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!**

Mother's Day is Nearly Here: Things I Wish I'd Known Before They Sliced Me Open

Since Mother's Day is nearly upon us, I thought I'd take this opportunity to tell you what I wish I'd known/realized prior to the arrival of my twin girls. Our next door neighbor gave birth to a baby girl last week, so I've been flooded with nostalgia and memories. Beware, not all are pleasant (p.s. I had a c-section). I also realize this day is difficult for many of you who are struggling to become pregnant. I've been down that road, too, and certainly never imagined I'd be writing a post like this. I am keeping you in my thoughts & prayers and sending lots of baby dust your way....

1.) People say "Oh, you'll just know when you're in labor." Guess what? I was 3 cm dilated, fully effaced, and had no clue except for the hellish contractions I was having (that I'd been having for several weeks) and the feeling that there was a rather large bowling ball in my nether regions.

2.) Your nurse(s) can make or break the entire experience. One will have no pity for you as you lie there like a beached whale as you're moaning and groaning, while another will give you ice chips, push your sweaty hair out of your face, and tell you in a soothing voice that everything will be okay even though she's lying through her teeth.

(Yes, this is me. Yes, you may look like this. Yes, it is downright scary & humiliating. Be prepared.)

3.) The spinal hurts. But apparently it works so quickly that they have to lay you right down as soon as they've given it to you, lest you lose all control and roll off the table like some giant boulder.

4.) Amazingly, your belly that's been so cumbersome, heavy, and suffocating suddenly becomes weightless upon administration of said spinal. I wasn't sure how I was going to breathe lying on my back for the delivery, but I literally felt nothing. Thank goodness, because that giant snake of a catheter was my biggest fear.

5.) The downside of a c-section is that you don't get to hold your baby/ies until the anesthesia wears off and you're able to wiggle your toes. This took several hours for me. The nurses brought me Polaroids from the NICU. I was so anxious to see and hold them, but for the life of me I could NOT make my toes move. Once I finally did, they wheeled me there and it was the most incredible moment of my life.

(this is Baby Abby, roughly 2-3 hours old. Try not to notice how fat my face is.)

6.) While you lose a ton of weight immediately following the birth and begin feeling svelte as soon as you're wheeled from the OR (being able to see my feet again for the first time radically disillusioned me), make no mistake. You still look very fat pregnant. This is me the day I came home from the hospital:

(Thanks Dad for the unflattering angle & my mouth was full of the lasagna dinner my mom made)

7.) During my first night at the hospital, I was quite certain I was wetting (or pooping) the bed as I felt warmth and wetness spreading underneath me. I was alone because I'd made Hubs go home, figuring at least one of us should get some sleep. I was catheterized, so I couldn't get up. Couldn't reach the light switch to see for myself. Started crying and hit the call button, my face hot with shame. The nurse came in and I started apologizing and blubbering about what I'd "done." She checked me and assured me it was just blood. And gently reminded me I still had a catheter and therefore it was not possible to piss myself.

8.) I started having wicked pain in my shoulder. Since I couldn't sleep anyway, I started imagining all the horrible things that might be wrong with me (infection setting in, sepsis, etc.). It got so bad I had to call the nurse. "It's just gas," she said. "Gas?" I gasped, "in my shoulder?" She nodded and said there really wasn't much to be done about it until I could get up and start moving around the next day.

9.) The next morning my catheter came out and I was allowed to get up after some breakfast and pain meds that almost made me barf damn Darvocet. Since my girls were in the NICU, I had to go to them. I walked, pushing a wheelchair. But I didn't realize how much the surgery took out of me, and later that day Hubs had to wheel me back and forth to the NICU.

10.) TMI (too much information warning) When you first stand up the next morning, there's a lot of stuff waiting to slosh out. When this happened to me, I clapped my hand over my mouth and screamed. "What's wrong?" Hubs asked (don't forget, he's a doctor). "Is that my uterus on the floor?" I asked, pointing to the bloody hunk that appeared to be the size of some internal organ (uterus seemed the most logical option given that I'd just had twins). Hubs snorted and said, "No, it's just a clot." I immediately tried to bend down to retrieve it before the nurse could, and the pain nearly took my breath away. "Don't worry, honey," the nurse patted me. "I see this all the time." I started crying again. I was so embarrassed.

11.) Breastfeeding was incredible...while it lasted, which wasn't long. Preemies are notoriously bad at latching. Plus I had two babies to feed. Once my milk came in, I realized my body is a miracle. And so were my tiny babies. And so was my Medela Pump In Style. But your breasts will feel like rocks sometimes.

12.) Look out for hospital crap that comes on trays  food. Go for the jello & grilled cheese or send some doting family member/friend to pick something edible up for you.

13.) Don't let the lactation consultants manhandle you if you aren't comfortable with it. And any modesty you had prior to giving birth (even if by c-section) will go out the window as your breasts are constantly being used and the staff needs to check your incision/stitches.

14.) There is nothing like loading up your baby/babies to bring them home for the first time.

(Going home on New Year's Eve, 2005, after 3 weeks in the NICU)

(so tiny in their car seats!)

I wish I'd known the immense love my heart could hold.

I wish I'd known how that love could move me beyond the pain of my surgery.

I wish I'd known that my maternal instincts would kick in immediately.

I wish I'd known that only I know what is best for my children.

I wish I'd known that my breasts would leak every time I heard a baby cry, even if it was

someone else's child and I was sitting at dinner in the middle of a restaurant.

I wish I'd known that I would meet other moms of twins when I needed them most.

I wish I'd known how often I'd call my own mother for advice, answers, and assistance.

I wish I'd known how much I'd need and appreciate my husband.

I wish I'd known that sometimes I'd just sit and stare in disbelief.

I wish I'd known the exhaustion would bring me to my knees, but I still felt lucky.

I wish I'd known to trust myself more, to believe in myself as a mother.

I wish I'd known that all those fertility treatments would ultimately bring me to this day.

To all the other moms out there, and my mom friends:

You are incredible, amazing, intelligent, funny, and you have the hardest job in the world.

You are honest, emotional, elated, stressed, tired, busy, friendly, and selfless.

I don't know what I would do without you.

I am proud to call you my friends.

Happy Mother's Day to you all!

To the women who don't have children yet, but who are desperate or unable to become mothers:

You are not alone. I have been there. I know your pain.

Mother's Day is hard, there's no question.

I am sending you hugs. I know your pain.

Let the tears roll if it helps you feel better.

I am sending you hugs and healing prayers.

I Yam What I Yam, Which is Not "Just a Mom."

I'm not "just a mom." I'm going to stop saying that to people when they ask me what I "do." Oh, how I loathe that loaded question. I'm a complicated collage of so many things that I don't even really know how to answer. My roles runneth over, bleed into one another.


I'm a wife. A sister. A daughter. A daughter-in-law. A niece. A cousin. A friend. A reader. A writer. A horrible singer. A Jew. A Green Gal. A procrastinator. A Jazzerciser. A new 30-Day Shredder. I'm a woman with a lot of potential for what, I don't know.

I'm also the maid. And the gourmet chef preparer of meals. The laundress. The packer of backpacks, the wiper of tushies. The dog groomer. The bill payer (but not the bread winner, the ultimate paradox). I am the runner of errands. I am the weed-puller, the snow shoveler, the leaf raker, and the coffee maker (but not the coffee drinker). I am the chauffeur, the grocery shopper, the referee, the checkbook-balancer. I am a wine drinker, a wallflower and a poop-scooper. I am the buyer of presents, the planner of parties, the schlepper of stuff. I empty the dishwasher, I take out the trash, I drop off our glass at the recycling place. I am the rule enforcer, the manners teacher, and the question answerer. I am the fence mender, the peace keeper, and the Queen of Bribery. I am a white liar, a storyteller, a loud yeller and a boo-boo kisser.

Sometimes the frustrations that come with being a mom cause me to devalue myself and everything I do for my family.

For example, I recently made homemade blueberry muffins for the first time it was groundbreaking, people. No more of those Betty Crocker muffins from a box. I got the recipe from Elaine over at The Miss Elaine-ous Life. I measured flour, sugar, baking powder, used fresh berries, the whole nine yards. But because my children are apparently such devoted fans of Betty Crocker, they each took an itty bitty bite and promptly declared my masterpiece muffins "yucky."

The girls often come home from school and rave about all the delicacies Miss Annette cookes up for them in the kitchen there. Last week, they couldn't stop talking about her "cinnamon apples." So I made apple crisp for dessert one night. They wouldn't eat it. I even called it "cinnamon apples," but they weren't fooled.

I also made homemade macaroni and cheese (I used sharp cheddar, monterey jack, parmesan and colby cheeses), but they prefer that crap that comes in the blue box.

I took them to the park yesterday at their request. Once there, Abby clung to my left leg for much of the time and whined that she wanted to go home. Izzy pointed at an older girl and loudly said, "Mommy, that girl has naked feet and they are STINKY."

I took them with me to get manicures one day as a reward. They began complaining two minutes in. "How long is this going to take, Mommy?" "Are we done yet?" I'm so stupid. I desperately needed a manicure and thought they would enjoy getting one along with me and feeling all grown up. But they were impatient and noisy and it was a bad idea.

Being a mom means...constantly multitasking and juggling.

Being a mom means...learning to go with the flow.

Being a mom means...telling myself that I am enough, that I do enough.

Being a mom means...reminding myself that Supermom does not exist.

Being a mom means...learning to be more patient, understanding, loving, & attentive.

Being a mom means...being me, and being okay with that.

**Karin over at Mommy Matters happened to write a very similar post today....which just goes to show you how many mommies are living parallel lives. She graciously allowed me to link up to her. It's funny that we were on the same wavelength at the same time!

Jealousy

Okay, gird your loins because I have a feeling this post might come off as a little strange to some of you....

We took the girls out to dinner Friday evening with some friends of ours. They have a daughter who is Abby & Izzy's age and a baby boy who is about 3 months old. Such a sweet couple and their kids are just darling. That little boy makes my ovaries ache, and I could almost swear he might be messing with Dan's mind just a tad, too---see, Dan says he doesn't want any more kids-- he says, "We're done." But I kinda feel like he could change his mind eventually.

At any rate, the baby got fussy and needed to eat. Mom donned her nursing/chest-concealing/blanket/wrap/sling thing and tossed baby up under there, all the while talking, laughing and nibbling on crab rangoon. She made it seem so natural & effortless. He hung out there for about ten minutes or so and when my girls asked what the baby was doing, I told them he was taking a nap (did not want to get into that discussion while we're at a restaurant!). I didn't mean to stare, but I was fascinated, as I am each time I witness a woman comfortably nursing her baby.

Nursing did not go well for me. I had two preemies who fell asleep at the wheel, so to speak, and unless I nursed them simultaneously I found that all I did was nurse someone all day long, basically. We have two incredible photos (one of which I debated posting here, but was too shy and not entirely sure it's appropriate even though you can't really see anything) of one of the few times I was able to get them both to latch at the same time for a feeding. It was amazing. Mind you I had 24-hour access to lactation consultants since the girls were in the NICU for three weeks. Preemies are a PAIN when it comes to breastfeeding (both literally and figuratively). With the incessant nursing and constantly having to get one and then the other latched, re-latched, and latched again, I developed severe lesions and breastfeeding became very painful and stressful for me. In the end, I gave up and resorted to pumping and doing bottle feeds.

I felt like a failure. I don't think I would have exclusively breastfed, but it sure would have been nice to have the ability and the option. But by the time the girls were discharged from the NICU and we brought them home, I was so overwhelmed with two little babies who would scream from hunger and get so frustrated with me...pumping and giving them bottles was so much easier. Some people say it's the easy way out. Needless to say the lactation consultants weren't thrilled with me when I told them I wanted to make the switch to bottles. But we did, and 48 hours later the girls were allowed to come home.

Every time I see a mom nursing I just want to cry and go up to her and ask her how she does it and how amazing it is, and does she take it for granted....because it would have been so cool to bond with my babies that way. I often wish for a third child, a singleton, so that I could try again. I'd like to think I could do it if I just had one baby to deal with.

But I'll probably never know.