The Whole Wide World

Logged back in for the first time in a long time and found an unfinished draft from the first 6 weeks postpartum...and here we are 6 months postpartum. Perfectly representative of how life has been as new parents. I used to be on top of my texts and social media, but now I find myself responding to messages a day or two later...if I respond at all. Still waiting for life to find its rhythm, but so far, every day has been different. The twins sleep when they want to and don't when they don't. Sometimes they nap at the same time, sometimes they choose to take turns. It's like treading to keep your head above water and never knowing when you'll be able to take the next gulp of fresh air. 

What's happened since the last time I sat down to jot down my thoughts? 

Well the nipples are doing great now. It seems I was very concerned about these last time. I hope they can retire soon as the kiddos have started testing their new baby teeth out on solids. Something about watching them gum tortillas and fruit brings me great joy. Luna is obsessed with my coffee cup and even after I offered her a drop to taste thinking the bitter taste would turn her off, she demanded more. I may have inadvertently created a monster. When I see them tracking our food with their eyes and reaching out with their grabby hands, I feel a twinge of pride. These are definitely our little foodie babies. 

Uram's mom has been here for almost 2 months. I can no longer remember what life was like without her. She wakes up before me and has breakfast ready before I finish my first morning pump. She's like a laundry ninja, she has the load of laundry I started folded before I've had time to circle back and check the dryer. She cooks every meal for us and she actively denies us opportunities to eat out. (Her rule is once a week...if that. Also, no instant noodles. Uram is bereft.) She's in the garden, she's taking out the trash, she's freaking Roy Kent -- she's here, she's there, she's every fucking where. Her presence rounds out our team of Super Grandparents. Uram and I have looked at each other and expressed our misgivings about how our life will probably fall into shambles once she leaves in September because we've become so accustomed to her support. 

The girls have outgrown their reflux (finally). Now our next hill to conquer is the sleep schedule. It's been an uphill battle. Their naps can be anywhere from 30 minutes to 2.5 hours. We still wake them up once at night when I do my middle of the night pump. The logic is that it's better for me to wake up once then have them wake up between my pump and my alarm. Hoping we can phase this out in the next month or so...and maybe end middle of the night pumping too. 

We had our supply scares. One particularly bad clog left my boob feeling like there was an octopus latched to it. It took over a week for it to clear and for the supply to come back to normal. But now that the girls are eating more porridge and playing around with finger foods, maybe my time as the milk machine is coming to an end. I'll miss the free pass to eat whatever I want...I'll probably blow up like a balloon once my metabolic rate returns to normal. 

It's still surreal that I am a mom. Right now it feels more like we have two new pets. It's hard to conceive that these two little crying, pooping cuties will grow into sentient beings that can talk (and talk back) one day. I've heard people say it's hard to go back to work because they miss their babies too much. But let's be real, I am more tired on days I don't have work than on days that I do. Babies are exhausting y'all. More exhausting than a demanding patient panel -- and that's saying something! But I think being away helps me appreciate them more when I return. Seeing their faces light up when they see me is restorative, even though sometimes I worry that I've done nothing to deserve being their favorite person in the whole wide world. One day they might outgrow it, but for now, I'll take it!

Motherhood, It's a Trap! (unfinished)

Growing up, my mom always told me that childbirth was painful, but the pain is all forgotten the moment they place your baby in your arms. Mind you, this is a woman that delivered me precipitously sans epidural and even had a stitch torn open when the OB reached in after the perineal repair to extract her retained placenta. After giving birth myself, I have determined this is a lie. I guess my delivery was complicated and I didn't get the beautiful golden hour of skin to skin bonding because the twins were whisked away by neonatology to ensure they were OK after the dangerous drops in their heart rate while my care team simultaneously worked on stopping my bleeding. But still -- that shit hurt (even with a glorious epidural)! 

The first few days after delivery, I was taking Tylenol and ibuprofen around the clock and still wincing every time I shifted to get out of bed to hobble to the bathroom. I peed blood for a week, although the nurse "reassured" me that this was normal for up to 6 weeks. I was peeing up to a liter at a time as my body worked to clear all the fluid I had retained during pregnancy and from the IV fluids during my labor. Even after getting home, I continued my scheduled OTC painkillers for almost 2 weeks. I hated dragging myself out for even a quick 15 minute walk due to the heavy, throbbing pelvic pain provoked by standing or walking around. For days I thought my stitches had become infected due to the level of pain I was in and also because I would wake up around midnight borderline delirious with night sweats. One particular night, I woke up drenched in sweat and found myself mid-conversation with Uram, a conversation I don't remember starting. I was also holding Lyra in my arms but I couldn't figure out whose baby she was. This all resolved within a few minutes, but I was concerned enough that I called the triage line. Turns out, this is all a normal part of the postpartum course. The night sweats are caused by the drop in your hormone levels after delivery (who knew!), the delirium was just severe sleep deprivation.  Isn't motherhood beautiful?

The level of discomfort I had with just a second degree tear (skin, muscles), I can't imagine how people manage with third or fourth degrees (skin, muscles, anal sphincter). I would just die. Luckily, I didn't suffer from any constipation, although the first time wiping after delivery, I was like, "Who's butthole is this?" because the hemorrhoids and swelling had rendered it unrecognizable to the hand that has dutifully wiped it for 32 years. Pregnancy is wild. 

Now my body is fully recovered. My anemia is steadily resolving thanks to the confinement meals and nourishing snacks my family has been bringing me. (My hemoglobin jumped from 8 to 10 in 2 weeks without iron supplementation. Forget IV iron, eat pate!) I no longer require painkillers for the hoo-ha -- I can walk without pain although my stamina is so reduced I feel muscle fatigue in my legs after just one lap around the park. But postpartum life is like trading old problems for new ones. The body is healed, just in time for me to endure the trials of prolonged sleep deprivation and learning how to breastfeed. The babies sleep for 2.5-4 hour stretches at a time. If we are lucky, we catch a cumulative 7 hours of sleep a night, although most nights we are averaging about 5 hours of fragmented sleep. 

Breastfeeding is its own beast. I can quite honestly say I would rather give birth again (with an epidural!) than continue breastfeeding. The first time Lyra latched onto my nipple, I may have let out an involuntary yelp. What did I do in my past life to deserve birthing children that are part piranha, part shark? The twins will fuss around trying to find the nipple before CLAMPING down with an audible "NOMF". Lyra will also shake her head furiously to the left and right after latching -- yeowch. The pain and swelling from their attempts to nurse would slow down my supply for a day, then I would try to get back into it again in a vicious cycle of fruitless suffering. It was to the point that I would dread feedings and pumping. No one tells you this, but sometimes when you are breastfeeding, you can experience a wave of negative emotions. This phenomena is called dysphoric milk ejection reflex. I would feel like I wanted to cry and I would have no idea why. For these reasons, I ended up deciding to exclusively pump. I did it for the nips. I reasoned that the twins would still get the benefit of breastmilk and it would be more sustainable for my poor bitten off nubbins in the long run. 

Even pumping comes with its own set of challenges. I couldn't figure out the right flange fit for the hospital grade pump I was given. The standard set was too small and would cause a pinching, stabbing pain that would linger for hours even after pumping. I tried sizing up, but this caused my areola to swell up, which led to clogged ducts. Clogged ducts are the devil. I tried everything. The old school of thought was that this was caused by fatty milk and to apply heat and massage to try to "clear" the obstruction. This has been replaced with the idea that the obstruction is caused by swelling and should instead be treated with anti-inflammatories and ice. I tried both with limited success.  I even started taking sunflower lecithin to emulsify the fat (Side note, I make gloriously fatty breastmilk because I am apparently a happy cow from California. I fondly refer to it as Booba milk tea). In the end, the only thing that helped was to discontinue the hospital grade pump and use the portable pump instead, which reduced the trauma to my nipples. Hours of midnight Redditing to figure all this out, guys. There is a special feeling of commiseration with your fellow internet goblins when someone asks the same highly specific question that you have 2-3 years ago and you can see all the people in the comments who are also up at 2-3AM trying to get the answers.