Exclusively pumping... the invisible work

This week it will be three months the boys made it in our family. It has been a particularly interesting experience compared to my singletons. The main question I get asked is how I find if boys are different than girls, to be completely honest, they're babies, they're not different, they are tiny humans with their own personalities but gender makes no difference, they need loved, fed, changed and sleep.  Being that there are two of them and that they are coming on later on my parenting journey is probably what is the most different. Two means twice the laundry, amount of nappies and that you do get to learn fun skills such as how to feed two babies at once or how to burp one while the other still want fed... there are some impressive things you witness like the ability of one baby to remain deeply asleep while his sibling is screaming his head off right in his ear, how weeks old babies will smile at each other and it will melt your heart and two minutes later fight against each other and you will try not to laugh (they are basically lying on their backs, staring sideways and trying to fling their arms at each other, all that paired with terrible hand eye coordination makes it quite a vision, just like the look of surprise at themselves if they manage to actually hit some body part of their sibling), these fights for survival are usually settled if you feed them both at once or pick them up at the same time.

All this makes for having twins a great parenting experience and I am learning a lot. But there is something new and different from having one baby at a time that is making this journey really new, and it is how the babies are fed. Before they were born I had my share of thinking. I breastfed both my girls until they self weaned. I tandem fed them. I dealt with nursing aversion which was the most heartbreaking part of my breastfeeding journey. Breastfeeding is not new anymore, I know the hard parts but also how convenient it is once established. This being said, I had never breastfed twins and I'm not going to lie, the thought was complex. 

I know breastfeeding is the best nutritionally for your little ones. I'm not saying this to shame mothers using formula, formula has its place too but it would be wrong to say formula compares to breastmilk in its composition and how it works though it will grow your little one and keep them alive. Point is that there was no questioning which of breastmilk or formula would be best given the choice for our boys. My husband is also a big breastfeeding advocate and might be bigger on it than I am (he definitely is actually).

Breastfeeding is also technically "free" compared to formula, especially if you're thinking formula for two. Breastmilk comes with the advantage of being a live product that changes composition depending on your baby's requirement, environment etc and you can always breastfeed a breastfed baby while formula has a limit amount per day for baby's safety (think how you can for instance overdose on some minerals or vitamins and are told when pregnant to avoid vitamin A, well the manufacturers of formula put the right amount in it for so much formula per day and so you need to follow the guidelines). 

You do not need bottles with breastfeeding, the equipment is limited, nursing bra, pads and a pump if you so wish or need to relieve engorgement, some cream for nipples if needed, maybe hot/cold compresses and that is you set. Formula requires bottles, tits, sterilisers, kissing goodbye to clothes that get sicked on, being bought in advance and planning every outing into having enough equipment and formula with you as well as access if needed to boiled water and bottle warmers, it will test your organisational skills like nothing else... unless you decide to exclusively express or pump.

I never really had considered exclusively expressing, I of course knew it was a thing but I kind of fell into it with the boys. You see when they were born they were very tiny, my nipples were still toddler sized and only one of the twins successfully latched, the other one did try but ultimately it was tiring, too big and he would just hang about waiting for a let down (when milk comes out fast and furious from your breast) and then just lick whatever he could. This was not the best option for them. They were losing weight and needed nutrition. I had a pretty good supply with my second so I knew I could express and I ordered a Medela harmony hand pump to help me. I also ordered Medela calma tits and bottles because these require the baby to create a vacuum on the tit in order to get milk, the calma tits are quite a contraption but they are fantastic if you want to breastfeed or have your baby benefiting from recreating this very specific way of feeding for their mouth. I successfully expressed and the boys put on weight immediately, (the average a breastfed newborn is to put on weight in the first days is about 30g a day, Daemon put on 90g the first day of using expressed milk and Cillín put on a 130g). Using bottles allowed me to share the feeding aspect and it was easier than fussing with tandem nursing babies who each needed individual attention to latch in the first place. I was exhausted at that stage and nursing aversion was a real concern to me, it hadn't started but I could tell how touched out I was after a difficult delivery and a lot ongoing emotionally so somehow using the bottle allowed me to actually enjoy feeding rather than risking adding to the emotional stress and it was guilt free in the sense I was still providing the best nutrition possible and as women we sometimes tend to feel that unless we're self sacrificing we might not be doing it right as mothers.

And then the milk came in. Once my milk came in I started having to deal with establishing a routine to avoid engorgement and also ensure a continuous supply for the babies, th e amount I produce means I probably could feed an extra two babies, I make a minimum of 130 ounces thought it probably is closer to 150-180 a day and that burns a lot. It means that missing or delaying a session is physical agony and puts me at immediate risk of mastitis, I burn up immediately and feel sore in my entire body. If you have breastfed before, you know the filling, if you haven't, try tying an elastic band to a finger and feel the blood pool and your skin getting too tight, then magnify thisnfeeling a hundred and pair it with stabbing sharp pains and being punched in a bruise and you are getting g close to what being really engorged feels like. Now pair it with a crying infant or a feelin of unachievement because you promised to play with your five year old and can't. 

Expressing takes at least seven hours of my day, I also have to wash and sterilise equipment and bottles and bottle feed my babies... this probably means that 15 hours of my day are taken by all this. But you don't see it. I "laugh" that expressing means I get the worst of both breastfeeding and formula feeding... my reward being that I get to feel like I'm not letting the boys down compared to their sisters. But I am drained, you see I still have a business to run and a house to run, my eldest do have needs to be met, food needs cooked and my family lives abroad, my friends have young families of their own too and live a bit away, my husband works full time and he does most feeds and takes care of the kids the minute he is home, he naturally needs more sleep than I do (8 hours at least while I can run on 5 hours) so he does suffer from the interruptions at night more than I but still pulls through. We're doing our best. I'm not sure how long for but we're trying. So there you have it. This is what it is like to exclusively express, a full time job that no one sees, that means your house is probably not up to your standards but there are only 24 hours in a day and that is the hardest part of the experience, there just isn't the time for it all and the thought is often occurring that when it comes to parenting we are very good at self second guessing and we too often miss out on enjoying the journey but at least it is more often than not because we want to provide the best. So I try to remember that it doesn't matter if the baby is a boy or a girl, what matters is that the needs are met: love, food, sleep, clean. 

Keeping it Real.

So picture this. I am currently 27 or 28 weeks pregnant with our twins (I was very good at knowing exactly how pregnant I was with my previous two pregnancies but this one, somehow, well, I struggle to be able to tell you how old I am this year or what day of the week it is because my brain has gone on holiday and I have to write everything down... so all you get is an estimate.) , anyway, I am getting quite uncomfortable at times and one of the aspects to which it is highly reflected is my editing speed.  You see, I have this lovely space where I edit, and this lovely antique rocking chair to sit on, which was fine pre-pregnancy, kind of, but since now everything is uncomfortable, the simple thought of sitting at the rocking chair is painful. I have entertained the thought of buying another chair  but what for since it would only be used for so long AND there is no warranty I wouldn't find it much more comfortable after a bit because the only moments I am feeling ok are actually leaning against a yoga ball ( yes I have entertained the thought of moving my Mac closer to the floor and working while leaning on the yoga ball... desperate times call for desperate measures).

Well, this end of afternoon the stars aligned after a crazy day, and after somehow managing to empty all the laundry baskets, clean pee incidents off the floor, make countless hot chocolates and slices of toasts ( or as we know them here flour jam and bread) for sore little throats, sing the alphabet several times and have to deal with the constant barking of a robot dog (I am bearing with it because it means the batteries will die faster, or so I hope), I had the genius idea to use my old pillows to make some sort of cushion for the rocking chair. And well, it was kind of comfortable, and so I started my editing which really needed done as some is backlogged. Of course almost immediately I was surrounded by toddlers wanting to sit on the arms of the rocking chair and "help me work"... after a couple of hours and near bed time they agreed to come down and play since their time was counted. I decided to give another go at editing, and it works... and it's great... and then of course cries start. Cries start over an argument which goes like this:
Lilly: I am going to marry YOU Kaede.
Kaede: No, you won't marry me, I am going to marry YOU Lilly!
Lilly: NOOOO I want to marry YOU!
Kaede: NOOOO, I want to marry YOU!!!
Yes, the irony... and probably the basis of so many romantic comedies and novels. Kaede runs away back to me and start telling me her side of the story, which is pretty similar to Lilly's story as to what is going on. Except that at this point, Kaede is sitting on my lap. And while I am trying to resonate with them, a nauseous smell followed by a very warm sensation spreads on my legs... I look at Kaede. she looks at me and says: Ooooh.... my nappy expWOOOOOOded!!!.
Brand new nappy... but as I have mentioned earlier, the girls are starting a cold and so anything can happen... and it just did. So I pack up the editing for a few more hours, knowing damn well I will by then only want to sleep, even though someone squishing my stomach and squirting acid up my oesophagus is probably going to make that impossible, while his best friends happily nestles himself against my bladder and occasionally stretches under my ribs.

This, my friend is the joy that comes with the motherhood side of my life. I love it, it tires me... and it challenges me every single moment. It isn't all me but just like any aspect of myself it influences all I experience... and it is worth it for the hugs, it is worth it for the "peekaboo mommy I see you" giggled from behind the shower window, or the sleepy I love you and butterfly kisses... it is worth all the efforts, the tears, the finance, the overstretched skin and missed meals... but it is also bloody hard. It's hard when you feel like you should just be showing off that wonderful and exciting image of the perfect mother who manages it all or the career woman who meets all her targets. It is hard because even with a wonderful supporting partner, somehow, a lot always ends up on your shoulders and even if you challenge the "norms", even if you both feel responsible for the education of the children, the night time cuddles after a nightmare, the runs for that extra trip to the potty and glass of water, the paying of the bills, the housework and all aspects that come with a family while still trying to keep a sense of self and growth, at the end of the day, the eyes still turn to the mother if the outfit is mismatched, the nose has a trace of tomato sauce from a rushed lunch before music lesson or the toys are still present on the floor at a last minute visit. Somehow it is hard. It is hard because while you get the chance to appreciate the sweet rewards in the comfort and safety of your nest, you still have to deal with the constant outsider look and sometimes, you have to privilege which you value the most and feel like you fall short of the other... because at the end of the day, we aren't just mothers, we are human beings, we aren't perfect but we try our  best to manage it all and keep it all together even though our bodies are tired to the bone in a way half the human population will never get to understand and experience, we still have a right to be ourselves, all of us, not just mothers and we deserve a break. Which I will take... once I have manage to round up enough items for another batch of laundry after bedtime is over... because contaminated items cannot be left overnight or the smell will spread throughout the house to welcome us in the morning.