When I have a little help from my friends

I've been feeling overwhelming amounts of gratitude towards my friends and family who have been helping me over the past six months, so I wanted to thank them in a posting.

When the babies were tiny, everyone was bringing me food and offering support. I stayed with my mom for days and nights on end; it was wonderful. After my parents left for Arizona for the winter, I started trying to do it on my own almost every day. Orlando would come home from work after the babies were in bed so I was on my own almost all the time. I quickly broke down. I reached out and asked a few people if they could come over after work on a weekly basis. Since then, I have had help every Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday evenings. I can't express my gratitude for this help, it has brought back my sanity and gives me something to look forward to. 

Bathtime with Abuela x

Now, another three months later, I continue to receive this weekly help. The days are long and when someone is coming after work to help me, I literally count down the hours until they arrive. Just having another set of hands while I'm trying to meet the babies needs and get everything done around the house during supper, bath and bedtime is all I need, and yet I am also encouraged to relax, am brought food and once the babies are sleeping I get company and good conversation.

I don't know how to thank my friends and family for their continued sacrifice of time and energy to help support my family. I really don't know what I would do without you. Your help has allowed me to relax more, has added joy to my days and has kept me nourished physically and emotionally. Thank you so much.

One Thing About Two...

Wow, my entries are really becoming quite inconsistent. We are much busier than usual over here and my mind has been elsewhere. I thought today I'd write a quick One Thing About Two post.

Lena loves Carmy's Chameleon too!

As the girls become more and more interested in their toys (and everything around them, and everything I'm holding), I am starting to forsee the sharing issues that are going to arise. Usually they both want the same toy, the hot items are a plastic container, teething keys, Carmy's Chameleon and a rattle (thankfully, we have two of the same rattle). I am starting to wonder if I will need two of their favourite toys. As soon as they see the aforementioned coveted item, both reach out for it and I don't know who to give it to! I am trying not to have to much "stuff" or toys, but I'm wondering how do other moms with two do it? I imagine it's a relatively similar issue for children of different ages. Do I really have to buy two of some toys?

6 Months Ago Today...

Well, I've never written out my "birth story" before, but today is Carmen & Lena's 6 month birthday and it has me thinking about August 17th, 2010. Warning: This post will probably be long.

I really believed my babies would be born long before my August 18th due date. The majority of twins are born between 34 and 37 weeks, and here I was on August 15th just three days away from 40 weeks. A month earlier I started looking for labour signs, and as the days ticked by with no signs, I just couldn't believe it.

I had enjoyed a relatively easy pregnancy, with no nausea (unheard of with multiples - and from what I've seen others go through I am SO glad I didn't have to suffer this one). I had almost no complications and I boasted a healthy, joyous "pregnant" glow. I felt peaceful, like a calm before the storm. Once I hit about 37 weeks though, my optimism lessened by the day. My body had taken on a life of its own. I was ginormous, and to my disbelief, continued to stretch bigger and bigger.  I had a severe case of PUPPS, an intensely itchy, red rash that covered almost my entire body - and was particularly aggressive on my belly, which looked flaming red with skin puffed up along the lines of my stretch marks... I'll spare you the photo I took of my belly at the end of it all. It was summer and the heat + rash + super pregnant combo started getting old fast. My doctor was trying to persuade me to induce with every visit, but I continued to insist I wanted labour to start naturally. The tipping point was when I started showing signs of pre-eclempsia and my kidneys and liver started to show abnormalities. I felt as though the life was being sucked out of my body - and in a way, it was.

August 2010

With pressure from my doctor to induce, and pressure from my doula to wait, I didn't know what to do. Finally I got a call from BC Women's Hospital on Monday morning, August 16th, from a very kind nurse named Nancy, who encouraged me to come in to the hospital. To Orlando's relief, I agreed (he hated seeing me in such pain and was anxious for the babies to arrive). We took one final picture of me before heading over to my brother's house to pick up Jennifer, my sister-in-law who was going to be supporting me during the birth.

After I ate some pizza (bad idea), we were on our way to the hospital. Jen drove and I was nervous the entire way. In the waiting room I tried to relax and get comfortable which was very difficult. Finally we were admitted to a room and as we walked (waddled) up to it, I realized they were putting me into the exact same room where Jennifer gave birth to my nephew just eight months earlier! My doctor and doula both arrived shortly after I was admitted and stood on either side of me as I lay on the hospital bed. My doctor insisted that it would be best for my health to induce. My doula brought a very awkward tension into the room. She did not care about his medical opinion and made it quite obvious she thought she knew better than him (for more on Dr. vs Doula, see previous posts). I was stuck in the middle trying to decide if I wanted Baby A's water broken. No one could make the decision for me. I looked at Jen and asked what she thought, and she said "We came here to have babies". That was exactly what I needed to hear. Within minutes, the first sac (Baby A's) was broken and I felt a gush of hot water pour onto the floor. My doctor and doula both left.

Orlando and I spent a lot of time laying in that room waiting for contractions to pick up. When we could, we walked around outside. It was a warm, beautiful late-summer day. This is when my memory starts to become hazy. From what I recall, the contractions started picking up on their own, but were not that intense. Later in the evening I was put on oxytocin to intensify the contractions - and it worked. My contractions were coming in waves of three at a time - a huge spike of pain, followed by another, lighter wave of pain and finally a long, groaning contraction. Apparently back-to-back contractions are common with multiple babies. I would try to get comfortable during contractions to get through them, until I realized it is impossible to get comfortable during a contraction and just gave in. In between contractions I tried to rest but it was also very difficult. Sometimes I think I would actually fall asleep, then SPIKE another contraction would shoot through me. I recall opening my hands and reaching up into the air like a religious zealot praising the lord. I repeated the word OPEN in my head over and over, trying to OPEN with the pain. Orlando, Jen and nurse after nurse (shifts changed over the course of the hours I laboured) helped me as much as they could. Some were wonderful. Some tried having serious conversations with me during contractions and I had to tell them to shut up. The monitors they had attached around my belly tightly with elastic were SO uncomfortable as they irritated my rash and put pressure on my way-too-enlarged belly. I begged them to take them off at every chance I could - but the nurses persisted that they were necessary. I remember being so out of it, and then suddenly completely alert. I bet it was strange to see me moaning through contractions, in my own world, and then suddenly say something direct to Orlando, Jen or one of the doctors. It was moments of, "Oh, here I am!". When I puked up my pizza, I remember seeing a pineapple and saying "Oh cute, a pineapple!".

At one point during the night, one of the baby's heartrates started dropping during contractions to an uncomfortably low level. An ultrasound machine was brought in and it was discovered that Baby B was footling breech (we had previously thought both babies were head-down). I had decided long before that if one of the babies was not head-down I was going to get an epidural. I could manage the pain of contractions - I was confident my body knew what to do when it came to child birth. But the doctors would physically manipulate the second baby by pushing on my stomach and reaching in to turn it and pull it out. I couldn't handle the thought of that kind of pain. So an epidural it was. The hardest thing about it was that I had to sit still to get it put in. I would feel a contraction coming on and ask the anesthesiologist to hold on while the contraction rushed over me, then again try to sit still. After the epidural was in I felt a lot of relief and was able to rest. Hours went by - I think I slept. I remember seeing Jen asleep in a chair across the room, and Orlando asleep on a little mattress beside my bed.

Finally I was fully dilated and ready to push. I looked at the clock. 2:50pm. I remember looking at that clock as I pushed - and I remember Jen telling me not to look at the clock. After about an hour, I noticed one of the doctors yawn and I asked him jokingly if he was getting tired. Throughout the two hours, Orlando stood to my right, Jen on my left and I pulled their arms so hard I am surprised they didn't break right off. My feet were up on their hips and I pushed so hard I'm surprised they didn't get knocked over. I pushed over and over, with every contraction, barely resting between. Even when the doctors just asked for one or two, I gave them two or three pushes. I pushed with all the strength I had in me. I hadn't eaten in over 24hrs and was starving, exhausted and aching. But I pushed Baby A out after two hours and just three minutes later Baby B was pulled out by her feet.

I had hardly held a newborn in my life. And here the nurses were handing me two. I had no idea how to hold them or what to do. And that was only the beginning.

Let Down

Before I had the girls I thought there was only one definition of the phrase "let down", as in, "Don't let me down". I quickly learned there was another meaning behind the term, it's when you're milk releases as the baby is breastfeeding and they are satiated with a gush of milk. It usually takes a little bit of sucking before they get the "let down".

In the beginning - August 2010

Breastfeeding is quite the journey. There are highs and there are lows, and overall it is so much work. I never debated whether I would breastfeed or not, and when people ask how long I plan on doing it for, I don't really have an answer. When the babies were born, the doctor said that most women don't make enough milk to feed two babies and that I'd have to supplement. I told him I didn't want to discuss it, and I'd cross that bridge if I came to it. Something in me told me I wouldn't have to, and luckily, I haven't had to.

Breastfeeding means I can't leave my babies for more than 2.5hrs at a time (unless I have expressed milk in a bottle, but I don't usually rely on that). It also means that I'm the only one that can feed them, day or night. Orlando wished so bad he could help me in the beginning when it seemed like the babies were hungry 24/7 and I couldn't get any rest. I had to be the one who fed them. Breastfeeding also means, and this still amazes me, that nutrients from my body have contributed 100% to the growth of my babies. They have more than doubled in size (Lena has almost tripled) and it's a result of the calories I feed them. So this means that I have to consume enough calories to nourish two babies and myself. Most of the time I am starving and feeling weak, even though I eat more than I ever have in my life. (Yes, that's an open invitation to bring me food! haha).

I've had problems with breastfeeding and had to call the La Leche League (a group of women who offer support) multiple times, and visit a lactation consultant who was very helpful. My problem though, was that I was producing too much milk and my let down was coming to quickly and I felt like I was drowning my babies in milk. They were sputtering, choking, suffering from gas and needed to be burped all the time. I admit this problem is better than the opposite of not having enough milk, but it led to me crying over my hungry babies as they struggled to nurse. The lactation consultant advised me to feed them in the "modified cradle pose", and that I stop tandem feeding. Once I stopped tandem, the girls were able to nurse easier, and after a few months my supply regulated and now everyone nurses just fine.

Lena went on several nursing strikes where she just wouldn't nurse at all and I had to give her expressed breastmilk from a bottle. It was surprising what an emotional struggle this was. I felt it was because we weren't bonded enough and that weighed on me; it was my first does of "mommy guilt". In reality, it was probably just a growth spurt or frustration with my letdown. To this day she prefers to eat first as she gets impatient waiting for the letdown (if Carmen eats first, she gets the strongest letdown and Lena has to work harder to get the second letdown).

I guess I'm writing about this for those of you who are pregnant. I just want to say that breastfeeding is hard work, and it is a surprisingly emotional journey, and everyone's journey is unique. Some are able to breastfeed only for a short while, some not at all, and some have problems and get through it. I feel grateful I've been able to breastfeed, and for so long. As many letdowns as there have been, we've been able to work through them and now, six months later, the babies are on their way to nutritional independence! Will post on feeding them solids soon :)

Let's do dinner

Dinners. The fine wine, delicious food, good company, music and laughter. All faded memories from a previous life. To be replaced with end-of-day fussy babies, supper time (messy, sticky baby supper time that is), naked time (for the babies of course), bath time, pjs, nursing, burping, singing, putting down, picking up, burping more, quickly devouring some leftovers, then nursing and burping again, only to finally collapse in a heap of exhaustion on my squeaky, springy, sofa bed.

Our dear, kind-hearted (and childless) friends often suggest getting together for dinner. We reluctantly try to consider, but inevitably (and regretfully), we always have to respond with a "no". I know that one day we'll be able to have our friends over (or go out) for dinner again. In the meantime though, we are stuck explaining why the hours of 5-8pm are not a good time (to put it lightly) and that after 8pm is my bedtime. Before we had kids we promised ourselves we'd be the cool parents who still do stuff and hang out with friends. After kids, we quickly realized every parent promises themselves this, and the ones who actually follow through, we've yet to meet.

This has nothing to do with my post, it's just really silly.

Mommy Meetup Mayhem

So yesterday we attempted a Mommy Meetup at Little Nest. We walked down, and were inside for about ten minutes before we decided it was time to go. It was insanity; moms, babies, high chairs, kids running around. The energy was intense. It took about 4 minutes to get my baby limousine through the maze of strollers, mothers breastfeeding, babies in highchairs etc over to the table. It took about 30 seconds after I pulled in for the babies to begin melting down. 2 minutes in the lineup waiting for a cookie while Jen held crying Carmen and Jack tried to stand in the highchair. 4 minutes to back the stroller up and out the door.

I could feel all the mommy eyes sending telepathic condolences. I could hear the whispers 'oh my... poor woman'. About four moms came up to offer their help, one expressed how her table was watching me and how I had their utmost admiration. She said I was doing a great job and the babies looked happy and healthy. I thanked her, but wondered how happy two crying babies can really look!
Although I got nothing out of that ten minutes, I'm sure I put about 30 people's lives in perspective.

Tunnel Vision

This is a picture of my babies, SITTING UP and playing together! AH! The time has finally arrived. Although they are wobbly, and Lena still needs to be surrounded by pillows, I am so relieved.

This is it, a major milestone. The first step towards independent playing. A major step towards self-burping. And for me, it's a huge sigh of relief.

As you may have noticed, from my previous posts, the past half a year has not been the most enjoyable of my life. I know moms who say infancy is amazing, shiny, happy, glorious. For me it was dreadful, exhausting, overwhelming and I'm not quite sure how I survived. But the babies turn six months next week and I am so happy. They actually have personality now, and they smile and giggle and physically are easier (less crying, sleeping better, less burp issues etc).

I feel like the past six months I've had tunnel vision, where I can only see minutes, hours, a night ahead of me. I'm starting to reach the end of the tunnel and see the other side. My view is opening up and I realize how much there is to look forward to. The most strenuous part is behind us and I am starting to really enjoy being a mom. <3 Carmen & Lena

Chaotic

Have you ever heard the saying that your mind is only as organized as your cutlery drawer? I used to pride myself in the tidiness of my cutlery drawer - I even went to the extent of organizing the big spoons and little spoons (and big forks/little forks) into separate piles in their appropriate slots. These days, spoons, forks, knives, bath toys, baby eating devices are thrown in the moment I get the opportunity to unload the dishwasher. Ahh how priorities change.

Poor 'ol pussy cat

Spot the neglected creature in this photo:

Poor Maceo used to be our little baby. He slept anywhere he pleased, was fed twice a day, was played with, cuddled and adored.

These days his needs are the at the bottom of the list. His feedings have gone down to once a day (hopefully!) and he is shooed out of rooms regularly. He hardly has any spots of his own left in the house. Can't go in the cribs, can't go near the baby play area and is kicked out of the bedroom while the babies are sleeping (nothing worse than a cat stuck in the bedroom crying at the door to be let out while the babies are sleeping!).

If I look through my photo albums before kids, it was millions of pictures of Maceo. Now, the only pictures I have of him are ones like this, where he is caught in the background.

Poor 'ol pussy cat.

On Sex

Yeah, not the kind you were thinking of. Catchy title though ;)

I have a major pet peeve (besides the term "pet peeve", I've always hated that phrase). There is a massive epidemic of the misuse of the word "gender" in the land of all things baby. So just to clarify, "Sex" is biological and refers to the hormones, chromosomes and sex organs one has. "Gender" refers to the characteristics that a culture defines as masculine or feminine. One can be "sexed" male and identify with the female "gender".  In other words, gender is a social construct and sex is biological.
 
Most baby websites talk about "finding out the gender of your baby!"... this drives me nuts. I want to write to all of these websites to correct them. The SEX of my baby is a girl, but I'll have to wait until she's older to find out her gender.