Ding Ding! Get in your corners! Ding Ding! Round Three!

I wonder if all little boys are terribly aggressive, or have my twins picked it up from me? Here’s a frinstance. For instance, I’ll be doing something, like cooking dinner or folding laundry or tatting a lace tablecloth, and the babies will be playing happily, and running from room to room. They like to babble as they play and each baby tends to carry something around with him, like a spoon, a baby doll or a cat toy or something. All will be well. Then, suddenly, it begins - the screeching and shoving and biting and yelling - my little babies going nine rounds over who gets the keychain/plastic measuring cup/gnawed on cat toy/whatever is most fascinating at the moment. Can you picture it? Two sweet pumpkins, a-wrasslin' on the floor, teeth a-snapping, as mad as they can be. I should just get a recording saying "No hitting, no biting, no pushing," to save the strain on the vocal cords. If these babies were professional fighters, they would have been disqualified by now.

But what else can I do? I think they understand when they are being bad, but are a bit young to practice self-control. So, I generally simply break up the fight, try to determine who had the toy first, and let that baby have it. Or, if I am unsure as to who had proprietary rights, I will give the toys to the one who is howling the loudest. At least, I used to, until someone pointed out that might not be a good idea. Well, yeah, duh, MOT. Teach them to be pushy and greedy young, good idea...

My DH will let them duke it out, to a point, and he says they will sometimes have resolved matters between themselves. Maybe it’s me, or maybe all mothers are the same, but when I hear yelps and crashes and thuds, I generally rush in to see what’s what. And when I see one boy holding the other boy down and the one on the bottom sinking his fangs into the other boy’s calf, I will break it up.

Ding Ding! Neutral corners! Neutral corners! One more rabbit punch and you’re outta here!

The other day I was rubbing moisturizer into Baby B’s skin after his bath. He was sitting on my lap, dressed in his diaper and tipping his head from side to side, as he does. I felt like a chief second, in my miniature fighter’s corner, rubbing his shoulders between bouts.

“Next time he comes at cha wit da teeth, you gotta sucker punch him in da ribs, you get me?”

Breastfeeding 103 - at your request

I had a request to write more about the magical world of breast-feeding twins. Well, ever one to try and please a reader, here goes:

Breastfeeding 103: What “they” didn’t tell you.

Point One: Pain is not normal. Pain is not just a part of it. Pain doesn’t not mean you need to toughen up and get used to it. Pain means that there is a problem and you need to see some body about it. It could be an infection, it could be a bad latch, it could be a poorly fitting bra - it could be anything. Please, go to http://www.lalecheleague.org/ and find out. A lot of people won’t tell you their painful nipple/aching boob/mastitis/bad latch stories because they don’t want to scare you or put you off nursing. However, many women experience some form of pain or discomfort when first nursing because we rarely have the opportunity to see someone nursing, to discuss nursing with an experienced mother or feel that we can “stare” at a baby nursing without seeming rude. How then are we supposed to know what to do? I don’t mind if someone wants to see how my babies latch on, how they nurse or whatever, but I am rather open about these things. It seems to me that the mothers who nurse, in general, like to talk about it and the mothers for whom it has not gone well are reluctant to talk. It’s too bad – those who need information are afraid to ask and those who have the knowledge have very few people to teach. I hope I don’t make someone who chose not to nurse her baby uncomfortable and I also hope that I don’t push breastfeeding discussions on those who are not comfortable talking about it. If I do, just tell me to put a sock in it, will ya?

Point Two: Bottle-feeding is not the only way a Daddy can be involved with the baby! I know a stay at home father who was disappointed that his wife stopped nursing their baby at eleven months. He felt the baby should have been breastfed until at least 18 months, but she found the pumping, storing and bottle-feeding to be too much with her full time job. Very understandable, but shouldn’t the father, by all popular myths, be glad that he could “take part in the feedings better” now that there are no boobs involved? This father is the one who takes the child to playgroups, music classes, to the park, the playground, the museum, out to lunch, to baby kick-boxing, tae kwon do classes, to the Let’s Read Proust at the library, etc. How could he feel less involved if the baby nursed when mama got home? So if you are thinking to bottle feed just so Daddy can be more involved, don’t do it. If you want to bottle feed so Daddy has to be more involved, well, that’s your call, of course.

Point Three: All kinds of weird things happen to your breasts when you are pregnant, and a lot of it is so you are ready to breastfeed. For example, having pointed out that pain is not normal, there are some pains that can not be avoided, but that do get less acute with time. Such as my old pal, vaso-constriction. That’s what it is called when your nipples suddenly blanch and you feel a stingy, ouchy, burning sensation. It will happen less and less as you nurse more and more, don’t worry. The easiest and quickest way to soothe the pain is to press a hot washcloth against the skin. Heat took the stinging away for me almost immediately, so when the babies latched on with their warm little mouths, it did the same thing. A few other women I have mentioned this to agreed it went away by month two, so don’t fret!

Point Four: Babies wean when they are ready, all by themselves, sometime after they are a year old. So if your seven-month old baby, after an ear infection, or a bout of the flu, or mouth ulcers or something, suddenly stops nursing for a few days, it could be a nursing strike. Just pump milk to keep up your supply, or keep on nursing the other twin, and give the striking baby the breast-milk from a cup or a spoon, or, my trick – with an old medicine dropper, that the Tylenol was washed out from. If you are nursing twins, the suckling baby will make the striking baby jealous, and pretty soon they will both be at it hammer and tongs again. If you have just one baby, pump for a few days and offer the breast when the baby is sleepy, or at nap time, or just after a feeding of apple smush, or whenever the baby usually nursed happily. Another way to encourage breast feeding is to run a warm bath, get in it with the baby and snuggle skin to skin. Quite often the warmth and the water and mama all together are too much for even the most adamant striker to resist. Of course when the baby is 22 months old and now YOU want to wean, you are going to wish you hadn’t helped the striker cross the picket line, so to speak, but we are operating on the assumption you want to nurse until the baby is physically and emotionally ready, and that rarely happens at seven months.

Point Five: When your twins are 18 months old, they are still going to want to nurse nursety nurse as much as they did when they were 18 days old. Except now, as willful, strong minded toddlers, they have the ability to tell you they want to nurse and to make you fell terrible if you say no, for whatever reason. So be prepared to have The Attack of the Toddlers happen at playgroups, in libraries, in restaurants, or wherever you might find yourself sitting down. And if there is another baby nursing in the room, your own nursling will see, think – That looks like a great idea- and run to pounce on mama. You are forewarned.

Is it me, or is it aggressive in here?

Recently I went to see a shrink, not a talking therapist like my mother, but a real honest to goodness psychiatrist, to see if I needed medicating for depression. For the past few months my parents have, apparently, been wondering if I should be drugged up, because I have been rather “aggressive” lately. That is my father’s word choice, hence the quotes. The brain doctor told me to get more sleep, and perhaps get out of the house more? I had figured that part out on my own already, thank you very much, which is why I go to the gym three or four days a week and have two playgroups.

I have a bizarre relationship with my folks – I feel partially smothered and partially ignored. They don’t call or visit or like visitors unless it’s the Thursday day off or Saturday, and not always then. (Sundays are “sacred days, when we just rug out” to quote my mother, so there better not be a sick baby around, or a needy child to disturb the peace, or anybody at all for that matter.) Some Saturdays are out, because they like to go to NYC for shopping and beauty treatments and don’t have time to visit the grandkiddies as a result. And sometimes not even on Thursdays either, because that is the day of from the office and my mother told me that is the only day she can run errands. Okay. Fair enough – if anyone can understand someone being busy, I can. However, it is not calculated to make one feel loved when your parents would rather take a day in New York by themselves and not stop and see you for ten minutes, even if your house is literally 7 minutes off the highway they take to get home, and they even pass your exit.

As you may know from some other posts, I have asked my mother not to call my babies trolls, which she does a lot, because I don’t like it. She must really be deaf, not to have heard me say that for the past 17 months, or does she just like to piss me off? Either way, it is extremely annoying and frustrating. Can you imagine why I might show some aggression to the person who calculatedly tries to upset me at my children’s expense?

A few weeks ago, my boys were kind of sick, with high fevers and not wanting to eat. I asked my mother to come by one morning, one afternoon, one night, any old time at all, and just hold a baby and give me a little breathing room. She was just too busy at the office and my father needed his lunch and she was tired and a girl in the office had the flu and she didn’t want to infect me, or the boys, etc. Yep, one lame excuse after the other. My brother tells me not to expect anything from them, that way I won’t be disappointed, but, like the cock-eyed optimist I can be, I always hope for a thaw.

My parents do give me money, sometimes a lot of money, to pay for groceries, clothes, a baby sitter, what have you. They buy plane tickets for my brother and his family to come visit and used to pay for my sister’s baby’s day care. But, they are not around when the kiddies are sick, teething, being crazy, when I am feeling blue, when my sister needs/wants help, when my brother asked them to go to his graduation, but I don’t know that whole story. No, then they are "too busy at the office, or too tired from working so hard". One wonders why they work so hard. Are they addicted to it? Is it to have money to give to the children and grandchildren they are too busy working to see? Or is it to be able to go on crazy expensive vacations to relax, because they have been working so hard?

With events like these, and the feelings of rejection I get from my parents on a regular basis, don’t I have the right, after 35 years, to get a little aggressive and defensive at a very trying time of my life?

Also, my mother has this terribly irritating habit of hanging up on you of she feels you are a) winning a fight b) saying something she doesn’t want to hear or c) you tell her that you need her to do something she has no intention of doing. Man, is it frustrating! The last time she hung up on me was when I was asking her to come over because the DH was going out of town for two days and I had a sick baby at home. I asked her to come over after office hours and sleep with the healthy twin so I could focus on the sick one. She started going on and on about the girl at the office who was vomiting and had had to go home and how she wasn’t sure if she would be infectious and how it doesn’t make medical sense for her to come over and yadda yadda yadda. I got a little upset and said – well, if you won’t help me in my hour of need, and she said – well, if you are going to yell at me – and suddenly I was listening to a dial tone. My sister, who got to hear my tack-spitting version of the conversation, pointed out the obvious – she just didn’t want to help. Hmmm. So I said to the DH, "That’s it, I’ve had it, she is just too hurtful, I don’t need a mother, I am too old for this rubbish, she’s so disrespectful, I am never talking to her again!" However, I have seen her, because I am not that tough, but I have been "aggressive" lately...I wonder why?

All I know is, when I have been in real need; over Christmas with the mouth ulcer thing, a few weeks ago, with the fever thing, and have totally exhausted by it all; my parents started asking each other if I needed medicating, because I “am not the usual sweet little thing I used to be,” to quote my father. Is that understanding? Anyone? Anyone? Beuller? Anyone?


Naturally the question is begged, why can’t my parents see that I am aggressive to them because they have pushed me aside when I needed them and usually offer me money instead of love and understanding? Why can’t I am sick of their behavior and that they see they might be part of “my problem”? Can't they see money isn't enough? Is this worth working on, or should I just ignore them like my siblings do? I am afraid that if I do, my baby trees in the front yard will be knocked over in the gale of wind from their collective sigh of relief. And that really would be depressing.

a little time line thing

Today’s post is a cop-out, as in COP-ied from Mothershock (see links to other blogs), after I saw it in another blog, see Excruciating Minutiae in the links. I hope you find this interesting and not too snore-worthy.

Kisses.

15 years ago today I would have been...
in my junior year at the City College of New York
partying every weekend, without a responsibility to my name, except school
realizing I had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up

10 years ago today I would have been…
living in NYC after two years in London, England
working 90 hours a week for a busy catering shop and hating it
having no time for anything like a boyfriend, social life or fun
knowing I did not want to be a chef anymore
and still realizing I had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up

5 years ago today I would have been...
living back in my childhood home state after two years in Atlanta, GA
working as a secretary by day, and at a cosmetic counter at the mall at night, which was F.U.N.
just a few months away from meeting my dear husband, and realizing there is such a thing as a good relationship for me

1 year ago today I would have been...
the mother of twins, aged 5 months, suffering from loneliness and cabin fever
wondering if this motherhood gig was this hard for everyone else
wishing I had some friends to talk to
and thinking about what I want to be when I grow up

This year I am...
the mother of twins, aged 17 months
keeping a blog/journal
a member of two playgroups, which have saved my sanity
working on improving my relationship with my parents
realizing I might still have no idea what I want to be when I grow up, but not being bothered by that

Yesterday I...
had a visit with a psychiatrist who told me I am not crazy, do not need medicating, but do need more sleep (duh)
allowed my mother to watch my twins on her own, but she called her housekeeper to help her at the 11th hour, much to everyone’s relief

Today I...
had a friend over for lunch
will go to a spinning class
posted this to my blog

Tomorrow I...
will go to the gym
will make a lot of phone calls
and I might figure out what I want to do when I grow up!

The Gates, The Roof, The Shirt

We all went to The City to see The Gates yesterday. I had a 9 am hair appointment, then we were on our way. We met my dear sister and mother and father at The Met, and went up to The Roof for a peek at the park. We looked around but everyone needed a snack so we to The Cafe for lunch. After refreshing ourselves, my family went to see The New Duccio, and I zipped downstairs to see The Costume Institute's exhibition. Then we went into The Park itself, and walked through The Gates and took pictures.

After that, we went back to my sister's house in The Garden State, where my DH had a mini Birthday party. My mother had called me a few weeks ago to ask what color shirt my DH would like and his size. I told her to get a 15 1/2 neck, 32 sleeve, and of the colors offered (yellow, pink, pale blue) I said that yellow would be best, followed by pale blue, but no pink please, because he already had two pink shirts that he rarely wears. I was in The Car with my sleeping babies during this present opening fiesta, so it was not until we had safely arrived home that I saw his present. I'm glad to know my mother listens to me, because, with a 16 inch neck, here is The Shirt.

DisneyWorld and testicles

They go together so well...

My dear sister went to Florida recently and visited Disney World. I was relating the story to my DH, who hmmmmed at the $30.00 entrees at dinner, and ugghed at the Dinner with Cinderella with $14 chicken nuggets. Then I told him that my niece had a little fit of lust over a Tinkerbell Barbie, was refused and wept bitter tears for half an hour.

His comment, "Man, they get you down there and you're trapped with your balls on the rack."

I couldn't have said it better myself.

Brain too full...must spill contents...

Ever get that feeling? Now that I no longer have my mother's helper - the why is simply too boring to explain - I have been spending a lot of time in the undiluted company of my sons. I actually find it easier to keep them happy and Get Things Done when I don't have to worry about anyone else as well. I am the type who likes to make sure the people involved in my life are all happy, and as content as they can be. Therefore, when I did a get-out-of-the-house-and-go-to-the-coffee-shop thing with the mother's helper around, I invariably took her and the boys with me. That way, the guys could have a nap, then be stimulated by the enthralling sights of the local Starbucks and the mother's helper (I should call her MH to save me from having to type "mother's helper" over and over...too late.) could have a coffee too. Which I would buy, because I want everyone to like me. See? It's boring.

At any rate, I have not had a lot of adult conversation lately, except for the Monday playgroup, the Tuesday library group, the IM-ing (is that right? or is it IMing, with no hyphen?) with my fellow blogger "Lil", the stream of phone calls I make to my dear sister and the Friday playgroup. It sound like a veritable whirl of gaiety, but, as all those stay at home parents out there can attest, the hours from 12 to 5 can be mighty long when there is not another grown up anywhere in sight. Or within yelling distance. Or within screaming distance either.

Therefore, my brain has been a bit cluttered with snippets of conversations I thought clever and interesting thoughts that just need to get out before, like animals caught in a trap, they chew off a paw to escape. Here are a few random thoughts.

My dear husband, with the sketchiest of instructions whispered to him by me, a woman very busy nursing two groggy babies, made the most deliciuos mushroom risotto for dinner, and I just had to tell everyone about it.

I had a conversation at the gym the other night about nursing, and my interloquator referred to lactating breasts as "The Happy Factory."

I mailed some pictures to a friend in JoJa, who knew me when I was 140 pounds of nubile single girl, with hair down past my shoulders. Not only does she like me with boy short hair, she also (bless her heart!) remarked that I didn't look fat at all. Can I have an Amen?

I heart e-Bay. I just won an auction for my beloved sleep-in-a-jar Creme de la Mer at a price $20 less than I've paid at Saks. Rock. On. My only question is; where do these people get this stuff and how can they sell it for under retail value? Do they work for La Mer, get their gratis every six months, and then sell it? Do they steal it from the store? Do I care? Not really, I'm just curious.

Why do the British have to make it all so difficult? Are they still flagellating themselves for losing America, Australia, Canada, India, Hong Kong and a chunk of Africa? Don't fret lads, the sun had to set on you fellows sometime. Quality Street Chocolates have the total number of KiloCalories and Joules of energy listed for the whole packet, as well as the number of calories per 100 grams of chocolate, but no indication as to how big a serving should be, or how many candies are in 100 grams. I made it easy to know how many KiloCalories I had consumed because, basically, I ate the whole box, but still.

Have you ever seen those floss head things? The one I saw promised to Take the Hassle out of Flossing. If you think fresh breath, healthy teeth and a clean, white smile are not worth the thirty seconds it takes to floss the old fashioned way, then no Reach Access daily Flosser, now in five colors! will ever make flossing easy enough for those who just don't like to do it.

Have you been here? As I undressed to get ready for bed, and a piece of dried apricot fell out from where it was trapped in the waistband of my jeans. Not only did I think, "Ah, a snack," but I also put it in the pocket of the jeans, in case I got hungry later.

Quick update and I make excuses...

I have not been online for a while, mostly becasue the inspirations (and reasons) for this blog/journal have been ill. Yes, yet again, my preciuos pumpkins have been up all hours of the night with fevers and crying and pitiful calls of, "Mama!"

Baby B was first this time, with a fever of 104.2 one night and 104.4 another. Yikes! We gave him Motrin, took him to the vet and were told it's a virus and to just ride it out. All seemed well with him yesterday, after four days of fever-ish no-I-won't-eat-my-nice-cereal and hold me hold me hold me. Then, last night, BabyA woke up next to me, whimpering and just burning up. I took off his PJs, wiped his face and took his temperature: 102.9. So, he had his dose of Motrin and slept next Mama, nursing on and off all night.

Today I had a plan to take them to the mall, (my boys already love to shop!) which I still may do. I think a big part of the whiny, fussy, weepy sick baby thing is the baby being bored by staying quietly at home. So, let's go out to a temperature controlled environment and give me some mental stimulation at the same time. Both babies are actig just fine, and almost normal, except for the reluctance to eat. Baby B is operating at 90% capacity and right now, with a nice dose of fever reducer in his system, Baby A is entertaining himself by slamming the kitchen cabinets closed. (When he slams hard, they bounce open again, and he can shut them afresh. What? That doesn't sound like a good time to you?)

Or, d'ja think I'm just trying to justify my desire to go to Nordstroms?

Do we really ever listen? And would it matter if we did?

I know a lady, a nice, intelligent and totally capable lady, with one child, who is expecting twins. I am sure she is excited and nervous, and I am also sure she doesn’t really know what to expect. Who can? Twins are totally different than a singleton, so even with a child at home already, and all the experience you have gained, twins will knock you for a loop. I have made a few suggestions; get a housekeeper, look into the high chairs that clip onto the table to save room, nurse those babies - it’ll save time, money and help take off the weight, find a gym with childcare that you like now, before it's crunch time, interview baby sitters while you’re still pregnant; but I don’t think she really heard me. Funny how we don’t listen to each other even if we can hear it.

I wonder if I should try to get her to hear me, or just let her find it out on her own. Lately, it could be the weather, the lack of sunshine, the fact that I am still toting around waaaay to much weight and no amount of running seems to be having an effect on my huge, gross legs, or it could just be lack of sleep, but I have been totally gloomy lately. I know, I know, there are those of you reading this who see me at the playgroups and out and about, and I seem fine and all that. It’s true; I am all neat and great and “fine”when I’m hanging at the children’s museum. It’s when I have one tired-needs-a-nap baby pulling on me and one let’s-play-climbing-on-the-chairs baby pulling on the other leg and I need to drink a cup of coffee and get their shoes on and get out the door so they can nap in the car and it’s already 9:00, that I feel like I am going to flip out. Calgon take me away, indeed.

Fine is one of those words that can be used in so many ways. I can say, “I’m fine,” and mean all is well in Denmark. I can hiss, “I’m fine,” through gritted teeth and know that my conversational partner understands me to mean I am totally furious. When I say the F word, in my head I add, “That is, fine meaning freaked out, insecure, neurotic and emotional.” Yes, I got that from a movie, did you see it too?

What advice can I give to a future MOT? Should I emphasize how physically challenging it is to wrestle two slippery toddlers into a car, or would it be better to let her figure it out on her own? Should I warn her about the bone-crunching exhaustion she can anticipate from getting up eight times a night, at least, for the first six months of their lives, or just express my hopes that she will be blessed with sleepy babies? Could I tell her what it’s like to have one baby needing nursing and the other needing a diaper change and the impossibility of prioritizing when they are both so small and both so needy? Are there sufficient words to get that feeling across? Should I try to reveal the positives and negatives together, or is that too overwhelming?

Maybe a future twin mother doesn’t really want my advice at all, maybe she can hear me perfectly well, and believes that her situation will be totally different than mine, so anything I say is just not accurate or useful. Maybe I am the one who needs advice, because I am too demanding of myself, too stringent with my standards and way too self depreciating. Maybe I have made it harder than it has to be…

Am I, really and truly, the creator of my own hell? Is it too much to try to keep my life organized, to keep it all together, to be a good mother, and still keep some of my own self intact? Is it even possible, or is the attempt what is making me crazy?