From the Nursing Chair: Tandem Crying

This post is part of From the Nursing Chair, a series on the joys and challenges of breastfeeding twins.

Squish and Squeak at 6 weeks. It's blurry because I could never stop moving!

When the virtues of tandem nursing are extolled, you rarely hear about its worst side effect: tandem crying. When two babies are accustomed to eating at the same time, they become hungry at the same time, thus start crying at the same time. Occasionally they even poop at the same time, necessitating a tandem diaper change...you get the idea.

Somehow, this doesn't carry over to sleeping at the same time, at least not at first. Go figure.

The key, I've discovered, is to get a jump on when they are likely to start crying and give them what they want before they start to panic. By 10 weeks old, we the boys started to get on an eat-wake-sleep rhythm, I could predict with greater certainty what need is next in the queue and act before all hell breaks loose.

Most of the time.

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.

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.

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.

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. 

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?

It's a Small World After All

My world is small these days.

Besides tiny clothes and hunting for the forever-dropping tiny pacifier, the landscape of my day consists of the apartment and our neighboring streets. No longer do I think of my home as one place; each room is now its own destination.

We are in the nursery pretty much all morning. Around noon we make it to the play space in the living room. In the afternoon, we manage to get into the hallway, and then Outside. A short walk around the neighborhood brings us among neighbors, postmen, other parents and young children, trees, the occasional dog. Then we return home, to the nursery, where we settle into evening and finally to bed.

Is this normal? I don't know. Should I be getting out twice per day? The idea is exhausting. Squeak and Squish need their freedom of movement and play during the brief times they are awake. I don't want them strapped into a carseat all day long. And while I can feed them out and about, I prefer not to, since feeding one at a time kind of messes with the schedule (big post on that coming up). Meanwhile, it usually takes me til 1pm to get dressed and have a meal.

So. The world is small. And lonesome, if I'm being honest.

It's more than geography though. Community is what expands our horizons and makes us feel needed. When I go to a job outside my home, I enter a community where many people are counting on me, asking me questions, including me in news and plans. I'm a part of a larger effort.

The limited shape of my routine and interactions can make me forget that what I am doing is not small at all. For their first year of life, I am able to be a full-time mother to my children. What could be bigger than that? Yet, it is a private, solitary endeavor.

At home I'm the captain of a very small crew, sailing alone through strange seas.

Aw hell. I'm not even the captain.

I'm lucky to live in a pedestrian-friendly neighborhood. When elderly folks stop to admire Squeak and Squish, I let them coo for as long as they wish. I chat a little, hear their advice and stories if they offer them. I realize they must feel outside of society too. Usually it's a little awkward, because we both seem to want to linger, but have nothing to say. Perhaps I should be bold and engage folks with some questions and light conversation.

Perhaps that's where community starts - having the courage to stop and make a little connection.

In It

I'm two months into motherhood and I'm in deep, my friends.

I have the good fortune to take a year off from my job to be with my little ones full time. While distancing myself from my professional life, I've sought out a new community of mothers (and some fathers), both in person and through blogs. I attend a local Parents of Multiples group, and regularly troll the Internet for funny, interesting blogs that make me feel, during a 3am feeding, that I'm joining the ranks of the many moms out there who are struggling to do it all correctly (on 2 hours of sleep).

I've been lurking so much and so often, I figure it's time to put my 2¢ out there. Maybe my words will help someone as others have helped me.

Or maybe I just need a place to put my many rantings. Probably the second one.

My brother-in-law (God love him) had enough of a sense of humor to ask me if I've been quilting lately. Uh, no. I haven't been sleeping, eating with two hands, or flossing daily. I will quilt again! But for a while, I'm going to be present to this once-in-a-lifetime (I assure you) adventure, and write some of it down here so I don't forget it and accidentally think I want more kids.

In the interest of maintaining a semblance of privacy, the babies will be known heretofore as Squish (the little snuggler) and Squeak (who was born making a whole barnyard of sounds). Maybe it will save them the embarrassment of being googled by a future employer and having the details of their newborn poops show up. Not that I'll write about poop exclusively, but you know.

When I started this blog a year and a half ago (what!?), it felt like a risk. Writing about something so personal as my adventures in motherhood is a risk too. But carpe diem and all that. If we don't tell our own stories, who will?

They're In the World

Introducing...

Rainer Daly

5 lbs, 15 oz, 18.5 inches

and 

Michael Phineas

6 lbs, 5 oz, 18.75 inches

were born on September 20, 2012, at 2:12am

Michael (left) and Rainer (right) minutes after birth

I went in for the induction on Tuesday, Sept 18 at about 7:30pm. At first, things progressed quickly, but when I got to 6 cm dilated, there was no progress for hours. Around midnight on Sept 20 (yes, over 24 hours in labor), Rainer, our Baby A, started showing signs of distress. Whenever I had a contraction, his heart rate dipped. The doctors monitored him carefully, but the situation did not improve and suddenly my doctor rushed in, putting on scrubs as she said, "We need to do a c-section without delay," and she repeated pointedly to the nurse, "without delay." I think it was literally 12 minutes later that I heard Rainer's good strong cry, followed swiftly by Michael's. It was the best thing I ever heard.

The nurses wrote A and B on their hats so they could keep track.

I can't even begin to describe the 2 weeks that followed - it was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Mr Awesome and I fell head over heels for our little guys, and had many beautiful moments of bonding and joyful loveyness. The same day we all came home from the hospital (no NICU time for my big healthy babies!), I had to be readmitted to the hospital for 3 days for a uterine lining infection. That was not fun. We wouldn't have survived without the help and kindness of our moms and close friends. Now, at 3.5 weeks into this journey, things are settling down and we are starting to find our routine.

We wanted each baby to have a family name and a literary name. Rainer Daly, our Baby A, is named after Rainer Maria Rilke, our favorite poet. "Rainer" means "wise warrior." Daly is my last name.

So far, Rainer is a champion nurser, loves sleeping, and screams bloody murder if you take too long changing his diaper.

He prefers to be swaddled and hates the pacifier.

Michael means "Who is like God?" and is Mr Awesome's late father's name. Phineas is his favorite literary character (from A Separate Peace). It means "oracle."

This little guy, our Baby B, loves his tummy time, especially rolling from side to side. He likes to be cuddled and enjoys watching his hands.

Michael snorts when agitated. He really enjoys looking at mobiles.

They are both completely amazing and I love getting to know them better every day. No worries about telling these two apart - they couldn't look more different! Rainer has black hair and olive skin, big full lips and pointy ears. Michael is fair and his hair looks more reddish every day, his nose is turned up like mine, and he makes this hilarious little pursed mouth.

As the poet Rilke writes, "Every angel is terror."As we start a new life as a family of four, I feel blessed every day. And I feel overwhelmed, terrified, exhausted, and uncertain. But over it all is a huge umbrella of LOVE.

Family life is rich indeed.

Pins, Needles, and 38 Weeks

Want to know the most boring thing in the world? Waiting around to go into labor. Everyone else in my life is excited. I'm bored, nervous, restless. Passive. It takes the patience of a saint to be so passive, and I am certainly not one.

Pins

I made a pin cushion for myself. Cute, huh? I've been needing one for my hand-sewing basket. Pin cushions are so fun and easy. I keep on squishing it, like a tiny pillow. Eeek! :o)

Needles
I've considering acupuncture to get labor started. But that would mean doing stuff, like calling for an appointment and leaving the house.

38 Weeks
51.5" around.
57.5 lbs gained.
1,000,000 items crossed off the list.
1 amazing journey.

I made it to my goal of 38 weeks (8.5 months) pregnant, and I feel DONE. I'm so glad I didn't have the frightening experience of pre-term labor and seeing struggling preemies in the hospital. But now I want nature to step it up already. Carrying twins past 38 weeks is considered just as risky as delivering early - not enough space to grow, placental break down, etc, etc. Plus, I'm uncomfortable and bored. Oh and whiny. And cranky. And, I'm sure, a real pleasure to be around.

Sigh. I'm trying to enjoy the moment - the end of pregnancy. The quiet house. Eating with two hands. But it's hard to relax when I feel so ready for this new beginning.

We are on induction stand-by today, so we call Labor and Delivery every few hours to see if there is space. If so, we dash right over and get things started. Meanwhile, I'm getting a pedicure and taking myself out to lunch on this beautiful September day.

Oh, and if we don't call you (immediate family) or post something online, and you are really, REALLY wondering if I went into labor, please visit this website for more info: www.haveyouhadthatbabyyet.com. :o)