Mariah Carey and Nick Cannon getting well-wishes from celebrities on the birth of the twins

BY KATHLEEN PERRICONE DAILY NEWS STAFF WRITER

Mariah Carey and Nick Cannon's twins aren't even a day old and already they're getting attention from some of the biggest names in the business. The singer, who gave birth to a boy and a girl on Saturday -- her and Cannon's fourth wedding anniversary -- has been re-tweeting the well-wishes she's received -- and there are a lot.

"Congratulations Mariah & Nick!!!!!!!!!," wrote a clearly excited Nicki Minaj. "The twins have finally landed on earth!!! Yaaayyyyy!!!!! @MariahCarey mmmuuuuaaahhhh!!!!!!"

From Carey's longtime producer Jermaine Dupre: "CONGRATS!!! to Nick and @mariahcarey,on the birth of a baby girl and boy."

"Congrats Mr and Mrs Cannon on ur twin babies!!," wrote a member of the R&B group, Boyz II Men.

"Look forward to sleepless nights for the next few weeks, trust me lol!" Even fellow mommy-to-be Alyssa Milano sent the couple her love by re-tweeting their birth announcement and adding "Congrats!"

Read more: http://www.nydailynews.com/gossip/2011/05/01/2011-05-01_mariah_carey_and_nick_cannon_getting_wellwished_from_celebrities_on_the_birth_of.html#ixzz1L7X3sJAC

Trapped With Twins and My Medela Breast Pump

I'm linking up again today with the Red Dress Club. We're doing "flash fiction." If you're unfamiliar with flash fiction, think of it as a condensed short story. Shorter than short. The word count for flash fiction typically ranges from 100 to 2000 words.

and the prompt I've chosen is:

 "Trapped"

I'm trapped in the mire; the thick, dripping, caramel-like consistency of my mommy brain. Neurons fire in a mad frenzy, crashing into one another--then disappear, POOF-- in a cloud of dust. I am incapable of a single coherent thought.

OVERLOAD. OVERLOAD. CANNOT COMPUTE.

I'm so exhausted I'm falling asleep at the pump. The Medela Pump In Style, that is. Though there's nothing stylish about it.

I sit, boobies locked and loaded to this dreadfully slow contraption (the one I got to use in the hospital was like a Mercedes, while this was more like a Yugo):

photo courtesy of www.medela.com

Listening to the obnoxiously loud motor, rivaled only by the obnoxiously loud screaming of my twin baby girls. One is howling in my lap, the other lies on the floor next to me, red faced and squawking. Fortunately with all this carrying on my let-down reflex is uninhibited; yet the noise is closing in on me, trapping me in its tight web.

Sometimes you can say the same word over and over until it becomes a string of meaningless sounds. Well, the crying is kind of like that, too. Soon it barely interrupts my tired trance. I'm staring at the wall, one forearm holding the pump's parts in place with my free hand pressing a paci into Abby's mouth. I realize my mouth is sagging open and that it's time to switch out bottles. Which is messy and complicated with a baby in one's lap. Let's not even talk about how many times I've spilled milk on the carpet trying to do this dance.

It's January in Kansas, and bitterly cold outside. Because the girls are preemies, their risk for RSV is exceptionally high and their neonatologist told us not to take them out. Too many germs. So we're sequestered. Only my husband uses his Get Out of Jail Free card for work every day and has intelligent conversations with actual adults. He also gets a regular shower. He eats meals in peace, even if they're sometimes rushed.

Me? My hair is filthy. I smell like milk. I've been wearing the same pair of pajamas for three (going on four) days. Sometimes after the girls are fed, burped, and freshly diapered, I swaddle them tightly and strap them into their vibrating Fisher-Price seats. I turn on their white noise machine, poke the pacifiers in, and pull their bedroom door closed behind me. Then I go to my room, closing my door quietly behind me.

I'm trapped. I crawl into my bed, close my eyes and pray they fall asleep.

Motherhood: It Ain't That Easy, or, My Eggs Are Too Old and No One Wants 'Em

I've been thinking a lot lately about all the moms out there who aren't yet moms, but who are desperate to be. They are moms in their minds, but not in the official sense. These women have been suffering through fertility treatments, riding emotional roller coasters, and dreaming of smelling that sweet baby breath only a new mom knows.

Yesterday we had some friends over, including our neighbors who had a baby girl a month ago. While everyone ate dinner outside, I held Baby Ainsley so her tired mommy could relax and take her time with her meal. I was alone in the house and cuddled her closely. She curled into me and I suddenly remembered holding my own girls as babies and how that spot just seemed made for them. Ainsley sighed a sweet baby sigh and nestled into my neck. I felt tears prick my eyes because as much as I would love to have another child, deep down I doubt I could handle it; and The Father Load says definitively whenever anyone asks us, "We're done."

It hurts my heart that some people are unable to have children. Either fertility treatments haven't worked or they've run out of money to continue them. Either adoption is taking a long time or it's impossible. Either they've suffered through miscarriages or had to consider surrogacy. There are so many reasons. And unless you've been there yourself, you don't think twice before asking someone questions like:

"So, when are you having kids?" or,
"When are you having another one?"

I recently filled out an application to be an egg donor. To be able to help someone have a baby really appeals to me. Sure, it might be hard knowing that somewhere out there someone with my genes/traits could come into existence and become part of a family I'd never meet; but the possibility of giving that gift, the gift of life, far outweighed any of my fears. To think about giving something so seemingly small that would mean so incredibly much literally kicked my ovaries into overdrive.

I was rejected, of course. At the age of 33, my eggs are "too old." Nevermind that because I myself required ART (Assisted Reproductive Technology) to conceive, I'm not the ideal donor. But let it be said there was nothing wrong with my eggs---my body just won't release them on its own. So someone could just go in there and get them. Easy peasy, right? Apparently not.

As I held Ainsley yesterday, a lone tear slipped down my cheek and I brushed it away quickly. To know that I cannot give this gift pains me. My husband was distraught when I confessed it to him because I hadn't consulted him beforehand. It was a moot point because I'd been rejected, but it's also my body. Admittedly, Ainsley reminds me that I will never again hold my own baby. My twins are 4 1/2 and their "babyhood" was marred by my exhaustion, stress, and always the sound of someone crying. Juggling two at once made me feel as if there wasn't enough of me to go around and neither daughter got enough snuggling or physical closeness with me/us. I relished my time with Ainsley and relinquished her only because I had to take my dog out to poop.

Motherhood, raising children----is a hard job. But becoming a mother, the art of conception, is an entirely different matter and can often be far more difficult than most people realize.

I am a mother. For this I am eternally grateful. I don't ever take it for granted.

And for all of you who are still trying to become mothers, or who feel like giving up---I'm so sorry I can't help you.

But I can be your friend. I will listen. And I will love you and give you big hugs, even if they are virtual or via telephone.

Have you ever considered giving a gift like this?

**Please don't forget to vote for me for Top Mommy Blogger of the Year! There's a button at the top of my blog that will take you there, or you can go here and vote for The Mother Load! You may vote once daily between now and 6/6/10. Thank you!**