Bad Mom Confession

The morning started out fine.

A typical Monday morning, no one wanted to get up after two days of sleeping in.

Mommy Dearest

Thing 2, usually the more difficult of the two to get up, got up and going with just a little resistance. I smartly got him motivated to get ready by reminding him that it was his sharing day at school (basically show and tell, but the teacher gives them a theme of what to bring in).

Thing 1, usually the easier to rouse of the two, kept trying to crawl back under the sheets. I had to physically dress him myself with him pulling against me. Once he was dressed, I sent him off to brush his teeth, while Thing 2 and I headed to the basement to find a sphere, a cube, a cylinder, and a cone. (Yes, I really should have taken care of this this weekend, but I forgot. Bad mom move #1.)

When we came upstairs, we put Thing 2's items in his book bag and I quickly got on his coat, hat, and gloves (of course it was freezing this morning!). Again, he is usually the harder of the two to do these tasks, so I was pleased it was going so quickly.

But then all hell broke loose! Thing 1 was crying hysterically in the bathroom "But I didn't brush my teeth yet." (P.S. I had left him in the bathroom with instructions to brush his teeth BEFORE we had headed downstairs on our shapes' scavenger hunt.)

I snapped! "Why didn't you brush your teeth? Fine, I'll brush your teeth for you. I dressed you like a baby. Now I'll brush your teeth like your a baby. Are you a baby or a big boy? You should be doing this stuff for yourself."

Of course then he is crying. (Bad mom move #2.)

We leave the bathroom and I am fervently trying to get his coat and hat and gloves on him. Of course I'm having to put them on for him, because he is crying because I basically called him a baby. :(

Then just as we are heading to the door, we see the school bus...drive by.  Grrr!

So, me, worst mom ever turns to Thing 1 and says "Great! Now you made us miss the bus!" So his sniffling cry turns into FULL BLOWN HYSTERICS!

GOD, I'M A TERRIBLE PERSON!

I go out and start the car. (Which at this point he is sobbing uncontrollably because he thinks I'm leaving him.)

Then I come back in and tear around the house getting the rest of my stuff together for work, so I can drop them at school on my way to work.

With my jacket on, purse on my arm, lunch box in my hand, I look over at my son and think "My god, what have I done?"

I sit down on the couch and ask him to come to me. We hug and I say "I'm so sorry I hurt your feelings. Of course you aren't a baby. And it's not your fault we missed the bus. It's mommy's fault because I should have gotten you up earlier. I am just frustrated and I'm taking it out on you. But I'm not really frustrated with you. Do you understand." He nods his head, but of course he doesn't.

"I love you so much. And I'm so sorry I was being mean. Sometimes mommy gets frustrated and loses her temper and can be mean. I really hate that about myself. Do you forgive me." He nods his head and hugs me tighter.

And I feel like the worst person ever because I KNOW what I do. I know I have a temper. I know I handled the situation badly and even though I've apologized, I can't erase what I've already said. I can't erase that he (and my other son) saw my behavior. I don't want them to learn to act that way. I don't want them to inherit my temper and my ability to fly off the handle.

But, I guess the silver lining (to me at least) is that I am big enough to see my faults and #1 apologize for them and #2 admit them to my sons. I hope that I am teaching them that you have to apologize when you hurt someone and you have to own up to your bad behavior. I just hope that rubs off on them more than my actual bad behavior.

Spank you very much

A facebook friend recently posted this:

Let me begin by saying: I got my butt smacked and survived.

Heck, I have a very sarcastic mouth, so I got much more than my butt smacked!  And I still survived.  And I still love my parents.

But I choose not to use corporal punishment with my children.  And here is why:

#1 I don't want my children seeing violence as a solution.

When Thing 1 and 2 get upset and hit one another, one of my first responses is "DO NOT HIT YOUR BROTHER!"  And we make the boys come together and talk through their issues.  We discuss that if someone is doing something to bother you, you should 1. ask them to stop,  2. tell them you need some space,  3. walk away from them if they won't walk away from you,  4. get a grown up.  In that order.

Does it work all of the time?  No.  But it does work most of the time.

But what about me?  I (along with Superman) am their #1 role model.  What do they learn if I get ticked at something they do and instead of talking it out with them, I reach over and smack their hand or whack their butt.  What have I taught them?

My lips are saying "do not hit people when they do something you don't like" but my actions are saying "it's okay to hit people when they do something you don't like."

Is it hard not to spank?  YES!!  Good god!  Lord knows I have a temper (thanks dad!) and when I get mad at them for being little butts, you'd better believe I want to haul off and smack those rear ends!  In fact, a time or two, I have been so upset and frustrated and mad that I have.

But I know in my heart that that reaction isn't right for me.  It is allowing my anger to control my actions, rather than controlling my anger and dealing rationally with the situation.

#2 I don't think it works.


My parents were spankers.  Spankers, slappers, whippers...nothing abusive, but lets just say my butt was no stranger to the hand or another available object (yes, there was a wire hanger incident).  And I even got backhanded across the face a few times for sarcastic comments. (P.S. Moms and Dads, if you yourself are sarcastic, there is a more than good chance that your kids will learn to be sarcastic too.  Heads up!)

But let me tell you this.  Spanking hurts...for a few minutes.  (My parents never really hit me hard enough to cause major bruising or long lasting pain.)  Then it's over.  You go in your room, cry for a few minutes, then pick up a book.  You give your parents the silent treatment for a few hours, but mostly...no big deal.  Back to life as normal.

But you know what was torture?  Being grounded.  Or being grounded from the tv.  Or the worst of the worst: Having my phone privileges taken away.  Ah man!  I can remember it now, getting a phone call from one of my best friends and hearing my dad say "No, Amber can't come to the phone right now. She is grounded from the phone." Torture!


So when Thing 1 purposefully hit Thing 2 the other day with his new tee-ball bat because "he wasn't moving out of my way and I didn't like that", we didn't spank him.  We took away his bat, put him in time out for 5 minutes while we tended to Thing 2.  Then we told Thing 2 to tell Thing 1 how being hit with the bat made him feel.  And then we told Thing 1 "no baseball for 3 days."  Good grief, the crying that ensued.  You'd have thought I beat the kid with the baseball bat myself.  And over the next 3 days, almost every time he asked to go play ball or went to pick up a bat, ball, or glove, it was evident that this long term punishment effected him much greater than had I done what I really wanted to do (which was spank his little butt!!).

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Look, I'm not saying my way is right and the other way is wrong.  Two of my closest friends are some of the best moms I know, and they both spank their kids with no regrets. I would never say about them "oh, they just don't know how to control their anger" or "they just take the easy way out and spank their kid" or "they are teaching their kids to be violent."  We have had discussions about spanking and they have their justifications for doing it, and I have voiced my justifications for why we don't (or try not to ;).  But in the end, we all have to make the decisions that feel right for us and our families.


I would just encourage parents to think thoughtfully about why you choose the discipline measures you choose.  Because if you thoughtfully consider which method you most believe in and feel works best for your family, then that is the right decision!


Oh, and P.S. to go back to the original comment...Superman was never spanked a day in his life.  He was a model kid (a parent's dream!) and has turned out to be an ace teacher, a fantastic father, and committed husband.  So, I refute the insinuation that kids who aren't spanked are undisciplined and not respectful. Superman is proof that you can discipline without corporal punishment and still raise a lovely, law-abiding, rule following, respectful, contributing member of society. :)

To Boob or Not To Boob (Guest Blogger)

I have talked before on my blog about the hardship I experienced trying to breastfeed, and the guilt and judgment I felt/still feel for not being successful.  So, I asked my best friend (who blogs at A Jane of All Trades, Master of None), to do a guest blog on why she chose not to breastfeed.  So with that, let's welcome a wonderful woman, teacher, mother, and BFF!....

Ever since I was pregnant with my first daughter I have been plagued with the question, “Are you going to breast feed?” 

The first time someone asked me, I was barely pregnant and I was a little taken aback by this question.  I didn’t know people readily asked this question and I didn’t know it was anyone’s business.  I know I had never ever thought to ask another woman this question.

Then another person asked me. 

WHAT!?  Is this normal?

Then another person asked.

Each time I was asked, I responded with “We’re going to try.”  It seemed like the right answer and it usually stopped any further questions that concerned what my child would eat and where she would get it from. 

Deep down though, I knew I was really struggling with the thought of breastfeeding.  I knew all the health benefits.  I knew it would save us money.  I knew I would lose the weight faster, but honestly it creeped me out.

And before you judge, let me explain.  My mom had me at 17 and her number one goal in life was to make sure that NEVER happened to me.  From the time I was 12, I was told “I don’t care if you have sex, but he and you better be protected.” 

I felt like I heard this every day of my life...

And you would think with talk like that, sexuality and your body would be an open discussion in our house.  No.  It was actually quite the opposite. 

Some examples: I was not allowed to walk around in t-shirts because of my brothers.  My mom mortified me by telling her friends when I got my first period.  I once had a friend (around 13) who didn’t wear underwear to bed, and when I asked my parents about this, they practically chastised the girl and her parents.  If I wore an outfit that was maybe tight or slightly inappropriate, my aunt told me I deserved to be raped.

By the time I was actually at the age of being sexual, sex was cold for me.  I associated sex with teenage pregnancy, and I associated my body with something that needed to be secret.  To this day, I will do everything to make sure no one sees me naked.  Even my husband didn’t actually see me naked for a good while after we were already having sex.

Fast forward to January 2007.  I was 3 months out from being a mom and I still had no idea what I was going to do about breast feeding.  I had gone from “I will try” to “maybe I’ll just pump.” 

Then I visited my friend after right after delivering her baby.  While I was there it was feeding time, and she fed him without hesitation right there in front of my friend and me.  She didn’t cover herself, and honestly, she didn’t need to.  But it was in that moment that I knew I was not going to be able to do it.  I knew that I was so uncomfortable in my own skin that breastfeeding would not be possible. 

I am not disgusted by others that breastfeed.  I’m not anti-breastfeeding.  I hate that society accepts Brittney’s cleavage spilling out, but then want women to breastfeed in a restaurant bathroom.

What I disagree with is the constant judgment that I faced (and still face now with my second child).  Worse yet, I hate the judgment that women who really did try face.  And ladies, it is not the men who judge us...it is other women. Women are so mean.

And we call ourselves a sisterhood?  Really? 

Each and every mother will be faced with a point where she will know all the disadvantages and advantages of her actions, and will make the decision to do what is right for her. 

And they can call her selfish.  And they say she is a bad mother.  And they launch campaign after campaign that puts her down for her choice.  But in the end, it is her decision.  And just as I don’t want the government making decisions about my body, I don’t want my "sisterhood" deeming me unfit because of MY decisions about my body.

With my second daughter, who was born just a month ago, I have learned to say “breastfeeding didn’t work for us,” when asked if I am breast feeding.  What I really want to say though is "What did you feed your kid last night?  Was it the best possible choice?  Could you have done something else?"  Just so they get how inappropriate and not their business their question is.

Five years late, I can say that my first born is very healthy.  She has the occasional ear infection, but honestly we really only have to go to the doctor about twice a year.  She is incredibly bright and inquisitive.  And her weight is exactly on point for her height and age.  She is all of those things that the breastfeeding campaigns promise you your formula fed baby won't be.

And so maybe I didn’t lose that baby weight, but I’m okay with that.

Motorcycles & vaginas

I would never give anyone motorcyle advice.

I don't own a motorcycle, nor have I ever driven one.  I have, however, ridden on a few.

But having ridden shotgun (does this apply to riding passenger on motorcyles too?) a time or two does not make me an expert.   If I started spouting out my opinion on how to take care of your motorcycle, you would tell me to shut-the-front-door.  And you'd have every right, because unless I owned a motorcycle myself, I really can't know what I'm talking about.

So, to all the men out there, please keep your opinions on child birth to yourself.  You do not have a vagina.  Sure, you may have ridden one a time or two, but until you actually have one, you really have no idea.

A man I know posted a link to an article about the pros and cons of using epidurals during child birth.  He's a nice guy, and I know his intentions weren't malicious (his wife is pregnant).  But I just couldn't help myself to reply "So I take it when you get pregnant, you will not use an epidural."  Because c'mon guy, how can you truly have an opinion on natural child birth vs. medicated child birth if you NEVER HAVE TO GO THROUGH CHILD BIRTH!

Heck, I know quite a few women who have said they wouldn't use drugs when they gave birth, but once they were a few centimeters dilated and the waves of contractions were coming right on top of each other after hours and hours of labor, they changed their tune.  I just don't think anyone, man or woman, knows what they'll do until they get there.

And honestly, I don't even have much opinion on the subject myself.  Yes, I have a vagina, but I had one pregnancy and my doctor started preparing me for my planned c-section right about the same time I found out I was having twins.  To me, my opinion is: You know your pain threshold.  You know whether you like to tough out sicknesses or take the meds.  You know YOUR body.  If you want the epidural, get the freaking epidural.  If you'd rather go au natural, then bonne chance ma soeur. À chacun son goût.

But remember this, you don't get a medal for not using drugs.  At the end of it all, you just get a baby, just like every other women...vaginal or c-section, epidural or sans epidural...the result is the same.  Do what you need to do to get that baby out safely and into your arms.  And let other mothers worry about their own vaginas.

Peace.

The F-Word

Dedicated to the women of the world that think "the real 'F' word is formula":

Like many expectant moms, I read plenty about how to best care for my babies. And in my reading and  research, I decided that breast was best and that because of that I would be nursing my twins for at least the first year of their life (I'd play it by ear from there...).

I ordered an EZ-2-Nurse pillow, specifically designed for nursing twins, a breast pump, and 0 bottles.  We moved to a rental house less than 1 mile from my office, so I could nurse after going back to work.

Thing 1 and Thing 2 were born 35 w 2 d.  So they were a little early, but not much (36 weeks is considered full term for twins).  They weighed 5 lb 13 oz and 5 lb 7 oz.

The first thing the hospital staff did when the boys were born was put in a feeding tube through their nose.  Apparently this was standard for babies this small.  Their first feeding was formula.  I actually was kind of pissed that they didn't consult me for any of this.  But the nurses kept insisting on the importance of bringing up their body weight.

Before I ever put the babies to breast, I used a pump.  I squeezed out the most minuscule amount of colostrum.  This went straight into their feeding tubes.

The nurses literally weighed the boys with a super scale before and after each attempt to nurse, and if they didn't gain enough ounces, they would then feed them through the nose tube.  (No sucking necessary.)

A friend of mine recently had a premature baby here at the hospital where we live now and instead of a nose tube, they made the baby suck on her finger while she slowly fed through a syringe on the side...teaching the baby he had to suck to get a full belly.  I wish we'd done that with my boys.  Because I feel like the nose tube made them lazy!  They didn't need to suck hard to get a full belly, so why bother working so hard at breast time if afterwards you'd get rewarded anyway?  (By the way, the staff is coming off very unsupportive, but this isn't true.  They all cheered me on at my insistence to nurse. They wanted me to succeed, but they also had a job to make sure the boys were as well taken care of medically as possible.)

I held out not giving my boys a bottle for 11 days!!

The doctor wouldn't sent them home from the hospital until they were over 6 lbs and feeding on their own (no nose tube).  And after 11 days of traveling back and forth to the hospital every day...I finally broke down and gave them bottles, because I just wanted to bring them home!  # 1 I'd been in that hospital for 12 weeks on strict medically prescribed bedrest.  #2 the hospital was a 30 min drive from our house, so every day I was getting up and commuting (even though I wasn't supposed to drive after my c-section) to the hospital in time to be there for the 7:30 am feeding.  Then I would pump.  Then take a nap in a room with one of the boys on my chest doing Kangaroo care.  Then feed. Then pump. Then nap with the other baby.  Then feed. Then pump. Then nap. All day. When Superman got off work, he'd meet me up at the hospital for dinner.  We'd stay there until the boys' 9:30 feeding and then drive home for the night.  (I wanted to stay at the hospital and try feeding through the night too, but the nurses insisted I needed rest.  They said that the stress and exhaustion might be part of the problem with my milk supply.)  After almost two weeks of this, I broke down and said "take out the feeding tube and just give them a bottle."

When we left that day, I took one of the hospital grade pumps home with me. If I couldn't get the boys to latch, I'd at least pump and feed them my own milk.  Heck, I could do that for at least 6 months right?

We also took home a supplemental nursing system to use with it, because I was trying to get the boys to suck at the breast to encourage production...but it was not practical for me being at home all alone with twins and I just couldn't get it to work the way it was supposed to.

As I've explained before, my supply was pitiful. My milk never fully came in. I never (ever) had "let down".  I drank Mother's Milk tea. I took Fenugeek supplements. I drank liters and liters of water. I did kangaroo care. I pumped every 2 hours, on the dot. But still I barely made enough to feed one baby, let alone two.

Then, after 8 weeks of pumping and supplementing with formula (or really I should say after 8 weeks of feeding formula and supplementing with breast milk), my supply finally gave up.  And so did I.

So I'm here to say "Don't you dare compare formula to a four-letter word!"  Formula is what kept my babies from starving when my breasts didn't do as nature intended.  Would I have preferred to feed my children 100% breastmilk, sure I would have. Because as one wise mother has said: "Breast is best, but formula isn’t toxic. In fact, its pretty damn good."

Dear Santa

After almost every trip home I fall into a mild depression (not the clinically diagnosed kind). Because during those few days back in my hometown, I get to spend short but valuable quality time with my best friends. These are woman who I have known for years. Before babies. Before husbands. Heck, most of them before I could drink, or vote, or drive! 17 years and more. I love them so much. And miss them every day.

Sure, thanks to cell phones, emails, and Facebook, I don’t miss them nearly as much as I would have a 100 years ago when we could have only sent written correspondence that would take a week or more to deliver. Keeping in touch now is much more convenient and economical. But still, Skyping doesn’t replace sitting next to them on the couch, sipping a glass of wine, and laughing together. Or crying together. And I can’t do that from 800 miles away.

And I miss that they know me. Really know me. Know that I’m sarcastic, opinionated, and bawdy. Now that I am passionate about important things and irrelevant things like which peanut butter is the best. That I have the best intentions despite having a propensity for putting my foot in my mouth. That I love gossip, but not in a mean spirited way. That I often need to bitch and complain, just to get things off my chest before I can get any clarity on the situation. That I’m a loyal friend, but I also believe in being honest even though I know it’d be easier to just tell you what you want to hear. They know that I can be unintentionally judgmental, and they help me work on changing that about myself.

With them, I don’t have to act smarter than I am. Or to censor myself. Act more pious. Or polite. Or wittier. Or more informed. I can be exactly who I am, and they love me and accept me just for that. I feel safe and unjudged.

As a married mother/adult living in a university town, I have found it very hard to make friends. Sure, I have some wonderful acquaintances, but that is all they are. Nice people that I exchange pleasantries with in social situations.

How are you?

I’m great. How are you?

Wonderful.

How is the family? Good?

That’s terrific! Man this weather is beautiful/terrible/crazy/unexpected.

Yes, isn’t it? But that is Indiana for you.

True. Well, it was good to see you.

Awesome, it was good to see you, too.

But for one reason or another it never seems to go past this very superficial level into any more meaningful relationships.

Part of the problem is that because this is a university town, most people I meet seem to see their time here as temporary. Just a bookmark in their life until they move on to their real jobs, their real homes, their real lives. They don’t seem interested in putting much effort into making good friends here, since they themselves are only here on loan until they finish their degrees or find permanent positions elsewhere. And I will admit, back when I lived here as a graduate student in the early 2000s, I was the same way.

The other problem is that when you were young, it didn’t take much to establish a connection. You thought they were fun and funny and they thought the same about you.  But now, you might like her but your husband doesn’t care for him. Or your husbands get along but you and she have nothing to talk about. Or you both like the couple, but you can’t stand their kid and don’t really want them around your kids. Or worse…they don’t have kids, so they just can’t understand your schedule and why you always turn down their invitations to go meet for drinks at 9:00 pm on a school night.

Superman doesn’t seem as phased about not having friends as I am. Honestly, between having me and his parents nearby…he seems quite content with all of his acquaintances. But I want, no, I NEED some girlfriends! And not the kind I can only reach out and touch through a keyboard, but the fleshy kind. The kind that will show up at my house unannounced on a Saturday and sit and drink a cup of hot chocolate with me while we watch the kids play in the snow in the backyard. The kind that we have a monthly game night with, when you bring the kids’ pajamas, because you know the fun will go way past their bedtime.

Oh, and not to be too picky, but I want one that mothers similar to me. Someone that doesn’t feed their kids McDonald’s at every meal, but doesn’t think Ronald McDonald is the devil either. Someone who doesn’t put coke in their one year old’s sippy cup, but doesn’t feed them only organic seaweed juice. Someone who believes in discipline, but also believes that children are children and that 4 year olds shouldn’t be expected to conform to adult standards of politeness and properness. Someone who doesn't chronically read parenting advice books. Someone who I can ask parenting advise from, but isn’t offended if I don’t take it. A mother who is realistic about their love for their child, and doesn’t insist that they are god’s gift to the world and they poop skittles and rainbows. A mother who likes spending time with her children, not one who always wants to do “just girls” things because she is desperate to get away from them at every opportunity.

I know my list is not unreasonable. I know this, because I know these women. And if this were a perfect world, I’d live next door to them in Virginia Beach and still have my amazing in-laws living just 45 minutes away.

But until then, I can just say:

Dear Santa Claus,

Please, please, please bring me a friend this year.  I’ve been very good all year and I think I deserve it.

Love,

Me

P.S. She must believe in Santa Claus.

This is an ugly post

I hate the "I was abused" defense.

I hate it.

Oh, I know what you are thinking "How can you judge someone unless you've walked in their shoes? You have no idea how that could mess a person up."

Well, I'm going to share something with you that I've only shared with very few people in my life:

I was sexually abused as a young child.

I haven't shared this with many people for all of the myriad of reasons people generally don't share things like this...

It's embarrassing.

I didn't want to make other people uncomfortable.

I don't want to hurt the people indirectly involved.

And hell, maybe tomorrow I'll regret this coming out and wish I'd just kept it pushed in the back of my mind, but right now I'm furious.

I don't know whether Casey Anthony killed her daughter or not.  Obviously the circumstantial evidence piled high against her.  But I'm furious that she and her defense team used the allegations of childhood sexual abuse as some sort of excuse for her erratic and neglectful behavior as a mother.

Sure she partied when she should have been looking for her missing daughter, but oh poor Casey was abused as a child, so you can understand....

No.  No, I can't.

My emotional scars don't make me neglect my sons...they've done the opposite.  They've made me become what some would deem overly protective about their care.

They are why I refused to put my sons in daycare.  They are why I have only let a handful of selective people (mainly their grandparents and godmother) babysit them.

I could never leave them alone in a room, even for two minutes with someone I didn't trust 100% to not hurt them, because I won't allow my child to have to endure the kind of trauma that I did.  Even if other people can't understand why I don't "just hire a sitter".

I'm not saying I don't think she was abused.   I wouldn't presume to know the answer to that.  But I do not accept said abuse as some kind of defense for her deplorable actions (and I'm counting all of them, regardless of whether she actually murdered her daughter).

I've kept quiet about this for a long time.  As most people do.  It's a dirty secret we try to bury deep inside and not think about.  Maybe I wouldn't even be coming clean now if it weren't for the perceived anonymity of the internet.

But reading these articles.  Seeing the way that the defense tried to manipulate and exploit a very real, tender, and hurtful subject as a way to excuse her actions (or non-actions)...I just have to say, as a "survivor" myself, that abuse is not an excuse!

Maybe I'm too sensitive

Maybe I'm too sensitive, but man I get tired of all of the breast-feeding nazis out there.  Every day I feel like I see something about how my children are going to be dumber, fatter, sicker, slower, uglier, and more cancer ridden because they were formula fed.  Actually, I'm just surprised they didn't die from SIDS since I was so uncaring enough not to breast feed them until they were old enough to chew filet mignon.

Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating.  A little.

But c'mon you breast feeding proponents.  Enough already.  We get it.  Breast is best.

Really, do you think there is a person out there that still doesn't understand that breast milk is the optimum choice for a baby's nutrition?  That it is biologically engineered to feed that baby.  We get it.  We all get it.

Do you think people who smoke really don't know it will cause lung cancer?

People who don't breastfeed don't not do it because they don't understand those facts...  They don't do it because their milk doesn't come in, or the baby doesn't latch right, or how about this: they just don't want to.

I have a good friend who didn't breast feed because she just thought it sounded gross.  She is very private about her body and her personal parts and didn't want a) a baby sucking on it or b) to have to breastfeed in public etc.  So she chose to bottle feed with formula.  She didn't put her baby to the breast even once.  Not even to try.  Immediately after labor she began working to dry up her swollen breasts.

Meanwhile, my milk never fully came in.  Try as I might.  I drank Mother's Milk tea.  I took Fenugeek supplements.  I drank liters and liters of water.  I did kangaroo care.  I pumped every 2 hours, on the dot.  I barely made enough to feed one baby, let alone two.  I wanted to breast feed so bad it hurt.  Literally.

I had planned to do it for a year.  We even moved within a mile of my work so that I could go home to nurse once I went back to work.  

But my children would have starved if it hadn't been for formula.  In more ways than one.  Because not only did my milk never fully come in (I never once had "let down" or "engorgement"), but also, my boys never learned to latch on.  Lactation consultant after lactation consultant, even one that specialized in preemies, couldn't help me get those boys to successfully hook up to the tap.

But I was so adamant to give my boys "the best" that I kept trying.  I was like the Little Engine That Could trying so hard to climb that mountain.  Being weighed down by weak breasts, lazy feeding babies,  post-bedrest recovery, and post-partum feelings of failure because I couldn't do this simple thing that nature had designed for my body to do.

After weeks and weeks of torturing myself...  pumping every 2-3 hours, losing sleep, crying rivers of tears each time my babies wouldn't latch or I pumped just 2 ounces, I finally considered giving up.  Superman was beyond relieved when I mentioned it.  He had been wanting me to stop trying weeks ago, but knew he couldn't suggest it.

I called a cousin of mine who I knew had gone through the same thing and eventually given up.  She's a great mom to two beautiful healthy kids.  She had quit after her breasts had failed her with her son, and had such a bad experience that she decided not to try with her daughter.  After several phone calls and hours of consoling, I knew she was right when she told me that I wasn't a bad mother for wanting to quit, that in fact, I would become a better mother after quitting because I would be able to enjoy my babies more.  Feeding time would become joyful, rather than dreaded.  I would hold my babies and smile and laugh while they ate, instead of live in constant anxiety and sadness each time feeding didn't go well.

The final straw was the morning I had pumped and pumped for 40 minutes and gotten less than an ounce.  While cleaning my pump, I accidentally spilled my milk.  And oh did I cry over spilled milk.  I had a full blown hysterical collapse.  My milk was more precious than gold to me at that point.  I was working so hard to produce even the slightest drops for my pre-mature infants...and now it was just a tiny whitish puddle on my kitchen floor.

As I was sitting on the floor sobbing and wiping my eyes, I knew.  My phone calls to my cousin weren't about looking for advice.  They were about looking for permission.  Asking permission from someone I knew to be a good mom that it was okay to quit.  I wanted to quit.

So I did.

I called the hospital and arranged for them to come get my rented hospital grade pump.

Then I called my husband and asked him to bring me home a bottle of wine.

Thing 1 and Thing 2 were 8 weeks old.

And guess what?  They didn't didn't die.  Niether did my friend's who chose not to try.  They aren't dumber, fatter, sicker, slower, or uglier than my breast fed friends' kids.  In fact, all three of the kids are incredibly bright, healthy, perfect size for their ages, and good-looking four year olds.  And we are both great moms, if I may say so myself.  We both make the best choices possible for our kids.  We put our childrens' health and happiness first.

I wonder if all of the breast-feeding propaganda bothers her like it does me.  Maybe I'm overly sensitive because I did try so hard and still failed.  To me, even four years later, it still feels like having salt rubbed over my wounds.  Like I'm being judged by people who don't even know me or my story.  Like I'm being marked as a bad mom by some imaginary Scarlett F.

It's funny, because I don't feel this way about my c-section.  Not in the least.  Would I have preferred a traditional delivery?  Sure.  But once my doctor said the c-section would be best having twins, I trusted her, accepted it, and moved on.

I don't know if it's because the c-sections vs. vaginal delivery rhetoric isn't as prevalent, or if I just don't notice it because I've never had one ounce of remorse, regret, or guilt, like I have known some other c-section mothers to have.  My babies needed to be born, and my doctor and I made an educated decision on the safest way to bring them into the world.  End of story.

Maybe it's because I feel like with my c-section I was in control.  I made the ultimate decision.  Where with the breast feeding, it seems like the decision was made for me (by my body).

So if you are a breast-feeding mommy.  Good for you!  I hope you feel lucky and blessed that you are being honored with the ability to provide and bond with your baby this way.  And if you are a struggling breast-feeding mommy, know that you have to follow your heart.  Maybe the answer is to stick with it and it will get better, but if you need to stop, it will be okay too.  I promise there are many more factors to having great kids than whether or not you breast feed.  And if you chose not to breast feed, while I may not understand it, I can respect that it is your choice.  And I'm sure your children will turn out great too.  'Cause like Superman always says "Some of my favorite people in the world were formula fed babies."  (That would be him and me. :)

The Economics of Parenting Twins

I just read a funny and accurate blog on the economics of having twins: Freakonomics

I've been meaning for a while to write a blog on "What parents expecting twins really need".  For instance, two high chairs YES, two Jumperoos NO.  It's on my things to blog about list, but I just haven't gotten around to writing it.

This guy succinctly mentions issues of the costs of having twins.  (Hint: It's not two for the price of one!)  Here are my quick comments on his article.

Feedings.  Superman and I split midnight feedings.  We couldn't just take turns like other bottle feeding parents.  Two babies equals two constantly sleep deprived parents.  And actually, I'd like to point out that I had it worse than him, because as soon as the feeding was over, we changed their diapers and put them back in their crib, then he went back to sleep.  I got to stay up for another 30 minutes of pumping and 15 minutes of clean up from said pumping.

P.S. When you are sleep walking during pumping, and you accidentally spill that milk that you are working so darn hard to make...you bring new meaning to the phrase cry like a baby.  I think Superman thought I'd fatally wounded myself.  And in a way, I felt like I had.

Thing 1 and Thing 2 at 3 weeks old in
second-hand bouncy seats from my cousin 

Infancy Costs. Most people have one baby at a time.  Which means they have one crib that is used for multiple children at different times.  But we had to get two of almost everything, since there were no hand me downs to be passed on.  The worst was the cost of buying things that you knew they'd only use for a few months and then outgrow.  We loved thrift stores and took any hand-me downs people would give us.  I didn't care if their high chairs matched, as long as they were cheap and/or free!

We were so lucky that I had a cousin who had twin boys two years before us.  They passed on a ton of stuff and I couldn't have been happier!  We "paid it forward" by passing on a ton of stuff as well.

P.S. People who won't take hand me downs for gently used items that the baby will outgrow in two seconds are freaking stupid!

P.P.S. I want to smack people who already have a blue high chair for their son and then go get a pink one when they have a girl. Hint: that baby doesn't freaking care what color their high chair is!  Use the dang-on blue high chair and put that extra money into their college account!!  Sheesh!

Diapers.  We chose to do cloth diapers for several reasons.  1. It is better for the environment.  2.  They are healthier for the kids (have you ever seen the toxic crap that spills out of a diaper that explodes when it gets too saturated?!)  3.  They are supposed to make potty training easier, since the kids feel more uncomfortable than disposables that are super absorbent.  And 4. They are cheaper.  Except, again, most people buy their $300 worth of Fuzzy Bunz in a few different sizes and that lasts them through as many kids as they have.  We on the other hand, had to buy twice the amount of diapers.  So in the end, I'm not sure just how much money we really saved.  I'm sure we saved some, but not as much as we would have if we'd used $300 for two different babies at staggered times.

Child care costs.  Babies cost more than toddlers.  Diapered toddlers cost more than potty trained toddlers.  People say "wow, it was great you could afford for Superman to stay home with the boys for three years."  The truth is, two babies in child care would have eaten up almost all of Superman's teacher salary.  He would have basically been working to pay someone else to take care of our kids.  As it is, we pay $1200-1500 a month (depending on whether it is 4 weeks or 5 weeks) to have two potty trained kids in preschool now.  People gasp when they hear that and say "Wow, I pay half that."  Duh, you have half the kids in school as us.

The good news: once they start kindergarten in a year, we will feel rich!  In the end, we end up paying the same.  The difference is we have to do a more condensed version, where other people get to spread theirs out a bit.

Sleep.  Again, thanks to the awesomeness of having a cousin pave the way for us in the world of parenting twins, we knew from day one the importance of getting them on a schedule.  I really don't know why anyone would be against sleep training.  Rested parents are happy parents.  Happy parents equal happy babies.  It's common sense to me.  But I read so many negative opinions about methods like Ferber and Babywise (both of which we used with great success!).  My boys were sleep trained as babies and are STILL amazing sleepers.  I read peoples' Facebook posts about their kids getting up at 5 am, even on weekends, and I thank my stars that my boys would sleep in until 9 am everyday if we'd let them (and on weekends we do!).  My only problem with their sleep is getting them up early enough in the morning.  Sometimes I feel like I have teenagers already!

And not only do they sleep late, but they go to bed great.  We have followed the rules of following schedules and being consistent.  So they know that bedtime is 8 pm.  There is no fighting, crying, or having to do super nanny methods to keep them in their beds.  It's 8 pm, they go to bed.  Boom.  We read them a few books, turn off all but one reading light, and they read quietly in bed until they fall asleep.  99% of the time, this is our night time routine.  I can't imagine doing it those other ways... how exhausting.

Built in playmate.  This one is huge.  I can say that this is by far the #1 reason why I'm glad we had twins.  I can remember even when they were 9 months old, seeing how much easier it was with two for keeping them entertained.  I'd put one in the Jumperoo and one in the exersaucer and set them facing one another while I did dishes and made dinner.  They'd laugh and entertain one another the whole time.  Meanwhile my friends with just one baby would complain about how hard it was to get anything done, because their baby wanted their attention.

I also think this is why we were successful at keeping them away from tv for almost two years.  If we'd had just one baby, I'm sure we would have given in and used the digital babysitter much much sooner than we did.

College.  Honestly, this is like the child care issue.  Sure, it's gonna suck to have two kids going in to school at the same time.  However, once it is done, it will be done.  And unlike with the surprise of having twins, we have 18 years to get ready for that expense.  And honestly, if we end up not having enough to send them...there are always school loans.  Hey, if it was good enough for me...

I take that back.  I freaking despise my school loans.  We'd better have saved enough by then!

In Summary.  All of you people who say "Ah, I always wanted twins."  Bet you didn't think about all of this, did ya?  You just thought about the cute factor of having two itty bitty babies dressed in the same outfit.  The truth is, there are definitely draw backs.

But then again, I only had to be pregnant once.  Only had to go through one delivery.  Only had to go through breastfeeding once.  Bottles once.  Night feedings once.  Diapers once.  Potty training once.

And once the boys outgrow equipment, clothes, toys, etc, there is no need to store them in the basement or attic for the next one.  We have a garage sale, or donate them to a friend or organization.  It's Hasta La Vista Baby!

What has become of us?

So, I mentioned before that I've decided to curtail my Facebook usage during Lent in order to replace that wasted time with more meaningful interactions with family and friends.  I decided that logging on to Facebook one time a day for approximately five minutes to upload some pics, check a few status updates, etc. was a reasonable amount of time spent on the great time waster.  Before going "off-line" I changed my notification settings so that I would still receive emails with FB messages, comments posted directly to my page, and comments on my pictures and/or status updates.  However, I would no longer receive updates in my inbox for things like comments on things I'd commented on.  My reasoning was that messages to my FB inbox, comments on my wall, comments on my status updates were akin to someone sending me an email.  They are people directly contacting me.  So, I can read them in my email like I would any other email, but to respond, I have to either a.) email them (if I know their address), b.) call and/or text them (if I have their number), or c.) wait a day to respond.

What I'm finding, now three weeks into my Lenten sacrifice, is that I'm not missing interaction with my friends so much.  I'm still seeing their pics when I log in for my five minutes.  I'm still corresponding with them by email.  In fact, I talking to them on the phone and texting more now.  As far as that goes, it's been fairly easy to adjust to in my first 21 days.

What is interesting, is what is harder to adjust to: Not being able to tell everyone what I'm doing and/or what I'm feeling and/or thinking all of the time.  It's amazing how my mind works in status updates these days.  Last night was my final night volunteering at the winter homeless shelter and as I'm driving to the church I'm thinking of my status update "Last night of the IWS emergency shelter.  It's been a long cold winter, and I'm proud to know I helped make some people's lives easier."  When the drunk pregnant teenage girl came in my thought was "The smoking pregnant women here don't bother me nearly as much as the obviously drunk ones."  Leaving the shelter I was so tired, so when I got home, I popped an ambien and thought: "Just took an ambien.  Hope to be in dreamland very soon.  Tomorrow comes bright and early"  I feel COMPELLED to share these tidbits of my life.  Why?  The first one, maybe to brag a little.  Give myself a virtual slap on the back, knowing that others will probably give me an atta-girl also for my "good deed."  The second, to judge?  To passive aggressively show that I'm a much better person because I would never have drunk or smoke during my pregnancy.  The third, just to complain about my mundane routine.

I've have impulses now and again to update something I just have to share via my Ping account, which updates my FB and twitter at the same time (I have also given up twitter as a by-product).  It's not technically logging onto FB, so that isn't cheating, right?  Wrong!  I have to fight the urge by instead emailing or calling a friend who I think might be interested in what I have to say.  Or better yet, just keep the thought to myself!  (What a concept!)  And then, if it is still so important to share, I can share it during the next morning's log in (all but once, I've forgotten by the next morning).

My point is, I think that we compulsive FB users are addicted to over-sharing.  We:

• list the mundane details of our life "Just finished grocery shopping.  Now waiting in line at the post office.  Ugh, gotta make it home in time for American Idol."
• share TMI "Wish this stomach bug would go away.  I threw up twice already this morning.  I don't think I can ever eat spaghetti again."  (Thanks for that, now neither can I.)  
• air our dirty laundry "My lying cheating ex is now saying he wants a paternity test, because he doesn't think the baby is his.  How dare he!  Considering all the sluts he was sleeping with while he was supposedly with me."
• brag on ourselves "Finished day 75 of my P90X, now off to drink a protein shake."
• make grandiose emotional declarations for no reason "My husband is the best husband ever.  I love him sooooo much."

The list goes on and on.  And really, does anyone care?  I mean, I'm glad that I have reconnected with that guy I used to sit next to in Chemistry class in 10th grade.  He was nice.  But I'm not really interested that he got a 120 on bowling last night.  He's alive, he's happy, he has a job, a pretty wife, and cute kids.  That's really where my interest wains off...see you at the next reunion. And somethings I just don't WANT to know about people! I liked you just fine acquaintance of mine until I read you spouting off your militant conspiracy ideas.

Don't get me wrong, I LOVE reading and sharing this information with my good friends.  But out of 341 (all of whom I do know in real life in some manner), there are only about 20, maybe 25 that I really care about whether or not their child just poo-pooed on the potty for the first time.

Why have that many friends then?  Well, first of all, I don't really.  I have taken to "hiding" friends in mass, so I'm only actually seeing a small number of my "friends."  (So, if you are someone who posts a lot of TMI or Farmville updates, I'm sorry if your goldfish died and I didn't express my condolences, but I hid you from my Feed a long time ago.)  But the other thing, I feel guilty when someone I know/knew in real life friends me.  I feel like I have to accept them.  Then I give them about 10 status updates or so before I decide to let them stay on my NewsFeed or disappear into the hidden friend zone.  What are the most sure fire ways to be exiled from my newsfeed...prothlesizing, radical political rants, being a Debbie-downer, Farmville/Mafia/Vampire, discussing bodily functions (although I do give passes for children's potty training stories and or milestones) and much much more.

Then there is knowing when someone has hidden you.  You know that person who you know in real life who comments on all of your mutual friends pictures and status updates, but never on yours, yea...you got the ax.  If they ask how you got so tan when you just came back from a vacation to Florida, which you've had countdowns on your FB page for 2 weeks leading up to the trip, updates on your page during the trip, and even photos already up of your trip, yea...they took a vacation from your profile a long time ago.

The weird thing is, it actually kind of hurts your feelings, okay maybe not yours, but it does mine.  Rationally, I know that I hide a lot of people, but when I realize that someone I haven't been hiding, someone I've obviously deemed interesting enough and worthy for me to read about their mundane life, is hiding me.  It does smart to know that you did something on their list of offenses to not make the cut.  Or maybe you are just not interesting enough for them?  It all goes back to our desire to share.  We want our voices to be heard, and we want to make sure someone is listening to us.  To somehow validate it.

What do I do when I realize someone has most likely hidden me?  I hide them.  Yea, it's probably pretty childish.  Immature.  But hey, no one is perfect, and I never claimed to be.  I feel like if they don't care to keep up with what is going on in my life, then why on god's good earth should I spend part of my five minutes a day reading over theirs.  I just keep whittling my news feed down, and whittling it down,  and eventually, I'll have few enough actual friends that getting on FB just once a day for a few minutes might be a reality that lasts way past April 24.

To read some really funny examples of oversharing, visit Lamebook.com