Okay, blog friends, we are going on Night 11 and things are smoothing out. Thanks for all of your encouragement to see it through. Tonight we had 5-6 minutes of mild fussing, with both boys asleep within 20 minutes. The boys are even settling very easily, with no crying, after both of their night feedings. They're getting up later (7:15am), smiling and ready for the day. And hey, there are smiling, relatively well-rested parents there to greet them.
Sleep training is the right choice for our family.
But what the heck. All the books (and even our pediatrician!) assured me it would take 3-5 nights of crying to get to zero...and that at the most we could expect 20-30 minutes. Ha! Meet my twin screamers! At Night 8, we were at 33 minutes of crying, which was a huge improvement but still a lot to take, so I broke down and talked to a sleep consultant. Part of me felt lame for needing help with something so basic, but why? I help people all the time so I should ask for it when I need it.
It was money well spent. When you're sleep deprived and have new-parent guilt to boot, you need someone to spell things out for you. Turns out I may have a couple of "spirited" children on my hands. I don't feel totally comfortable with labels, but the consultant did offer a range of expectations that seemed more realistic for my guys - including an adjustment period of 10-14 days for major changes (like sleep training). I no longer feel like it's all my fault that the boys never fell asleep on their own when I put them down "awake but drowsy."
She also helped me formulate a plan moving forward, including how to get the boys to fall asleep in their bed for naps. Currently I'm walking or nursing them to sleep for every nap. Yes, that means 2-4 times per day, I pack them up in car seats, schlep down 2 flights of stairs (oh yes, and carry them back up 2-4 times), and prowl the neighborhood, hunting for the Sand Man. Okay that makes me sound a little "Night of the Living Dead," but I do get a bit zombie-like on limited sleep and this strict fitness regimen the boys have me on. They are quite the taskmasters :o)
On the bright side, I'm back in pre-pregnancy jeans and becoming a real fixture in the community.
I'm sleeping again! I can see a bright side!
Sew Awesome.
Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Sleep Training Sucks
It's 8:20pm. Mr Awesome is asleep. The boys are asleep. I am eating fried chicken and blogging in the darkened living room.
Why?
Sleeping training is eating my soul.
We're on Night 6 and it feels like Sixth Circle of Hell. Because I dread the crying, the resurfacing of my own abandonment issues every time I walk out of the room and their smiling faces follow me, only to fall into confused and angry tears moments later. I abhor the sound of my precious babies wailing into the dark air and nothing answering them. I see their arms reaching out, finding no one, and I crumble.
When they finally settle and fall asleep, I feel only marginally better. I remind myself of how they scream and cry and thrash about in our arms, the car seat, the bouncy chair, wherever and whenever they are trying to go to sleep. I remember the hours I have sat, bleary-eyed and nipples stinging, between two suckling, slumbering babies, fearful to move them, desperate for rest myself. I know they are not calling out for mom and dad. They are crying for sleep, and learning how to get there.
But when all has gone quiet and I see their relaxed little bodies on the video monitor, still I wait in tense anticipation. The crying could happen again at any moment. Any moment.
And I need every single moment that I get at night to recharge. I look forward to it as much as dread it. I miss them as much as I feel relief that I am not going to see them for 8 hours (barring an emergency, of course).
An ugly little voice fills my head when difficult parenting moments come my way:
If I only had one child...
...I'd co-sleep and we'd all actually sleep.
...I'd breastfeed on demand and never ever look at a clock.
...he'd nap in the front pack whenever he got tired.
...I'd always know what to do, never feel overwhelmed, and we'd all live happily ever after with our pet unicorn, Vestibule. Oh, and there would be no such thing as armpit hair. Because what the hell is that for.
People who judge my choice to sleep train (um, myself, I'm talking about myself, because I judge myself about it every single nap and bedtime and the verdict is always Guilt, Shame, and More Guilt) don't know what it's like to have two. They don't know what it's like to be faced with a stark and terrible reality: I have limits. There is a limit to what I can give.
Because I'm only a human.
It feels woefully inadequate to be only a human when you have twin infants to care for and you care about them so damn much that your little Grinchy heart has grown ten times bigger than can manifest in physical action.
Sometimes I wish I was two mothers.
Sigh. I know it doesn't matter how many mothers I am or how many kids I have. People have to meet their own challenges in this life, and even a whole pod of mothers can't protect you from the frustration and struggles of growing. A mother can only guide you, with love and wisdom, toward growth and away from habits that cripple you.
God, give me strength to give them what they need, even when it doesn't feel good.
Why?
Sleeping training is eating my soul.
We're on Night 6 and it feels like Sixth Circle of Hell. Because I dread the crying, the resurfacing of my own abandonment issues every time I walk out of the room and their smiling faces follow me, only to fall into confused and angry tears moments later. I abhor the sound of my precious babies wailing into the dark air and nothing answering them. I see their arms reaching out, finding no one, and I crumble.
When they finally settle and fall asleep, I feel only marginally better. I remind myself of how they scream and cry and thrash about in our arms, the car seat, the bouncy chair, wherever and whenever they are trying to go to sleep. I remember the hours I have sat, bleary-eyed and nipples stinging, between two suckling, slumbering babies, fearful to move them, desperate for rest myself. I know they are not calling out for mom and dad. They are crying for sleep, and learning how to get there.
But when all has gone quiet and I see their relaxed little bodies on the video monitor, still I wait in tense anticipation. The crying could happen again at any moment. Any moment.
And I need every single moment that I get at night to recharge. I look forward to it as much as dread it. I miss them as much as I feel relief that I am not going to see them for 8 hours (barring an emergency, of course).
An ugly little voice fills my head when difficult parenting moments come my way:
If I only had one child...
...I'd co-sleep and we'd all actually sleep.
...I'd breastfeed on demand and never ever look at a clock.
...he'd nap in the front pack whenever he got tired.
...I'd always know what to do, never feel overwhelmed, and we'd all live happily ever after with our pet unicorn, Vestibule. Oh, and there would be no such thing as armpit hair. Because what the hell is that for.
People who judge my choice to sleep train (um, myself, I'm talking about myself, because I judge myself about it every single nap and bedtime and the verdict is always Guilt, Shame, and More Guilt) don't know what it's like to have two. They don't know what it's like to be faced with a stark and terrible reality: I have limits. There is a limit to what I can give.
Because I'm only a human.
It feels woefully inadequate to be only a human when you have twin infants to care for and you care about them so damn much that your little Grinchy heart has grown ten times bigger than can manifest in physical action.
Sometimes I wish I was two mothers.
Sigh. I know it doesn't matter how many mothers I am or how many kids I have. People have to meet their own challenges in this life, and even a whole pod of mothers can't protect you from the frustration and struggles of growing. A mother can only guide you, with love and wisdom, toward growth and away from habits that cripple you.
God, give me strength to give them what they need, even when it doesn't feel good.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
From the Nursing Chair: Breastfeeding Twins
There is a throne in my house these days.
Double-wide nursing pillow, iPad, tea...it's the base of operations. This is where I feed my 12-week-old twins.
Breastfeeding twins has been a horrible, wonderful, sweet, uncomfortable, intimate challenge that I am finally enjoying. Most of the time.
As of 4.5 weeks old, I have exclusively breastfed my twins. Prior to that time, four days of extra hospitalization for me (due to an infection), 8% weight loss for Squeak, and general exhaustion necessitated some formula supplements and expressed breastmilk by cup and bottle, in addition to breastfeeding. Imagine feeding two babies on demand, at least every hour and a half, individually, round the clock, for at least 30 minutes per feeding, and one of them had a poor latch. While healing from emergency c-section/infection/twin pregnancy. Oh and then I had an allergic reaction to a vaccine and couldn't move my arm...followed by an absess on my tailbone that made sitting painful.
It. Was. Insane.
Maybe if I can remember more than a hazy blur of awfulness, I'll tell you about it sometime.
When I read up on breastfeeding prior to giving birth, I constantly had to wonder: does this apply to twins? How do you do that (feed on demand, get into position, get a full feeding) with twins? I also heard nothing but doomsday prophecies about supply shortage. This cuts to the core of a mother's fears: I can't feed my children. Yes, I have googled "signs of starvation in newborns" at midnight...and again at 2am, just to reassure myself. It's so easy to pass over that first teeny tiny sentence, "Most women will be fine," and skip right to, "but there can be complications," which are described in agonizing details over the next 300 pages or so. This is especially true for multiples.
Despite reading everything ever written on pregnancy, birth, and childcare, I never did find the book I was really looking for: a whole volume of the positive mantras designed to build the new mother's confidence and shore up her emotional fortitude, with a tiny chapter in the back for the few facts you need to know, like get nipple cream and football hold is king.
Breastfeeding twins has been a horrible, wonderful, sweet, uncomfortable, intimate challenge that I am finally enjoying. Most of the time.
As of 4.5 weeks old, I have exclusively breastfed my twins. Prior to that time, four days of extra hospitalization for me (due to an infection), 8% weight loss for Squeak, and general exhaustion necessitated some formula supplements and expressed breastmilk by cup and bottle, in addition to breastfeeding. Imagine feeding two babies on demand, at least every hour and a half, individually, round the clock, for at least 30 minutes per feeding, and one of them had a poor latch. While healing from emergency c-section/infection/twin pregnancy. Oh and then I had an allergic reaction to a vaccine and couldn't move my arm...followed by an absess on my tailbone that made sitting painful.
It. Was. Insane.
Maybe if I can remember more than a hazy blur of awfulness, I'll tell you about it sometime.
I had planned to breastfeed my children, but accepted that I might have to supplement with formula because there were two of them. I didn't think it was a big deal either way.
It turned out to be a huge deal. I was totally unprepared for how emotionally charged, how tied to a sense of self-worth, breastfeeding would be for me.
Breastfeeding is food, comfort, intimate communion with these people that have been growing inside you for almost a year. It's the center, home, the wellspring. After becoming accustomed to toting around two extra bodies 24/7, I find tandem feeding to be one of the only ways I can comfortably feel complete - that both my babies are close, safe, where they belong. So if it's not going well, or you're a new mother so you have no freaking clue how it's going, because it hurts and feels weird and you can't see the milk and your babies eat totally differently, well...let's just say there are many deep, primal emotions that rise up from the back of the reptilian brain and surge over the rational parts, drowning them out completely.
It turned out to be a huge deal. I was totally unprepared for how emotionally charged, how tied to a sense of self-worth, breastfeeding would be for me.
Breastfeeding is food, comfort, intimate communion with these people that have been growing inside you for almost a year. It's the center, home, the wellspring. After becoming accustomed to toting around two extra bodies 24/7, I find tandem feeding to be one of the only ways I can comfortably feel complete - that both my babies are close, safe, where they belong. So if it's not going well, or you're a new mother so you have no freaking clue how it's going, because it hurts and feels weird and you can't see the milk and your babies eat totally differently, well...let's just say there are many deep, primal emotions that rise up from the back of the reptilian brain and surge over the rational parts, drowning them out completely.
Despite reading everything ever written on pregnancy, birth, and childcare, I never did find the book I was really looking for: a whole volume of the positive mantras designed to build the new mother's confidence and shore up her emotional fortitude, with a tiny chapter in the back for the few facts you need to know, like get nipple cream and football hold is king.
Meanwhile, we need more stories about variations of normal. So I offer you my normal.
This post is the first in a series of musings on breastfeeding twins. It's based totally on my experience. I have no expertise other than my own experience. I pass no judgement on families who decide to use formula, or expressed breastmilk, or any combination of loving healthy ways to nourish their children. And I readily admit, maybe double breastfeeding isn't a big deal to everyone. But it's a big deal to me, and if it is for you too, hopefully I can offer some encouragement. Or make you laugh a little. Or make you glad you never did it.
In any case, this is my truth about breastfeeding twins.
This post is the first in a series of musings on breastfeeding twins. It's based totally on my experience. I have no expertise other than my own experience. I pass no judgement on families who decide to use formula, or expressed breastmilk, or any combination of loving healthy ways to nourish their children. And I readily admit, maybe double breastfeeding isn't a big deal to everyone. But it's a big deal to me, and if it is for you too, hopefully I can offer some encouragement. Or make you laugh a little. Or make you glad you never did it.
In any case, this is my truth about breastfeeding twins.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
The Professional Mother
Mr Awesome's relationship with Squeak has always come easy. They have a special bond that is sweet to witness. And I've felt a closeness with Squish that is probably a result of exclusively breastfeeding him earlier and for longer (Squeak had a poor latch and it was much more difficult getting started).
This weekend, my husband was able to spend more time with Squish, and even soothe him to sleep several times (not easy - he is a baby that needs a lot of motion, yet low stimulation, to fall asleep). This was a huge confidence booster for Mr Awesome, and a giant relief for me. Bouncing that child to sleep 5+ times per day is killing my back and seriously working on my patience, if I'm being honest.
But then something strange happened. During the last feeding of the day, when he normally drifts peacefully to sleep, Squish started fussing and pulling off. He has been eating less, in my estimation, this whole week, but fussing is very unusual for my little voracious eater. I suspect I have a recent oversupply of milk or forceful letdown as their eating pattern has shrunken to eight feedings per day; while Squeak seems to love not having to work so hard, Squish is overwhelmed by the flow and constantly pulls off/gasps for air/takes rests. Anyway, tonight Squish would not calm down. Attempts to burp were for naught; his fussiness escalated into full-scale wailing; finally I handed him over to Mr A so I could finish feeding Squeak in peace.
Luckily, Squish was able to calm down and settle into a deep sleep in his dad's arms.
I was glad. And upset.
I'm pretty sure there is an actual physical cause for my boy's distress - forceful letdown, too much foremilk, maybe even a touch of virus - and knowing my child is not feeling particularly well is upsetting to this new mother. I plan on calling the doctor in the morning just to check in.
But there is a little place in me that was shaken with surprising force when I couldn't soothe my little boy, and his dad could.
I'm not the one and only.
Don't get me wrong, this is great. I can rest my back, eat a little something, find relief in the knowledge that his stirring isn't the beginning of a(nother) long battle into slumber. And I did take the opportunity to practice self-care (snack, etc.). But what it comes down to is that I am devoting my whole self, physical, emotional, mental, spiritual, into this task of motherhood day in and day out, and sometimes the whole of me is going to fall short. Mr A is no less devoted, but this is not his full-time job. I feel bruised as a professional.
I've been considering remaining a full-time mother next year as well. The idea that I could devote myself entirely to this vocation, could give my all 24/7 for years on end, and still be so replaceable is somewhat shattering. Does every professional mother feel like an empty shell sometimes - having given everything and still been found wanting?
There are too many reminders in my life that there is a way to ensure you are your child's sun, moon, and stars: be a single parent. I would never trade my relationship with Mr Awesome, or my sons' relationship with their dad, to put myself at the center of the boys' universe.
This is just my ego, hopped up on hormones, wondering, am I good enough at my job? If I am not the one and only, what is a mother and how am I going to define myself, to myself, in the coming year?
This weekend, my husband was able to spend more time with Squish, and even soothe him to sleep several times (not easy - he is a baby that needs a lot of motion, yet low stimulation, to fall asleep). This was a huge confidence booster for Mr Awesome, and a giant relief for me. Bouncing that child to sleep 5+ times per day is killing my back and seriously working on my patience, if I'm being honest.
But then something strange happened. During the last feeding of the day, when he normally drifts peacefully to sleep, Squish started fussing and pulling off. He has been eating less, in my estimation, this whole week, but fussing is very unusual for my little voracious eater. I suspect I have a recent oversupply of milk or forceful letdown as their eating pattern has shrunken to eight feedings per day; while Squeak seems to love not having to work so hard, Squish is overwhelmed by the flow and constantly pulls off/gasps for air/takes rests. Anyway, tonight Squish would not calm down. Attempts to burp were for naught; his fussiness escalated into full-scale wailing; finally I handed him over to Mr A so I could finish feeding Squeak in peace.
Luckily, Squish was able to calm down and settle into a deep sleep in his dad's arms.
I was glad. And upset.
I'm pretty sure there is an actual physical cause for my boy's distress - forceful letdown, too much foremilk, maybe even a touch of virus - and knowing my child is not feeling particularly well is upsetting to this new mother. I plan on calling the doctor in the morning just to check in.
But there is a little place in me that was shaken with surprising force when I couldn't soothe my little boy, and his dad could.
I'm not the one and only.
Don't get me wrong, this is great. I can rest my back, eat a little something, find relief in the knowledge that his stirring isn't the beginning of a(nother) long battle into slumber. And I did take the opportunity to practice self-care (snack, etc.). But what it comes down to is that I am devoting my whole self, physical, emotional, mental, spiritual, into this task of motherhood day in and day out, and sometimes the whole of me is going to fall short. Mr A is no less devoted, but this is not his full-time job. I feel bruised as a professional.
I've been considering remaining a full-time mother next year as well. The idea that I could devote myself entirely to this vocation, could give my all 24/7 for years on end, and still be so replaceable is somewhat shattering. Does every professional mother feel like an empty shell sometimes - having given everything and still been found wanting?
There are too many reminders in my life that there is a way to ensure you are your child's sun, moon, and stars: be a single parent. I would never trade my relationship with Mr Awesome, or my sons' relationship with their dad, to put myself at the center of the boys' universe.
This is just my ego, hopped up on hormones, wondering, am I good enough at my job? If I am not the one and only, what is a mother and how am I going to define myself, to myself, in the coming year?
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