Things To Be Grateful For

Sometimes I make lists of my positive and negative thinking just so I can focus on things to be grateful for. Some typical negative thoughts include:
"What did I do to my life?" "I am desperate for sleep" "I wish I had my freedom back"

If focused on too much, these negative thoughts become so heavy my whole body feels depressed. Sometimes I panic. Sometimes it's too much. Last night was horrific, so what better day than to focus on positive thinking:

"You only HAVE to do this once in your life"... which changes to something even more positive "You only GET to do this once in your life".

"This too shall pass"
"We are all healthy, and for the most part we are happy"
"We have an amazing family to support us"

"Keep on, keep on, keep on"

"Two little girls think you are the most amazing person in the world. Just seeing you makes them light up."

"Eventually, they will sleep and so will you. In the meantime, there is coffee."

Video chat with daddy while he's at work

Two faces to wash, and four dirty hands
Two insistent voices, making demands
Twice as much crying, when things go wrong
Four eyes closing, with slumber song
Twice as many garments, blowing on the line
Two cherubs in the wagon, soaking up sunshine
Work I do for twins, naturally comes double
But four arms to hug me, repay all my trouble. - Anonymous

Dress Up

Being a mom to twin girls has some major perks. For the most part, the three of us live in our pajamas, only getting dressed to go out on the town. But sometimes when I'm feeling particularly frustrated with them, I pull open the dresser and we play dress up. Dresses, shoes, socks, pants, leggings sweaters, shirts, combing hair, carefully placing ribbons or barrettes. It's my way of having some fun with them, and by the time I've settled on the perfect outfits, they just look so damn cute I can't help but gush over them.

The same old conversation

Although all four of us are crammed into a tiny one bedroom apartment, we are here because of the neighbourhood. I can walk out my front door and go to the drug store, grocery store, fruit & veg stands, baby store, coffee shop and even pediatrician. I try to go for walks with the girls often so we all get some fresh air (it's also great for me to "push out the angries" as I power walk uphill with my hundred pound double stroller). 

Every time I go out though (without exception), I am stopped (multiple times) by well-meaning strangers in the stores and on the street. Being twins, Carmen & Lena have innate celebrity status. Depending on my mood, and how much time I have, I either humour said strangers or do my best to avoid eye contact and head on my way. 

The conversation I have with these pedestrians is exactly the same 99% of the time and got old really fast. The first few times I was more chipper about my responses, and now, not so much. 

"Ohhh! Look! Twins?"

No, just same aged babies in a double stroller...

"Boy and a girl?"
Everyone thinks Carmen is a boy.

"Are they identical?", followed by, "No? They look identical!" 

What is the polite response to this one? I just want to say "No, they don't".

"Wow, you must have you're hands full". 

To which I always simply say "Yes, both hands".

"Are you nursing?" 

Seriously - complete strangers ask me this.

I've had people ask me if they are paternal. Paternal? No, I believe they are more maternal than paternal, being girls and all. They ask if twins run in my family. They ask how I do it. I say I don't know. They tell me how lucky I am to have gotten it all over at once. They tell me how they always wished they had twins. They tell me about their uncle's cousin's friend's brother who has twins. I just nod. Like I said, I know these strangers are well-meaning, but quite often I am stressed out, in a rush and they literally stop me and want to talk. It puts me in an awkward situation because I have had the conversation a gazillion times over and I don't want to be rude, but I really just want to be able to go out and get my shit done without being interrupted with the same old questions.

But then, out of the blue, this happened. Yesterday I was in line in Shoppers and out of my peripheral vision, I saw a woman come up behind me. I avoided eye contact and didn't turn around. Then I hear her "Ohhh!" and I think "Here we go..." but don't turn around. "Ohhh!" again. I cave, turning around to smile. This woman has the most genuine expression on her face, she seems emotionally touched. She says again, "Ohh! They are just so beautiful, I don't even know what to say". I don't know what to say either, and she says in the most sincere voice, "They are so gorgeous. You are so, so blessed". 

I paused. I looked at my girls, sitting quietly in the stroller, looking up at me and this woman with their big blue eyes. They are gorgeous. I felt blessed. This complete stranger inspired me to feel gratitude. So much better than the same old conversation!

One Thing About Two

Enjoying rare one-on-one time with Leens

I think I'll start a reoccurring feature with this title as I'm always thinking of the unique aspects of twin-rearing.

At 3:39a.m. last night, I lay on the bed in the bedroom nursing Carmen. Most nights, one baby will wake up hungry first and I'll feed her, burp her, then wake up the next baby and do the same. I quickly learned that when I feed one I have to feed the other, even if it means waking them up. Often, in the beginning, I would let the second baby sleep thinking "I wonder how long she'll go if I just let her sleep". Always a bad idea - the second baby is up shortly after and I'm waking up twice as often.

So there I lay, feeding Carmy quietly in the dark, when suddenly Lena begins to stir. Waaaaaa! She's awake and hungry. This is the One Thing About Two; I've learned to tune out my babies cries in situations where I just cannot meet their needs due to the oneness of me and the twoness of them. For a long time I felt inadequate as a mother in these situations. I want to give both of my children what they need when they need it, but quite often I cannot. Especially when they were newborns as newborns have no patience. When newborns are hungry (which seems like all the time), they get very worked up about it if they are not fed immediately.

I quickly learned that in a situation such as this (when I am nursing one baby and the other is crying), there is simply nothing I can do. The second baby will have to wait. Instead of stressing out, worrying about them, becoming pre-occupied with meeting the second babies needs, I tune out their cries. I know they are safe and their needs will be met shortly, but in the meantime they will have to wait. I try my best to enjoy the current moment with the first baby, as I do not want to rob them of this time with mommy just because their sister is waiting in line. For far too long I would become preoccupied with the second baby crying and try to rush through what I was doing with the first baby, but I realized that when I do that, we all lose.

When I just try my best to ignore the cries of the second baby, I focus on the first baby and our moment together. The first baby has the luxury of relaxed time with me (the crying of her sister never seems to faze her!), enjoys her long nursing session and is thoroughly burped and put back to bed. The second baby always looses no matter how you slice it, but at least once the first one is properly dealt with, the second one gets my full attention.

One thing about two is that all of us need twice as much patience.

Tough nights & hilarious mornings

The past two nights have been particularly difficult. No big news there, just the way it's been. Orlando and I have resorted (as per usual) to sleeping on the pull-out-sofa in the living room in an attempt to escape, but alas, there is no escape. Lena's cry is like a high-pitched siren that goes off unexpectedly at all hours of the night, jolting us awake just as we're drifting off.

It's really easy to get annoyed, frustrated, overwhelmed. Stomping around in the middle of the night, we trip over things, curse the decision to ever have babies, fall heavily into bed after each wake-up. It's easy for Orlando and I to take out our anger on each other. We're tired, delusional, pissy and not in the mood to get along quite frankly. We fight over who got less sleep, as though it's a battle to be won.

The difference it makes when we have sympathy and compassion for each other is astounding. When we speak with kindness to one another, recognizing that the other is just as tired and overwhelmed. When we can laugh hysterically at how ridiculous everything is (like yesterday morning when the girls fought their first nap for three hours and the cat decided to add insult to injury by puking on the floor twice where he knew we'd step). When we offer hugs, kisses and back massages to one another even though we are exhausted ourselves, suddenly we are a team again. Having him on my side is so much better than fighting.

After these tough nights, it's morning and we drag ourselves into the bedroom, flick on the light, turn off the white-noise and say "good morning"...

Then we look into those cribs and there are two babies, flapping their arms like little penguins, kicking their legs in their sleep sacks and smiling as though seeing us is the best thing in the world. The previous nights hardships quickly become a distant memory. It's impossible to be upset with Carmen & Lena when they are giving us those big, toothless smiles - before we know it, we are cooing over them. Despite everything, somehow we suddenly feel extraordinary lucky to have each other.

Leaving the house

This morning has been quite hectic and I haven't had a chance to sit down and write. Today we're going out. Never before have my organizational skills been so put to use.

Step one: Have stroller and carseats assembled and at the ready
Step two: Pack diaper bag
Step three: Get myself together. Clothes, brush teeth, feed myself (very important - sometimes I arrive at my destination starving, realizing I've forgotten to eat), get my jacket, keys and wallet out. (Sometimes I get to the car and realize my teeth aren't brushed...)
Step four: Babies must be sufficiently napped in order to prevent massive meltdown on the way home. It can be tricky getting said babies down at the same time in order to (one hopes) have them wake up at the same time so no baby is awoken from their slumber. This doesn't always happen though.
Step five: Whilst babies nap, lay out hats, jackets, clean diapers, shoes, pacifiers and a blankie
Step six: Drink coffee until first baby wakes up
Step seven: Feed, change, dress first baby
Step eight: If second baby hasn't awoken, wake second baby and feed, change, dress second baby
Step nine: Car seats
Step ten: My shoes, jacket and diaper bag (I've found myself waiting at the elevator in my slippers before)
Step eleven: Down to the parkade, carseats in the car, fold down stroller, put stroller in trunk. Get behind the wheel and hope no one starts crying on the way to our destination.

My anxiety level peaks as we leave the house; the peak lasts until we reach our destination. As the outing comes to a close, my anxiety starts to fall. If all is going well and the babies make it home without loosing it, my anxiety declines.

There's the first baby! Awake! Better get going.

Burp City Blues

I've been meaning to post on the topic of burping for a while. I feel the need to spread my burping wisdom, especially to those first-time-moms-to-be reading my blog.

Burping isn't something anyone really talked to me about before I had babies. Sure, I knew babies should be burped; I'd seen people doing this in person and in the media - simply put baby over shoulder and pat back. We didn't talk about burps in our prenatal group, and we did not talk about them in the hospital when I was working with a lactation consultant right after Camen & Lena were born. At that point I did not realize that burps would soon be the bane of my existence.

Some babies are easier to burp than others. I've even heard of babies (Adele!) who rarely ever burped at all. But I have a hard-to-burp baby and it can cause hours and hours of distress. It took me about a month to realize that it was burps that were bothering Lena. After I fed her, burped her (I didn't focus on the burping portion as much as I should have) and put her down, I couldn't figure out why she seemed so uncomfortable, wriggling around and crying. Sometimes she'd doze off for a minute or two, and so would I, then suddenly she'd be crying again. This went on and on. Finally I went to spend a few days at my moms house. We put the girls down and this happened and she said "maybe it's a burp". Those words changed my life. I realized over the course of the next few days and weeks that whenever they wouldn't settle down in their cribs It was ALWAYS a burp! Once that burp comes out, they pass out in relief.

Knowing that my girls won't settle down because they probably have a burp doesn't always help the problem though. Burps can be stubborn, stubborn things. It can take hours to get all Lena's burps out, which is NOT fun in the middle of the night. If you find yourself in the same burp boat as I was/am in, let me know and I'll share with you some techniques I've picked up over the course of the last five months.

I am SO looking forward to when they can sit up on their own and burp themselves. That will be a day Orlando and I celebrate. 

Smiles

I have a hangover. Last night got a bit wild and I had 3 whole beers and stayed up until 11pm. Despite my throbbing head, my desperation for more sleep and the sadness I feel thinking about my mom sitting on a plane right now on her way back to Arizona, I find myself smiling.

I've heard parents say that if you want to have kids because you think it will make you happier, you may be in for a surprise. To a certain extent I believe this to be true. While I may not be happier all-around, I find myself smiling and laughing a lot these days. I smile at the babies in an attempt to make them smile back. I laugh and play with them in an attempt to make them happy. And, of course, they do ridiculous things that make me laugh too. Even this morning, as crappy as I felt, there I was smiling at my babies. Soon, all three of us were smiling and giggling. It's pretty hard to smile without letting it lift your spirits.

The other night as I lay in bed (and by bed, I mean pull-out-couch in the family room, between my husbands computer desk and the kitchen) trying to fall asleep, I looked deep within myself and found some happiness just floating there below the surface. I brought it to life and suddenly it was as if I tapped into a river of joy. I realized that happiness doesn't come from how much sleep I've gotten, from having (or lacking) my own bedroom or having anything at all, but it's always right there waiting for me. No matter how exhausted, frustrated or overwhelmed I am, it's always right there and it's my choice to manifest it.

When I smile it makes Lena and Carmen smile and suddenly all three of us are feeling happy. Smiles and laughter can come from nowhere and nothing, and even when it's 6am, I haven't had a coffee and I've been up one too many times for one too many hours, all I need to be is willing to smile and it can turn my mood around.

My nephew Jackson's contagious smile :)

Sleep Deprivation

I'm tired.

I've said this before, many times. But this is a depth of tired I never knew existed. It lives deep within my bones and throbs within my muscles, weighing down my entire body. For five months I've been the sole source of nutrition for two human beings, and the subject of an awful experiment in sleep deprivation. As time goes on, although they sleep better and longer than they did lo those many months ago (for the most part), I'm finding it hard to do the same.

It's no surprise that sleep deprivation tactics are used as a form of torture. Suddenly, when you least expect it WA! and you're ripped from your dreams, torn from your sweet slumber. You get up, do whatever is necessary (as if my brain makes the best decisions at this time of night), then lay down again. Mostly this is where I lay wide awake, my brain has been switched on and damn if I can turn it off again. Finally, half an hour later I begin to slip into another slumber... and literally as the dream starts to appear... WA! Repeat. All night long. The worst part about it is you never know when to expect it. Predictability has become as coveted as sleep itself.

I'm doing things only really, really tired people do. Cereal in the fridge. Milk in the cupboard. Saying words that make no sense. "Isn't this outfit portable?!... Isn't this outfit... portable?... Isn't it... adorable?!" I made "coffee" that was actually just hot water - I forgot to put the beans in. The part of my brain that regulates appropriate social behavior has been sacrificed. No longer am I able to wrap my brain around social niceties. Conversational skills? Out the window. And it's hard enough trying to keep up with my own husband let alone friends.

There, vent over. Thanks for reading, or not. I'm going to go pour myself another cup of coffee. *yawn 

Five Months

Today, at 4:34 and 4:37pm respectively, Carmen and Lena turn five months old. 

When they were newborns and everything was impossible and chaotic, everyone said it would get better when they turned three months. Three months was the magic number. After an agonizingly slow three months passed, things got a bit better... but were still very difficult. I remember still saying at three months that I felt as though I could not do it, and simultaneously somehow I was doing it.  

Then, three months passed and as we closed in on four, everyone started saying "six months is when they really get to be fun". At six months they can sit up, burp on their own (there is a post coming this week on the topic of burps - bane of my existence), they smile, giggle, play. And as they near six months I can see why this is true. Their little personalities are emerging every day and I'm falling madly in love with them. Don't get me wrong, I've loved them since day one - but in a fierce protective-mommy way; in a survival way, expressed through sacrificing myself night and day to meet their needs. Lately, I find myself gushing over them, munching on their plump chipmunk cheeks, marveling at their beauty, adoring their little noises, squeezing them in an attempt to get closer and closer - we can never be close enough. The moment has come, I have fallen hopelessly in love with them.

Saying "it'll get better" to new moms doesn't make things any easier, but I tucked that phrase into my pocket as a tiny glimmer of hope. It has in fact, gotten easier (easier, not easy). It's been the most intense five months of my life without a shadow of a doubt, but now that we're saying goodbye to that overwhelming dependency of the early months, I'm starting to actually enjoy being a mom.

Those Moments

Those secret moments when you lay your tired head against my chest and suck your thumb. When you don't know I'm watching you and you lay there, pleasantly looking around at the world. When you look at me and smile, when I tickle you and make you giggle. When you babble happily to yourselves, or each other. Those sacred moments when my heart explodes with joy and I just want to share it with the whole world. I want everyone to see you through my eyes, to feel the way only I can feel, to know this all-consuming love.

As challenging as this is, I'd do it over and over again, just for those moments.

When did we stop listening to our mothers?

I've been spending a lot of time with my mom and my mother-in-law and as they see me day-to-day doing my thing with the babies and facing new problems and challenges, they can't help but offer me advice and stories about what they did with us when we were babies.

I listen to their advice, weigh it against what what the doctors have said, what I've read, my own intuition and then I'll either take it or leave it. I am paving my own path as a new mother, making decisions based on a wealth of knowledge and advice from my moms. I know they respect that but there are some things they hold fast on; after all, "mother knows best". But I'm also a mother... is it contradictory that I know best too?

I imagine a time, place, or culture where new moms like me would take the advice of their mothers and do what they did. When people learned from their elders instead of Health Canada, Google and the millions of other mothers and doctors who write the books new moms read. Feed the babies early or wait until six months? Put them to sleep on tummy or back? Feed them water or don't feed them water? Milk, honey? And don't get me started on sleep training...

I really wonder when we started questioning the knowledge of our mothers and began relying on ourselves to gather information and do it our own way. Probably before Google. I wonder too if we are raising children that are any happier or healthier. And if we are missing something inherent to motherhood because we choose to do it our own way instead of doing as our mothers did. Something that bonds us to our matriarchal line. Maybe though, this world I'm imagining never existed and becoming a mother has always been a right of passage in which we make our own choices for our own babies. Maybe part of becoming a mother, and what really bonds us to our mothers and gains their respect, is doing things our own way.

I will add that many of my moms' tricks and tips are tried and true and when I give them a chance, they work. But I do feel awkward when I say to my them, "that's not what doctors advise these days" and they look at me skeptically. After all, I'm my mother's daughter and I like to think I turned out okay.

Oh Snap!

Snap Snap Snap Snap Snap... Snap Snap... Snap Snap... Snap. Dammit! Unsnap... Unsnap... Snap Snap.

That's me doing up ONE pair of pajamas. Who invented the snap?! Seriously! I can't figure those damn things out - I'm in a rush and I'm trying to get someone's pajamas on and there's no time for these silly snaps. Half the time they end up all messed up and I just leave it. Who thought it would be a good idea to give a  tired mom a puzzle to solve every time she has to change a diaper or change someone's pajamas?

And although I prefer zippers - I'd like to know who decided to make the standard for baby zippered pajamas. Seriously, I'd like to have a good talking with them about why they chose to start the zipper at the top, near the baby's neck. So whenever it's time for a diaper change (8-10 times a day), baby gets a nice cold waft of air as I zip her entire outfit all the way down. If the zipper was at the bottom going up, I wouldn't have to open it past her waist.

Seriously baby designers! If you don't sort out your zippers and snaps, I'm going to SNAP!

You know you're a twin mom when...

I am part of a really supportive and informative forum at www.twinstuff.com and recently came across a topic entitled "You know you are a twin mom when..." where MoM's (mothers of multiples) filled in the last part of the sentence. I laughed and laughed as I identified with everyone's responses:

You know you're a twin mom when your family calls you the crazy sleep police.

I still think my family and friends don't really understand why I am SO structured, scheduled and paranoid about my babies sleep. They haven't had to deal with TWO overtired, melting down babies. Check.

You know you're a twin mom when you eat extra large meals because you never know when you're next one will be.

SO true. I have never eaten such big meals in my life, and they are usually cold. Check.

You know you're a twin mom when you find yourself wondering what mothers of single babies do with all their extra spare time.

I know this one is smug. I know there are very difficult single babies. But on days when I'm doing it all by myself, saying it makes me feel better.

When you can check your mail, feed a baby and bounce another baby all at the same time.

Check. The other day I actually typed with my toes as I nursed one baby and soothed another. Sometimes I think MoM also stands for Master of Multitasking.

When you sit down at the end of the day (7pm for me) to catch up on your favourite tv show and end up falling asleep sitting up.

Check.

You can pee while holding a baby.

Check.

I don't have the time, or maybe it's more the ability, to go out to mommy meet-ups (two babies + one mommy sitting in a coffee shop for an hour, trying to hold a conversation? No thanks.), so I really love jumping on the forum between interruptions. I laugh, cry and sympathize with so many other twin moms going through this journey. If you're a twin mom, are close to one, or about to become one, I recommend you join twinstuff.

You know you're a twin mom when the best you can do is communicate with the outside world through blogging, email and forums.

The facade

I walk out into the lobby of the restaurant; high heels, hot dress, hair straightened, makeup applied. No one can see the nursing pads stuck in my bra (I checked). I'm looking good, not going to lie (this cleavage is one of the bonus' of baby life). No one would suspect that 99% of the time I am to be found in sweats, hair pulled back in a messy bun, covered in puke, drool and other bodily fluids. There are a group of attractive people, attractively standing around, looking my way. I'm on the phone checking in with Abuela & Abuelo, babysitters for the evening.
"How are they?"
"What? SHE POOPED?"
... silence in the lobby. Said attractive people turn their heads away.

Have a great weekend!

I look forward to Saturday as much (if not more) as I did when I worked nine to five. It means daddy is home and mommy gets a break! So I've decided to take weekends off from posting on the blogenstein. The past few topics have been really heavy so I'm brewing up some lighter ones for next week.
Have a great weekend!
x

Doctor vs Doula

When I found out I was pregnant, I conveniently started seeing Pomegranate Midwives (directly across the street from our apartment). However, at just 9 weeks I found out I was pregnant with twins and was recommended to a highly experienced ob/gyn who specialized in multiple births as midwives can't legally be the sole caretaker in a pregnancy that is "anything outside of the norm". So off I went to see my new doctor. My experience so far with the midwives had been great. In my hour-long appointments we discussed how I was feeling, what I was thinking, and everything was presented to me as a choice (Do I want to hear the heartbeat? Do I want to do blood tests? etc). My doctor's appointments were often as short as five minutes. He'd pop me on the bed, pull out his wand, lube up my belly and look at the tiny fetuses on the ultrasound screen. Listen to the heartbeats, then "any questions?" and that was it. He was a busy man, although I will say that he knew what he was talking about, and respected me and the choices I made during my pregnancy.
I wanted something more though, than these brief appointments, so we decided to hire a doula. We met with one who really seemed like what we needed. She was all about natural child-birth and the power of woman, almost the polar opposite of my surgeon/doctor. Perfect - I could have two people on opposite sides of the spectrum providing me with their perceptions on all the issues I was going to face!

Turned out being less than perfect, especially towards the end of my pregnancy, with things culminating at the hospital the day before I gave birth.

As my belly grew... and grew... and grew... my body started shutting down as everything went to the parasites - er, I mean babies, and I was left to suffer. Well, not really but it certainly felt like it. I developed an intensely itchy and sore rash called PUPPS all over my belly, which spread to my legs, arms and chest. As any woman who has experienced the third trimester probably knows, sleep becomes elusive as you try desperately to get comfortable in bed (thank sweet baby Jesus for Snoogles!) and are awoken every two hours with a bursting bladder. Imagine that times two, plus scratching itchy skin in my sleep. Finally, at 38 weeks my blood pressure was on the rise and a few days later, bloodwork showed liver and kidney abnormalities which concerned my doctor. He'd been talking about induction since week 36 and I continually put it off, in hopes the babies would come on their own.

My doula desperately encouraged me to wait and let the babies choose their own arrival date and continually presented me with anecdotes and facts about twins born at 43 weeks, twins born at home unassisted, etc. "Of course you have liver and kidney abnormalities!", she'd say, "that can only be expected as you reach the end of your twin pregnancy". "Induction?! Breaking you water? This can lead to many interventions at the hospital including oxytocin, epidural, can lead to c-section, etc".

Exhausted (emotionally and physically), excruciatingly itchy and extremely uncomfortable, I finally made the decision to go to the hospital on August 16th, just two days before my forty week due date. I never thought I would make it that far - a month earlier I was looking for signs of labour, and as the days ticked by I became more and more desperate. Finally, here I was laying on a hospital bed with my doctor on one side, my doula on the other, watching as my doula fought him on all his assertions. He wanted to break my water, and I told him I was reluctant, and wanted the baby to break the water on her own. He asked me what the difference was, and I couldn't really answer. My doula piped up, saying that the water need not break at all, asking the doctor what on earth he was talking about (she was referring to the rare cases where babies are born in the caul). He expressed his genuine concern with my health, knowing if I waited it would continue to decrease rapidly. The doula questioned him on everything. The energy in the room turned quite awkward. In a way it was great that she was presenting the opinion against induction so I could make an informed decision - but the way she was doing it felt wrong. You could tell she did not believe or trust my doctor's opinion.
Jen (my sister-in-law who was there supporting me) had felt for a long time that the doula rubbed her the wrong way, especially after a prenatal visit that took place at Jen's house, where we could hear Jen's son upstairs crying-it-out and the doula commented that she co-slept with her children and would feel like a terrible mother if she did anything else.

So after heavily weighing the opinions of my doctor vs. doula for and against induction, and looking within myself to finally make MY decision, which was not easy, I decided to have Baby A's water broken. My doula was visibly upset and left shortly afterwards. She asked me to call her when things started picking up.

I decided not to call her back. Her energy was negative, it was obvious she thought very little of my doctor's opinion and I was afraid of her reaction and judgment if I made more choices for MY birth that she didn't agree with. Later, weeks after the babies were born, I read her blog where she referred to her "twin client". She labeled what happened to me as "birth rape" and talked about the "coercion" I subjected myself to. She went on, saying she didn't know why women hire a "birth professional" to guide them so they can NOT listen to them and let their doctor induce at 40 weeks and have pitocin and epidural throughout labour. I did not hire this so-called birth professional to make medical decisions for me - I hired her to gain her opinion in order to make informed choices for myself, and was relying on her support. My doctor, a man who has delivered more twins in British Columbia than any other doctor, a man who encourages vaginal twin births, a man who does breech births, a man who respected me, presented me with facts, and let ME make decisions about MY birth without judgment was the professional.

A couple weeks after the birth, she came over to see my babies (when I politely let her go, saying I didn't need her post-partum support). When she asked for me to share my birth story, I quickly told her the main events. "NO!", she proclaimed when I told her they started an oxytocin drip after eight hours of labouring and not dilating past 3cm.  "NO!", when I told her I'd chosen to get the epidural when, 11 hours into labour, I found out baby B was footling breech. "NO! He didn't!", when I told her the doctor pulled out Baby B as she was footling breech. "NO!" she screamed as I told her Baby A was taken to the NICU to be put on antibiotics after the water had been broken more than 24 hours. And as the doula held Carmy in her arms I just wanted to yank her right back to me when she said, "You know, Epi babies don't hold their heads up as quickly".

We hired her for emotional support, and to provide me with the opposite opinion of my doctor, as she is someone who is anti-induction, anti-epidural, anti-c-seciton. In the end, I did get her opinion, and weighed it against my doctor's opinion and went with what my instincts told me was right for me. All I ended up getting from her was judgment for allowing myself to be "birth-raped". I hate that I read that term, it won't leave my mind and it really pisses me off. So doula, what I really should have said to you, and what I want say to you is this: It's MY body, MY birth, MY choice so Fuck you!

My birth story told by Jen

Today a guest writer. This is my birth story, as told by my sister-in-law Jennifer. Due to the graphic nature of this content, viewer discretion is advised.

We had all been waiting for months for the twins to be born.  Poor Loranda was getting more and more uncomfortable.  I was so excited that she’d asked me to be there for the birth and every night before bed I made sure my cell phone and the house phone were on the bedside table in case I got the call.  For a couple weeks Loranda’s doctor had been suggesting an induction, but there were so many signs that labour was just around the corner and so Loranda always opted to wait.  After a kind nurse gave her a call at the request of her doctor, Loranda finally agreed to come in to the hospital to see if they could get things going.  Twins are full-term at 37 weeks.  Loranda was days away from 40 weeks.

On August 16th Loranda and Orlando came to our house around noon.  Loranda was obviously nervous and had a few tears.  We convinced her to eat some pizza (bad idea) and then we got in the car and I drove them to the hospital.  The whole way there I tried to be very positive and upbeat saying “we’re going to meet your girls soon!” and “today is the day we are having babies!”.  We got to the hospital, got checked in and were admitted at about 1:30pm.  We were brought to Loranda’s room - the same room where my son Jackson was born almost exactly 8 months before - and got settled in.  

Loranda’s belly was fitted with heart rate monitors around 1:45.  I love hearing the sound of baby heartbeats.  Her poor, PUPPPS-covered belly looked so sad.  Loranda’s doula arrived and shortly after, her doctor came in to discuss the options.  His preference was to break Loranda’s water and then see if her body would get the hint and go into labour.  If she wasn’t progressing, then she’d be given oxytocin and actively monitored to ensure that labour was continuing.  

There were some tense moments while the doula and doctor butted heads.  Poor Loranda was stuck in the middle, unsure of what the right decision was and getting a lot of pressure for and against induction.  As much as I am pro-natural-labour, the doula was rubbing me the wrong way.  She was very opinionated and disputing the facts the doctor was presenting.  Loranda’s doctor is one of the most highly respected obstetricians in all of Vancouver and I was pretty confident that he knew what he was talking about.  In the end Loranda looked at me and asked what I thought.  I said “well, we came here to have babies”, and later Loranda told me that was exactly what she needed to hear.  I was nervous, because had she had complications, or a bad experience, I really didn’t want her to have regrets or to feel pressured into something she wasn’t ready for.  

At 2:50pm the doctor broke Loranda’s water (baby A’s sac).  At 3:10 the heartbeat monitors were swapped for mobile devices with the hope that by walking around labour would start.  I left the hospital an hour or so later to let her and Orlando have some time together and to wait for her contractions to get going.  When I got back to the hospital, we went outside for a walk and Loranda’s contractions were picking up.  We’d stop when one would start and sometimes she’d lean on Orlando for support.  

I was surprised and worried Loranda would be discouraged when at 10pm she was still dilated only 3cm.  It was around this time that it was decided that they’d start her on oxytocin and at 10:30pm they started her drip.  I stayed until midnight and I remember being nervous about how to help Loranda best.  Earlier on she had decided not to call the doula back and so Orlando and I were her support team.  When Loranda had asked me to be there for the birth, I had assumed I would be the errand girl; not on the front lines, but manning the phones, taking photos, fetching food.  Without the doula, I needed to step up and I was so grateful for the amazing nurses, particularly Nancy who was there at the beginning and again at the very end and who, it turns out, was also the nurse that had called Loranda to ease her fears about coming in to be induced.  We tried many different positions, but Loranda was so tired that between each contraction she wanted to rest but that made it very uncomfortable for her during the contractions.  I could tell she was getting upset and I wished that I’d prepared more in terms of learning helpful labour positions and tricks to soothe the labouring mom-to-be.  In the end I settled for holding her hand and running my fingers through her hair.  She’d drink gatorade or water occasionally and was sick a couple times.

It was very interesting watching Loranda labour.  While my labour was extremely short and fast, and each contraction was longer and stronger than the last, Loranda’s seemed to come and go, some being very long and intense and others being only minor blips on the monitor.  I found myself relying on the monitor to determine when she was contracting, only to learn at one point that the monitor was displaying the readings coming from the woman next door.  While I had expected a single contraction to climb in intensity, peak, then taper off, many of Loranda’s contractions intensified rapidly, stayed intense then VERY gradually eased off.  Other’s would peak and then ease off, only to peak again right away before finally giving her some rest.  Apparently these double contractions are very typically of a labouring mom carrying twins.  The uterus is so stretched that it just can’t contract fully and tires before a good strong contraction can take place.  After a while I just learned to watch her cues and would rub her hand, hold her legs and help as best as I could until she was comfortable.  

When I got back to the hospital at 4:20am, I learned that quite a bit had happened since I’d left.  At around 2:40am, baby A’s heartrate dropped.  Loranda thinks it was B’s, so it may have been, but I know they wanted to monitor A more closely, so they attached an internal heartrate monitor.  At 3am when they checked her she was 5cm dilated.  They turned the oxytocin off for a bit here and did an ultrasound which showed that baby B was in a footling breach position.  Prior to this it was thought that both babies were head down.  Loranda knew that once baby A was born, B could get mixed up and flip in any direction and she was seriously considering an epidural since the manual manipulation of the baby is very painful.  It was the discovery that B was already breech that encouraged Loranda to get the epidural.  When I arrived, she’d just had it inserted and the medication was starting to take effect and the oxytocin was turned back on.  Loranda was able to rest more and so I went home again.  At 6:30am I was on my way to the hospital when I got a call saying Loranda was comfortable and resting and that I didn’t need to be there just yet so I returned home.  The nurse also told me she was still at 5cm.

I returned once more to the hospital at 8:30am and was so pleased to hear that Loranda had dilated to 8cm.  We met a new doctor, Dr Rosenberg and we all really liked him.  At about 10 Loranda and Orlando talked with the doctor, resident and the nurse about how when the babies were born they wanted some time skin to skin with Loranda before they were taken away and the cords cut.  The doctor agreed that they’d do the best they could to make that happen.  It was a good conversation and I think Loranda was happy.  By this time the next morning she was starving and exhausted but seemed re-energized by the reminder that the birth of her girls would be the outcome of the ordeal she was enduring.  

I was really amazed to watch her labour with the epidural and chuckled to myself wondering why every woman didn’t choose one.  They had started the oxytocin the night before at a very low dose, but since then they’d been increasing it every half hour to an hour.  As her contractions would grow in intensity, she was able to cope by increasing the dose of the medication coming through the epidural.  

At 11am she was at 9cm with just a lip left on her cervix.  I could feel the excitement building!  At 11:30 she started feeling pushy but the doctor wanted to wait just a little bit more.  I’m not sure if it was just the transitional period in her labour where the contractions ease off a bit, Loranda’s exhaustion, the effect of the epidural, or possibly a combination of all of those, but Loranda was able to nap (as well as Orlando and I) from 1pm to about 2:30pm.  

Her nap was just the rest she needed because when she woke up, with the help of Nancy she tried a few pushes.  At 2:50 Dr Rosenberg came in and the pushing began!  I absolutely cannot complain because obviously Loranda was doing all of the work, but wow, my muscles were sore the next day!  I was on one side holding her hand with her foot up in my hip and with Orlando on the other side, with each push we’d pull her forward by her hands and push against her with our hips as she pressed and pulled against us.  I think it was around this time that Loranda was burning up with fever.  Her water had been broken over 24hrs before and apparently a fever is quite common.  She was put on antibiotics and the pushing continued.  I remember Orlando giving her ice chips and between each push we’d massage her hips.  Dr Rosenberg came and went during the first hour and a bit of pushing, and with Nancy’s help we got into a good routine.  Blankets on while she rests, back into position and blankets off while she pushes.  It sounds silly but it was shocking to suddenly realize that soon we’d see a baby, and then another!!  I think it’s easy to get so wrapped up in the contractions that you forget what it’s all for.  There were a couple pushes around this time where, with Nancy’s help, Orlando and I caught our first glimpse of head.  Wow.  Orlando seemed speechless, I got choked up.  

After a while we could see on the monitor that baby B’s heartrate was dropping after each contraction.  By this time there was quite an audience gathered in the delivery room, and more people waiting outside.  Twin vaginal births are exciting!  We’d met the pediatrician and his resident earlier and by now they were in the room getting the warming bays set up.  Sheila, the obstetrics resident was front and centre helping Loranda push.  When they were no longer comfortable waiting because B’s heartrate continued to drop after each contraction, Sheila placed the vacuum on A’s head and helped guide her down around the pubic bone.  A couple more pushes and she was out!  At 4:34pm Carmen Eva was born.  I followed her over to the warming bay and watching the pediatrician rub her dry and try to get her to react.  She was quite blue and more than a little shocked.  I remember thinking, “come on baby, come on baby, BREATHE!!” and I realized I was saying it out loud.  Loranda was talking, asking me what she looked like and to describe her.  She was small and wrinkly with dark hair and I told Loranda she was beautiful.  I heard a big splash as B’s sac broke releasing amniotic fluid all over the floor and Dr Rosenberg’s shoes :)  When I turned around, I could see B’s two feet and very quickly she was out too.  At 4:37pm, Lena Lynn was born.  Carmen was given to Loranda and I went to see Lena.  She was so tiny, but her eyes were open and she was pinking up quickly.  The pediatrician took Carmen from Loranda and gave her Lena.  They were concerned that Carmen just wasn’t reacting as well as she should be and so although torturous to Loranda I’m sure, they took her to the NICU and got her started on antibiotics.  

My body was so full of adrenaline and I raced outside to make the phone call home where I knew the whole family was waiting.  “We have babies!” I shouted!  I proceeded to text everyone Loranda had asked me to notify with the same message.  Immediately texts started coming in, one after another.  It was wonderful.  The family was on it’s way and I waited outside, giving Loranda, Orlando and Lena time together alone.  

After everyone had had their visit, and the grandparents were brought to see Carmen in the NICU we left to let Loranda and Orlando rest and absorb the events of the past day and a half.  When I visited the next day they told me that Carmen was still on antibiotics but that she was brought up to their room around midnight so the whole family was finally together.  Both babies were nursing well, and the adventure of parenthood had begun!

Surviving Twinfants

When I was four weeks into motherhood, I wrote a few tips down, in hopes other new mothers could benefit from my newly found wisdom:

Everyone says to sleep while they sleep. Sounds easy, but after the trauma of giving birth and the shock of life with newborn twins, this is much easier said than done. When they did finally fall asleep, (and miraculously were asleep at the same time), I would lay down in bed and find myself anxiously thinking, “Will they be asleep for mintues or hours? How long do I have? Was that a cry?”. I would measure how tired I was by the intensity of body spasms - you know when your leg twitches as you lay in bed? My leg would BOLT up, my arms would SHOOT out, my entire body would SPASM as though I was being jolted with a defibrillator. As the minutes ticked by, I would get more and more anxiety thinking about how little time I probably had to sleep. Sleep sleep sleep. My mind wouldn't turn off and my body felt like a clenched fist.
So Tip 1: Instead of trying to sleep while they sleep, try to relax while they sleep. Have a hot bath with some lavender oil or lay in bed and focus on your breath. With each inhale, focus on a part of your body and feel the oxygen flow through and tell it to relax. I had no idea how much tension I had in my eyeballs! Breathe in, “relax eyeballs”, breathe out. Breathe in, “relax shoulders”, breathe out. Even if you don’t get any sleep, at least you’ve rested; you may even surprise yourself and wake up a few minutes or hours later to a hunger cry!

One thing I’ve learned is that when I feel completely overwhelmed and am balling my eyes out, tears streaming down onto the faces of my crying babies and thinking “what did I do to my life?!”, it is because I am tired. Sleep cures this feeling of utter despair. Even one hour of sleep would help my optimism return just a little.
Tip 2: Try to get someone else to take over for even just a small amount of time so you can sleep. If you don’t have help, just make it through what you’re doing with the babies and know they cannot stay awake forever. They will eventually sleep, and when they do, it’s your turn to crash.

Tip 3: Laugh whenever you can. Laugh hysterically and laugh until you cry.

Tip 4: Look at the positive. At least it’s not triplets.

How quickly we forget

I was flipping through my journal the other day when I came across a few pages in the back, scribbled with various dates, times and numbers:

"August 24th
630am - 10minutes each
730 - 10mins
930 - 10mins
1130 - 10mins
315 - 15mins
5 - 10mins
630 - 15mins
9 - 10mins
11 - 15mins
1230 -10mins
145am - 15mins
430 - 5mins
530 - 10mins"

Yes, you guessed it, I was tracking a 24hr period of when I nursed the babies. So just to clarify... it took me 10-15minutes to feed each of the girls (and that was on the fast days - during growth spurts it would take at least an hour to feed each one and I'd have to pry them off). So that's 20-30mins just to feed, then there is burping and then there is trying to get them back to sleep before lone behold, they are hungry again and want to nurse. I remember at one point saying to my family that I had slept only 2 hours in the past 48. And I don't even think those two hours were consecutive.

I brought this over to Orlando to show him and he was like "What?! How did we/you survive that?". I think new parents suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder. Our brains actively suppress the memory of the first few months after childbirth. It is INSANE and I am still in awe that I survived that level of sleep deprivation (and continue to survive) in combination with nursing which puts such a demand on your body.

I can't emphasize enough how grateful I am for my family and friends. My sister-in-law went grocery shopping for me (without even asking if I needed it!) and my family and friends brought me meals multiple times weekly - because with all that nursing I needed a lot of calories and I had absolutely no time or energy to cook or shop for food. My brother pulled a night shift, my mom pulled many. They cleaned my house, encouraged me to lay down and rest, even if I was too wound up to sleep and were there for me emotionally when it felt like the entire world was going to crumble.

Even if we've forgotten just how hard it was in those early weeks and months, we'll never forget those who were there for us, and continue to be.

I kid you not... there are two

As I sit here on the sofa, drinking my second cup of coffee and watching my two, four and a half month old fraternal twin girls jump up and down in their jolly jumpers and squee with delight, I can't help but consider the stark contrast between my old and new realities.

When I went for my nine week ultrasound last December, I had a feeling something was... different. I had been sitting in the office of my midwife just a week earlier, telling her I was having a hard time realizing this was real. I felt a sense of nervousness and anxiety about the pregnancy - something I'm sure many first time moms feel. She suggested I go for a dating ultrasound, under the pretense of finding out my due date. Maybe seeing the baby would help make it real for me. My husband Orlando had plans on the evening of the ultrasound, but he reluctantly canceled in order to accompany me and boy is he lucky he did. As we drove to the ultrasound clinic, a thought crossed my mind for the first time: "What if it's twins?". I had never imagined myself with twins, never wished, hoped or dreamed of having twins. Never had I even considered the possibility of it. I always imagined myself with a single baby. But with this thought came a sense of peace, the anxiety just disappeared... and then I let it go as quickly as it came.

As I lay in the tiny, dimly lit room on that cold, dark winter evening, by myself with the lab tech (they made Orlando wait outside), I did not expect the following words to come out of the tech's mouth. She squinted, looked closely at the screen, then said, "I kid you not... there are two".

The next five minutes were the longest ones of my life. I will never forget laying there by myself as she left to find another doctor and confirm what she just saw. I was laughing, crying, cursing, in total disbelief. Two? Two? We have to move! Two babies, two toddlers, two kids, two teenagers, two carseats, two cribs, two college tuitions, two, two two! Finally the tech came back and brought Orlando with her. He saw my red eyes, the tears streaming down my face and quickly asked what was wrong. "There are two". "WHAT?" I could see his brain slowly absorb this news that had completely come out of left field. He looked at the screen, where clearly, yes, two little white beans blipped around in a little black circle. We just laughed and laughed.

At twenty-seven years old, my husband finally agreed that it was time to have a baby. I had always wanted one, but I was waiting for Orlando to say those magic words. He came home one night after hanging out with some dear friends and told me about an interview they had watched with the founders of a famous company. The founder said that he wants to live every day like it's his last. Orlando said to me, "if it was my last day, I would want to have a kid". That's all I needed to hear. And it was seriously five weeks later that we found out I was pregnant. Four weeks after that, we found out it was twins, and now our family has doubled in size.

While pregnant with twins, I accepted that I was unable to imagine what my life would be like once they arrived. I was right.