Monthly Archives: September 2012

Mac and Peach will be 4 weeks old in 2 days.  I cannot believe that much time has passed since their birth!  Then again, these days zip by in 3-hour cycles…feed, pump, nap (babies, not me), heaps of laundry, chores, feed again…

And so it goes.

Really, the question I want to ask all the twin moms is this:  when you were alone with the babies, how did you manage it when both of them were crying for their very lives – faces turning purple, mouths wide open, wailing for all they were worth?  This is the only situation that really gets to me because of course I want to soothe and comfort them both as soon as possible.  I position them as close together as I can (maybe in a double boppy) and try to hold pacifiers in their mouths simultaneously until they settle.  This doesn’t always work.  Our bouncy seats don’t actually bounce and the vibration mode seems more irritating than soothing, so the bouncy seats are not a solution.  I just don’t know what to do for them in this circumstance.  What did you do?

Otherwise, things are hectic, but okay.  We have a schedule (Ms. Type A here must have a schedule).  The first morning feeding is at 6 am.  Although it’s tough getting up, I like being up early, having coffee, getting the day started.  We pretty much feed on a 3-hour schedule except for the night shift when we do a 10 pm and 2 am feeding (followed by the 6 am).  You’d think that would allow us a good amount of night time sleep, but it really doesn’t.  It is often difficult to get the babies back to sleep after a night feeding, so there is much bottom-patting and pacing going on in our house at night.

Peach and Mac are definitely growing.  They are losing their waif-y newborn appearance, are almost able to fit into newborn sized clothing and feel noticeably heavier.  Mac’s hair is getting lighter in color, and it has a blond-copper sheen to it! (I would really like it if one of my children looked remotely like me).  Their eyes are a color I call “deep sapphire” and I hope they stay that color.  Peach is a wide-eyed girl.  Her eyes dart all over the place, taking everything in.  Mac is my old soul child.  His eyes look quietly into mine and I swear I can see the history of the world in them.

Breastfeeding.  Or not.  More like pump-feeding.  I just can’t get a rhythm.  I’ll absent mindedly pump and then realize that their feed time is 30 minutes away and I should have NOT pumped but have tried to nurse one of them.  Duh.  They are not great at nursing, but it’s no wonder since they never really get to practice.  Today I made a concerted effort and both of them got to the breast twice today.  They actually did pretty good (considering) but of course needed to be topped off with a bottle.  I have been recording the amount I am able to pump each day and I get a day’s total of 28 ounces in 24 hours.  That’s not very good considering I’ll need double that in no time.  I’m taking tons of fenugreek, trying to pump as often as I can (jeepers, you know, you simply cannot be attached to that thing for 6 hours a day) and drinking fluids.  It’s a bit depressing.  I know I went into this saying that if I couldn’t breastfeed and they had to have formula I’d be okay with that….but….well…I want to be able to provide all the benefits that breast milk offers.  I want to do this for them.  It feels so important.  So I struggle and forge onward.

What else?  My mother is driving me nuts.  The baby clothes keep coming (it’s like the tide rolling in – you can’t stop it) and she has sewn me something like 6 new fleece blankets.  She reminds me often that my house is dirty and shouts at our dogs routinely.  My mom has been here every day since the babies were born and my husband and I live under the daily threat of her imminent criticism — until today.  I finally told her to take a day off.  She really thinks she is crucial to our survival.  And although it is helpful to have another pair of hands to help with the twins, both my DH and I commented to each other that today was wonderful and so stress-free without my mom here.  We could do as we pleased in our own home.  Imagine that!  She brings such a negative energy into our home.

I think I’m going to hire a housekeeper to come periodically though because I have no idea when I’ll actually have time to clean my bathrooms again.

As for my recovery from the C-section, I feel great and just want to know when this mound of soft dough that is my belly is going to go away.  I hate catching a glimpse of my reflection in a mirror or glass window.  I am so round.  I guess after my 6-week appointment I will get clearance to exercise.

So that’s it for us.  Scout is still having a rough go of it, which means I am too, but we had lots of giggles today playing with latex balloons – blowing them up and then, without knotting them,  setting them loose to sail wildly around the room.  Scout loved it and I was happy to see him laugh.

Next time I’ll post some new pictures.

There will come  a day when Scout won’t remember a time before siblings.  But that day is not today.  He’s actually quite sweet and tender and gentle with the Itty Bits.  When one or both of them cry, he offers them a toy, pats their heads gently and even tries to offer them a binkie.  He has never tried to hurt either of them – this is good.

But, that said, he is not the Same Old Scout.  He is needier.  He makes more noise when he wants attention.  He shouts when he knows the babies are asleep and we’ve asked him to use a quiet voice.  He has more meltdowns.  He is generally more…..bratty.  I hate to use that term with my beloved Scout, but it fits.  I was always so proud of his behavior, his ability to cope and accept and comply with our requests of him.  To sit, to be quiet, to wait patiently, etc.  All of that is out the window these days.

Sigh.

I know it’s temporary – at least that’s what I’m told.  I miss the Old Scout.  I love him no matter what, and I know where his behavior is coming from, it’s just hard to deal with when I KNOW what kind of kid he really is (on top of all the crying, spitting up, sleepless hours, etc due to the Itty Bits).  Three crying, needy kids is nothing short of hard to manage.

Oh, and did I mention that one of our dogs suffered a ruptured anal glad the other day, necessitating a trip to the vet (and 20 days of antibiotics) on top of everything else?

Welcome to our chaos!

One other thing:  Mr. BWUB says he wants to sleep a 5-hour stretch.  I said we can both get a 5-hour stretch of sleep if we take shifts of caring for BOTH babies alone:  one of us take 9pm – 2am and the other from 2 am – 7 am.  Did any of you try this?  If so, how did you manage it?  Tips?  Of course feeding the Itty Bits is not a problem – they both gulp their bottles.  The problem is getting them settled and back to sleep AFTER the bottle is empty.  Sometimes it takes 30-45 minutes to get a baby back to sleep.  You don’t have this kind of time when you have a second baby to feed – yet you don’t want to let the first baby scream while you feed the second.  Thoughts?  Suggestions?  Or should we forget it and just wait 3 months till they are ready to sleep longer?

First a little update.  We are in the newborn haze period.  Feedings, pumping, trying to get babies to sleep. Rolling out of bed at O’dark-30 to warm milk.  BTW, I wish I could say I am breastfeeding 2 babies, but I’m not.  I’m doing my best to pump enough to split between them, but I’m pumping about 50-60 cc’s per breast every 3 hours and the babies are each taking 75.  So I’m always a bit behind.  At the breast Mac takes a few gulps and then promptly falls asleep (getting a single feed into him could take 90 minutes) and Peach feeds well at one breast but seems lost on the other.  They both need more practice.  We give them full formula feeds at 10 pm and 2 am to help them sleep better during the night (yes, for our benefit) – but frankly, they don’t seem to sleep very well at night despite my best attempts.  My focus right now is trying to get my milk supply up.  I’m working with a lactation consultant who says we can help the babies learn, but getting and keeping milk is more important right now (if you have no milk, there is nothing to help the babies learn, after all) so I’m more focused on pumping and bottle feeding the expressed milk.  It’s no where near perfect, but at least they are both getting a good amount of breast milk.

Now then, about MIL and Wacky P.  It was day 2 or 3 in the hospital after giving birth and Mr. BWUB informed me that his mom and sister wanted to come for a short visit.  I was not thrilled at the prospect, but my own mother had been to visit and so I couldn’t very well deny him – although I made it clear that I wanted NO children (other than Scout, of course) coming to visit (read: Wacky P’s wackier daughter).

Once I reluctantly consented to the visit, Mr. BWUB told his mom to meet him at the hospital at noon on the appointed day.  Mr. BWUB arrived at about 11:30, giving us a little time, we thought, to continue our discussion of what to name Peach (who was still nameless at the time).  Noon came.  Noon went.  No MIL.  No Wacky P.  No phone call.  I would like to have spent the time staging and taking photos of the babies in the lovely sunshine flooding my hospital room – but instead we waited, ate lunch, and waited some more.

Typical.  Very typical of them to be late – with no call.  Finally at 1:30 pm (no, I am not kidding…an hour and a half late) either Mr. BWUB called them or they called us (I can’t remember) and….hold on for this one…..they were running behind because Wacky P and her family were leaving the following day for a week-long trip to Hawaii and needed to run a few errands and get some things done before they could make it up to the hospital. Oh, but they were now on their way.

Seriously?  My jaw set firmly.  My eyes sparkled with anger.  Through grit teeth I said to Mr. BWUB, “They should have called this morning and said they had things to do and wouldn’t be able to come today.  They are always late, they have NO respect for me or us…and they wonder why I feel about them the way I do!”  Poor Mr. BWUB simply hung his head and nodded in agreement.  I also told him that the babies feeding time was coming up at 2 pm – and I wanted to work on breastfeeding them without MIL and Wacky P gawking at me, making comments and asking questions (which they would absolutely do).  Plus, the nurse was coming at 2 pm to help me with figuring out how to breastfeed twins, so I wanted that time without extra company.

Sure enough, 2 minutes after the nurse arrived and I put one of the twins to breast, there was a knock at the door.  “Hello?!” called MIL.  She and Wacky P began to push the door open and enter.  I very quickly replied in a loud, flat voice, “This is not a good time.  Please come back in 20 minutes.”  But you know, MIL is nervy, and she came walking into the room anyway, her arm extended, holding a vase of yellow roses with a helium balloon floating above it.  “Well,” she said, “I’ll just put these down” and – no shit – she intended to cross the room, walk past me, and put the flowers on the window sill.  You see, she HAD to get in.  She had to.  To do what she wanted.  But I was in no mood.  I stopped her with the tone of my voice and said, “Just hand them to Mr. BWUB, he will take care of them.”  And fortunately, Mr. BWUB stepped in front of her and took the vase.  He then ushered them out the door.  When he came back inside he said they were standing right outside the door and asked where he should send them.  With the same blazing eyes and through the same grit teeth I said, “I don’t care. I. DON’T. CARE.”

It angered me that I felt angry while trying to feed my babies.  It angered me that they stole precious time from me.  It angered me that – yet again – I had to endure their thoughtless, self-centered behavior for the sake of appeasing my husband (who apparently has still not learned that they cannot be trusted).

Twenty minutes later Mr. BWUB’s cell phone rang.  It was them, asking if they could come back yet.  I only vaguely remember the visit because I ignored them.  I completely ignored them and let Mr. BWUB field the visit.

But that’s not even the end of it.  A few days after we were home from the hospital – when my ankles and feet were swollen enormously with edema and I was wearing oh-so-attractive knee-high compression stockings to help ease the discomfort – Mr. BWUB said his mom wanted to stop by in a couple of hours to drop off a lasagna.  Yes, her second lasagna in 2 weeks.  Who eats that much lasagna?  But that’s beside the point.  I told him I was not up for company.  I was not showered, I looked like an old lady in a dress with my compression hose and I wasn’t up to entertain anyone OR answer her million and one questions.

“No” he reassured me, “she is not coming in – she is just dropping off the lasagna and leaving.”  Fine.  Ok.  A while later I see her car pull up.  Mr. BWUB walked outside to meet her.  He clearly intended to take the lasagna dish from her.  But wait….I see through the kitchen window that MIL is walking…pushing past Mr. BWUB…aiming for the front door!  She intends to come in the house!  I actually felt panicky.  I was angry and knew that if I was in my kitchen when she walked in, I would not be very polite about telling her to leave.  My other option was to flee.  Which is what I did.  Can you believe it?  I ran out the back door and hid behind the tree in our back yard!  I was actually hiding!  I feel a bit ridiculous confessing this, but at the moment I couldn’t think of what else to do.

After she left I was absolutely livid and seething.  I read Mr. BWUB the riot act, telling him NO MORE visits from her – I don’t care what for – unless and until I specifically approve the visit because once again, she simply has no respect for boundaries or requests.  She has her own agenda and intends to do what she wants to do – regardless of what anyone else wants and I refuse to abide by it anymore.  Only she and Wacky P would be so insensitive as to force their way uninvited into our home.  I stood there reeling like a crazed bitch at poor Mr. BWUB for several minutes, whose face hung to the ground but looked very pained.  I saw his pain, but at the moment I did not care.  I had had enough of his mother’s disrepect and I needed to tell him so.

Good grief.  And they seriously wonder why I don’t have warm fuzzies for them?

Next up:  Scout’s bumpy adjustment to siblings.