Showing posts with label breastfeeding twins. Show all posts
Showing posts with label breastfeeding twins. Show all posts
Monday, February 16, 2009
a message to anyone considering weaning
June 9, 2008
Please pay close attention to what I am about to tell you.
(1) Make sure that you are absolutely, 100% done with nursing before you embark on this adventure. I thought I was 100% done, and now I wish so bad that I could just nurse them one time, just one tiny time, a day. And maybe for just like 5 minutes. But to do that would be cruel and confusing to everyone, so I guess we're done.
(2) Wean GRADUALLY. LLL suggests eliminating one feeding for 3 or 4 days, and then another, and then another. Otherwise, you will end up with lumpy, painful, leaky boulders like me. I imagine it's almost like getting a boob job.
(3) Don't hang out with anyone who is (a) nursing, or (b) having lots of fun. It will depress you.
(4) Ignore all the uppity AP types that you run into at the local co-op, who will cock their heads to one side and say, "Ohhh! You weaned already? Are they even 2 yet?".
(5) Force your wriggly kid(s) to sit in your lap while you rock him/her and sing them songs they're not listening to to "wind them down" for bedtime.
Please pay close attention to what I am about to tell you.
(1) Make sure that you are absolutely, 100% done with nursing before you embark on this adventure. I thought I was 100% done, and now I wish so bad that I could just nurse them one time, just one tiny time, a day. And maybe for just like 5 minutes. But to do that would be cruel and confusing to everyone, so I guess we're done.
(2) Wean GRADUALLY. LLL suggests eliminating one feeding for 3 or 4 days, and then another, and then another. Otherwise, you will end up with lumpy, painful, leaky boulders like me. I imagine it's almost like getting a boob job.
(3) Don't hang out with anyone who is (a) nursing, or (b) having lots of fun. It will depress you.
(4) Ignore all the uppity AP types that you run into at the local co-op, who will cock their heads to one side and say, "Ohhh! You weaned already? Are they even 2 yet?".
(5) Force your wriggly kid(s) to sit in your lap while you rock him/her and sing them songs they're not listening to to "wind them down" for bedtime.
the end of an era
June 6, 2008
When I walked into my first La Leche League meeting, I was seven months pregnant and had just discovered that I was having twins. I had not come to terms with the fact that my midwife would no longer consider a home birth, and went to the meeting with the intention of finding a midwife that would. As we went around the circle and introduced ourselves (mostly women with small babies or toddlers, the leaders, and a scattering of pregnant first time moms), I felt myself losing the little grip I had on my emotions and essentially burst into tears during my confession to the group that I had just found out I was having twins and was (obviously) FREAKING OUT. In an effort to be helpful, I was shown photos of women happily nursing twins. "See?", they said. "You can do it!". But instead of being comforted by the images, I was appalled by the photos. The image in my mind of a mother lovingly gazing down at her nursing baby was replaced by the image of a mom covered in babies. Drowning in babies. Being eaten alive by hungry, sweaty babies. I walked out of there even more terrified, but convinced that I would nurse these babies come hell or high water.
When the babies were born, I had an entourage of people coming in and out of the hospital room. Instead of the peaceful, private, festive home birth I had envisioned, I was lying in a fluorescent hospital room with a backless gown and a belly full of stitches from where they pulled my babies out. At least once an hour, someone would barge in with some forms we needed to sign, or some test they needed to perform, or some very important discussion about nothing that needed to happen right then, at 3 in the morning. When we were finally discharged 3 days later, I brought my babies home to a house full of sunshine and friends. People were still coming in and out at all hours, but instead of charts and forms to sign, they walked in with delicious home cooked meals and assorted dark beers "to help with my milk production". Despite the chaos of my Cuban family, newborns, and a revolving door of friends and midwives, I felt at peace. With a garage full of baby crap waiting to be unpacked, I was content with the knowledge that all these babies really needed was a warm bed and the milk from my breasts. So I sat in an arm chair, all day and most of the night, drinking water and Guiness and Mother's Milk tonic, and watched them as they nursed and nursed for hours and days.
Then, on the morning of day 6, the blisters came. By midday, my nipples were cracked and bleeding, and the moment the babies' lips touched my breasts, I felt an electric current of pain shoot from my nipple to my back. With two babies nursing around the clock, I had no time to heal so, suddenly, despite the lanolin and nipple shields, I was in total nursing hell. The friends that came over with that evening's meal were greeted by my frantic mom, trying to sterilize bottles so that I could pump the milk for the next feeding. Meanwhile, as they sat uncomfortably on the couch, I paced around tearfully (and topless) in nothing but pajama pants so my nipples could "air out". That night, my mother and I slept in one hour shifts, pumping and praying that we could get another 3 ounces out before a baby woke up ready to nurse. The thought of feeding them formula was absolutely not an option, so I pumped and pumped and pumped that entire night and into the next day.
Three cranial sacral massages and a lactation consultant later, we were told that they both had severe tongue tie (when the flap of skin that connects your tongue to the bottom of your mouth is too short) and were physically unable to nurse efficiently because they couldn't move their tongues properly. Apparently, back in the day, it was customary for midwives to grow a long pinky finger nail (a.k.a. a coke nail) so that they could just slice the babies' tongue tie at birth. However, since no one at the hospital even thought to check for this, I'd been nursing for over 3 weeks in horrible, searing pain, and was almost at the point of giving up. That very day, I made an appointment with the recommended ENT, got their tongue ties clipped (totally painless procedure that took, literally, three seconds), and nursed pain free from that moment on.
That was 19 months ago. For the past year and a half, I've pulled my breasts out in most every restaurant in Austin, a few in Miami, and a couple in Alabama. I've been glared at, sneered at, and smiled at as my kids have grown from newborns, to babies, to toddlers from the milk of my breasts. Unashamed and unapologetically, I've nursed them on demand at home and in public for the last year and a half.
But for the last few weeks, I have been really wanting my body back. When my son wakes up at 6 in the morning, desperate to nurse for at least 45 minutes, all I want is to go back to sleep and pretend that I don't hear him. But I don't. I get up, and bring him to bed with me, and nurse him until his sister wakes up an hour later. And the entire time, I'm gritting my teeth and praying that he'll fall asleep again. But he doesn't. And when I'm nursing them both and they start to push each other away and pull each other's hair, I pry their mouths from my breast and declare the session over. Instead of the beautiful bond we once had, I feel like nursing has become an obligation, and I would rather end it on a high note. So, yesterday, after slowly weaning them from all day, to just before/after bedtime and naps, I nursed them for the last time. I wanted to make it special so I stroked their heads and sang them songs and smelled their hair. My eyes welled up with tears as I realized that it was truly the end of an era for us. But my conviction was reinforced seconds later when Manu grabbed a fist full of Isa's hair and brought me back to the present.
Tonight, I put them to bed with no tears and no requests to nurse. Though we'd been talking about it for days, I'm still surprised at how cooperative they've been. No tantrums, no begging. Just like that, they're done. My breasts are swollen and painful as my body adjusts to the change. And I'm terrified of what the hormones will do to my heart. So if I seem a little more emotional than usual in the next couple of weeks, bear with me. I fully expect this to be harder on me than it is on them.
When I walked into my first La Leche League meeting, I was seven months pregnant and had just discovered that I was having twins. I had not come to terms with the fact that my midwife would no longer consider a home birth, and went to the meeting with the intention of finding a midwife that would. As we went around the circle and introduced ourselves (mostly women with small babies or toddlers, the leaders, and a scattering of pregnant first time moms), I felt myself losing the little grip I had on my emotions and essentially burst into tears during my confession to the group that I had just found out I was having twins and was (obviously) FREAKING OUT. In an effort to be helpful, I was shown photos of women happily nursing twins. "See?", they said. "You can do it!". But instead of being comforted by the images, I was appalled by the photos. The image in my mind of a mother lovingly gazing down at her nursing baby was replaced by the image of a mom covered in babies. Drowning in babies. Being eaten alive by hungry, sweaty babies. I walked out of there even more terrified, but convinced that I would nurse these babies come hell or high water.
When the babies were born, I had an entourage of people coming in and out of the hospital room. Instead of the peaceful, private, festive home birth I had envisioned, I was lying in a fluorescent hospital room with a backless gown and a belly full of stitches from where they pulled my babies out. At least once an hour, someone would barge in with some forms we needed to sign, or some test they needed to perform, or some very important discussion about nothing that needed to happen right then, at 3 in the morning. When we were finally discharged 3 days later, I brought my babies home to a house full of sunshine and friends. People were still coming in and out at all hours, but instead of charts and forms to sign, they walked in with delicious home cooked meals and assorted dark beers "to help with my milk production". Despite the chaos of my Cuban family, newborns, and a revolving door of friends and midwives, I felt at peace. With a garage full of baby crap waiting to be unpacked, I was content with the knowledge that all these babies really needed was a warm bed and the milk from my breasts. So I sat in an arm chair, all day and most of the night, drinking water and Guiness and Mother's Milk tonic, and watched them as they nursed and nursed for hours and days.
Then, on the morning of day 6, the blisters came. By midday, my nipples were cracked and bleeding, and the moment the babies' lips touched my breasts, I felt an electric current of pain shoot from my nipple to my back. With two babies nursing around the clock, I had no time to heal so, suddenly, despite the lanolin and nipple shields, I was in total nursing hell. The friends that came over with that evening's meal were greeted by my frantic mom, trying to sterilize bottles so that I could pump the milk for the next feeding. Meanwhile, as they sat uncomfortably on the couch, I paced around tearfully (and topless) in nothing but pajama pants so my nipples could "air out". That night, my mother and I slept in one hour shifts, pumping and praying that we could get another 3 ounces out before a baby woke up ready to nurse. The thought of feeding them formula was absolutely not an option, so I pumped and pumped and pumped that entire night and into the next day.
Three cranial sacral massages and a lactation consultant later, we were told that they both had severe tongue tie (when the flap of skin that connects your tongue to the bottom of your mouth is too short) and were physically unable to nurse efficiently because they couldn't move their tongues properly. Apparently, back in the day, it was customary for midwives to grow a long pinky finger nail (a.k.a. a coke nail) so that they could just slice the babies' tongue tie at birth. However, since no one at the hospital even thought to check for this, I'd been nursing for over 3 weeks in horrible, searing pain, and was almost at the point of giving up. That very day, I made an appointment with the recommended ENT, got their tongue ties clipped (totally painless procedure that took, literally, three seconds), and nursed pain free from that moment on.
That was 19 months ago. For the past year and a half, I've pulled my breasts out in most every restaurant in Austin, a few in Miami, and a couple in Alabama. I've been glared at, sneered at, and smiled at as my kids have grown from newborns, to babies, to toddlers from the milk of my breasts. Unashamed and unapologetically, I've nursed them on demand at home and in public for the last year and a half.
But for the last few weeks, I have been really wanting my body back. When my son wakes up at 6 in the morning, desperate to nurse for at least 45 minutes, all I want is to go back to sleep and pretend that I don't hear him. But I don't. I get up, and bring him to bed with me, and nurse him until his sister wakes up an hour later. And the entire time, I'm gritting my teeth and praying that he'll fall asleep again. But he doesn't. And when I'm nursing them both and they start to push each other away and pull each other's hair, I pry their mouths from my breast and declare the session over. Instead of the beautiful bond we once had, I feel like nursing has become an obligation, and I would rather end it on a high note. So, yesterday, after slowly weaning them from all day, to just before/after bedtime and naps, I nursed them for the last time. I wanted to make it special so I stroked their heads and sang them songs and smelled their hair. My eyes welled up with tears as I realized that it was truly the end of an era for us. But my conviction was reinforced seconds later when Manu grabbed a fist full of Isa's hair and brought me back to the present.
Tonight, I put them to bed with no tears and no requests to nurse. Though we'd been talking about it for days, I'm still surprised at how cooperative they've been. No tantrums, no begging. Just like that, they're done. My breasts are swollen and painful as my body adjusts to the change. And I'm terrified of what the hormones will do to my heart. So if I seem a little more emotional than usual in the next couple of weeks, bear with me. I fully expect this to be harder on me than it is on them.
boob over my hammy
April 5, 2007
in anticipation of our flight to miami (babies' first plane ride), i bought a box of 200 earplugs at the suggestion of my friend haley. i figured that, if the shit hit the fan and the babies lost it on the plane, i could at least offer earplugs to my fellow passengers in order to avoid their scorn. for good measure, and at the suggestion of our pediatrician, i also dosed them with a little benadryl moments before take-off in the hopes that it would knock them out for the duration of the flight.
except for a few tummy-clenching moments of isa crying as we were landing in miami, i have to say that the flight there was virtually painless. my sister sat across the aisle from me and expertly rocked, patted, and shushed her lap baby from take-off to landing. as the babies yawned and stretched and slowly awoke on our way to baggage claim, christie and i exchanged a triumphant high five and exhaled for the first time in hours. only five minutes of crying in over five hours of airplane travel....not bad at all.
the way back, however, was a totally different story. this time, my dad was my travel companion. as we settled into our seats and prepared for take-off, the babies seemed to be slipping into benadryl's dreamy embrace. i even took out my US weekly and began flipping through the gossip columns as the other passengers settled around us. somewhere between take-off and the beverage service, isa decided that it was a good time to make a massive and incredibly stinky poo. as she wriggled in my lap, grunting with the effort, loud and stinky baby farts filled the air around us. with every noisy blast, my dad and i laughed harder and harder. finally, certain that she'd finished with her business, i asked a flight attendant where i might find a changing table. "unfortunately," she said, "this airplane is an older model. there is no changing table. you'd really be better off changing her in your seat". you've got to be fucking kidding me, i (and the woman eating in the seat next to me) thought. just as i was debating whether it was better to change her diaper or let her ass rot for the duration of the flight, manu starts pitching a fit on my dad's lap across the aisle. i hand my dad a baby bottle filled with water, in the hopes that this will keep him entertained long enough for me to figure out what to do with isa, but this only makes him fussier. shit. ok. let's switch. i'll nurse manu, and my dad can hold isa for a minute and then i'll deal with her turd situation.
so we do the hand off, and as manu settles onto my breast, isa starts howling as my dad fumbles to hold her comfortably. oh, jesus christ. "dad, she doesn't like to be lying down. you have to hold her up. but snuggle her, and pat her.... maybe bounce her a little." but it's been a while since he held babies and his clumsiness is only making her scream louder so, after some shifting on my part, i ask him to hand her over. at this point, i'm trying to discretely tandem nurse two fussy babies in an AIRPLANE seat! "i'm really sorry," i say to everyone giving me stink eye, "i have earplugs. please take some, they're right in here." no one takes them, but they keep glaring at me as i shush and wriggle in my seat and try to keep both babies on a boob despite their flailing about in protest. it's from HELL. people are really starting to get annoyed. i'm embarrassed and frustrated and doing the best i can. my dad keeps smoothing the spot on his head where there once was hair, and nervously chuckling to himself. this goes on for AT LEAST twenty minutes.
finally, after what seems like hours of screaming, they start to settle down and i've got them both nursing quietly. passengers around me are just starting to shake their shoulders down and loosen into their seats. i close my eyes and pucker my throbbing lips which are white and achy from being tightly pressed together for so long. i start to think again about the steaming stench emanating from isa's diaper and wonder what the hell i am going to do about it. and then my dad reaches across me for his coke, which i placed on the tray table next to me, worried that he would spill it during the baby swap fiasco. as he leans over us to grab his drink, the baby bottle that he'd put in his front shirt pocket falls to the ground. anxiously, he looks at me to see if i notice and i shoot him a "good job, dad!" look. as he bends over to pick up the bottle, he spills HIS ENTIRE CUP OF ICE COLD COCA COLA onto manu's nursing head!!! the kid sputters as the soda fills his ears, his eyes, his nose....and then lets out a blood-curdling scream which sends his sister into a tantrum. i look at my father in disbelief, but i see from the look on his face that he is mortified and paralyzed with shame. people around us are shifting around in their seats and looking at us in horror as the airplane is filled, once again, with the sound of wailing, pissed off babies.
a woman from the back of the plane comes up to me, as i sit there trying to console my screaming children, one of whom is COVERED in sticky cola, and says, "m'am. please let me help you. i have four kids." "no thanks," i stammer and awkwardly get up from my seat and march toward the back of the plane, shushing and bouncing avoiding the gawking stares of the passengers along the way. once i reach the back of the plane, the flight attendant squeezes my arm and then gently pulls down my shirt to cover my exposed breast.
awesome. not only did i walk down the entire length of the plane with two screaming babies. i walked down the entire length of the plane with a screaming baby, a boob, and a screaming baby (covered in coke). this is awesome.
long story short, i stayed in the back of the plane until they were both asleep. and then i walked back to my seat, squeezed into place, and did not move a muscle until we landed in austin 3 hours later. there's one for the baby book.
in anticipation of our flight to miami (babies' first plane ride), i bought a box of 200 earplugs at the suggestion of my friend haley. i figured that, if the shit hit the fan and the babies lost it on the plane, i could at least offer earplugs to my fellow passengers in order to avoid their scorn. for good measure, and at the suggestion of our pediatrician, i also dosed them with a little benadryl moments before take-off in the hopes that it would knock them out for the duration of the flight.
except for a few tummy-clenching moments of isa crying as we were landing in miami, i have to say that the flight there was virtually painless. my sister sat across the aisle from me and expertly rocked, patted, and shushed her lap baby from take-off to landing. as the babies yawned and stretched and slowly awoke on our way to baggage claim, christie and i exchanged a triumphant high five and exhaled for the first time in hours. only five minutes of crying in over five hours of airplane travel....not bad at all.
the way back, however, was a totally different story. this time, my dad was my travel companion. as we settled into our seats and prepared for take-off, the babies seemed to be slipping into benadryl's dreamy embrace. i even took out my US weekly and began flipping through the gossip columns as the other passengers settled around us. somewhere between take-off and the beverage service, isa decided that it was a good time to make a massive and incredibly stinky poo. as she wriggled in my lap, grunting with the effort, loud and stinky baby farts filled the air around us. with every noisy blast, my dad and i laughed harder and harder. finally, certain that she'd finished with her business, i asked a flight attendant where i might find a changing table. "unfortunately," she said, "this airplane is an older model. there is no changing table. you'd really be better off changing her in your seat". you've got to be fucking kidding me, i (and the woman eating in the seat next to me) thought. just as i was debating whether it was better to change her diaper or let her ass rot for the duration of the flight, manu starts pitching a fit on my dad's lap across the aisle. i hand my dad a baby bottle filled with water, in the hopes that this will keep him entertained long enough for me to figure out what to do with isa, but this only makes him fussier. shit. ok. let's switch. i'll nurse manu, and my dad can hold isa for a minute and then i'll deal with her turd situation.
so we do the hand off, and as manu settles onto my breast, isa starts howling as my dad fumbles to hold her comfortably. oh, jesus christ. "dad, she doesn't like to be lying down. you have to hold her up. but snuggle her, and pat her.... maybe bounce her a little." but it's been a while since he held babies and his clumsiness is only making her scream louder so, after some shifting on my part, i ask him to hand her over. at this point, i'm trying to discretely tandem nurse two fussy babies in an AIRPLANE seat! "i'm really sorry," i say to everyone giving me stink eye, "i have earplugs. please take some, they're right in here." no one takes them, but they keep glaring at me as i shush and wriggle in my seat and try to keep both babies on a boob despite their flailing about in protest. it's from HELL. people are really starting to get annoyed. i'm embarrassed and frustrated and doing the best i can. my dad keeps smoothing the spot on his head where there once was hair, and nervously chuckling to himself. this goes on for AT LEAST twenty minutes.
finally, after what seems like hours of screaming, they start to settle down and i've got them both nursing quietly. passengers around me are just starting to shake their shoulders down and loosen into their seats. i close my eyes and pucker my throbbing lips which are white and achy from being tightly pressed together for so long. i start to think again about the steaming stench emanating from isa's diaper and wonder what the hell i am going to do about it. and then my dad reaches across me for his coke, which i placed on the tray table next to me, worried that he would spill it during the baby swap fiasco. as he leans over us to grab his drink, the baby bottle that he'd put in his front shirt pocket falls to the ground. anxiously, he looks at me to see if i notice and i shoot him a "good job, dad!" look. as he bends over to pick up the bottle, he spills HIS ENTIRE CUP OF ICE COLD COCA COLA onto manu's nursing head!!! the kid sputters as the soda fills his ears, his eyes, his nose....and then lets out a blood-curdling scream which sends his sister into a tantrum. i look at my father in disbelief, but i see from the look on his face that he is mortified and paralyzed with shame. people around us are shifting around in their seats and looking at us in horror as the airplane is filled, once again, with the sound of wailing, pissed off babies.
a woman from the back of the plane comes up to me, as i sit there trying to console my screaming children, one of whom is COVERED in sticky cola, and says, "m'am. please let me help you. i have four kids." "no thanks," i stammer and awkwardly get up from my seat and march toward the back of the plane, shushing and bouncing avoiding the gawking stares of the passengers along the way. once i reach the back of the plane, the flight attendant squeezes my arm and then gently pulls down my shirt to cover my exposed breast.
awesome. not only did i walk down the entire length of the plane with two screaming babies. i walked down the entire length of the plane with a screaming baby, a boob, and a screaming baby (covered in coke). this is awesome.
long story short, i stayed in the back of the plane until they were both asleep. and then i walked back to my seat, squeezed into place, and did not move a muscle until we landed in austin 3 hours later. there's one for the baby book.
when instinct fails...
October 28, 2006
your nipples bleed.
breast feeding twins is the craziest thing i've ever done.
your nipples bleed.
breast feeding twins is the craziest thing i've ever done.
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