy image capturing two little blobs sitting side by side. It’s a moment forever engraved in my mind, a feeling I could never forget – the day we discovered we were pregnant with twins.

Three weeks earlier, we were at the doctor’s office and had just found out that we were expecting. Overloaded, mind swimming,  we were in a state of shock. Pregnancy wasn’t part of our plan – at least, not yet. We had laid out a road map for our marriage and it didn’t include kids for another five years.

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This year, my Christmas decorations started going up mid-November – way earlier than they ever have before. With our newly renovated apartment, I wanted to make the place look really festive. We were going to do more than just a plastic tree and string of lights. This year we were going to go big! (So big in fact that I had to take down a wall of decorations as Andreas and I felt that Christmas had thrown up all over our apartment. Okay… not that big…)

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