Sauerkraut and milk

I nursed Kate and Anna until they were 14 months old.  Aside from the first few weeks and some nasty bites from Anna later on, I loved the experiences.  I naturally assumed I'd nurse Luke and Ally for a similar amount of time.  Getting started with them was hard.  Being the sole source of nutrition for two premature newborns is a huge responsibility.  The resulting sleep deprivation alone made it tempting to quit.  On top of that, Ally struggled with nursing, and, for weeks, I had to nurse Luke and then pump a bottle for Ally and, if no one else was around, quickly feed her the bottle before Luke wanted to nurse again.  At times, I didn't think I could possibly do it any longer.  But, I kept telling myself it would get easier and that I'd be so glad I stuck with it.

And I was.  Things got easier when Luke and Ally were about two and a half months old.  I'd gotten the hang of nursing them at the same time, so I was no longer spending what seemed like three quarters of my day feeding them, and Ally was finally nursing well so I didn't have to constantly contend with the pump, pump supplies, and bottles. 

Then two weeks after I felt like things were going well, I had my first bout with mastitis.  Luke and Ally had both come down with colds and weren't nursing well.  My right breast got a lump in it that I couldn't relieve by pumping.  Soon the area was incredibly tender.  It hurt to move my arm.  Then the skin turned red, hot, and swollen. I treated it with antibiotics, which I was hesitant to do, but turned out to be the right call because I developed a fever shortly after the first dose, indicating a spreading infection.  Because of the antibiotics, though, the fever went away quickly. 

I felt completely better after a few more days and things were going well again, until just over a week later. Once again, I developed a lump in my right breast, but in a different area.  I called my OB and was told to come in.  I felt horrible.  I didn't think I could possibly drive across town with three kids (Kate was at school), likely wait in the doctor's office for over an hour, and then drive back home.  Dave insisted I go.  He came home to help me get the babies in the car, and he took Anna to his office while I went.  I ended up waiting two hours with the two babies and got no conclusive answer.  It didn't look like mastitis, because there was no redness or swelling, but if it hurt worse, I was to start the antibiotics.

That night it hurt worse.  It hurt so bad I could hardly breathe.  I started the antibiotics, but I didn't think I could bear the pain.  The lump had turned the size of a baseball and I couldn't get it to drain.  In fact no milk at all was coming out of that breast, despite warm compresses, massage, pumping, and continued nursing.  The last two caused extreme pain, toe curling, tears streaming down my face pain.  I even got what I thought was a sucking blister from Luke sucking so hard and not getting any milk.  I ended up in the ER, getting an ultrasound to rule out an abscess.  My OB advised me, if there was no abscess, to take pain relievers and ice the right breast to try to reduce swelling and slow the milk flow until I could drain it.  He explained there was a good possibility that the breast would never return to nursing function. 

The ultrasound I got in the ER showed no abscess, but my ducts were over twenty times the size they should be.  The ER doctor worked with the OB on call and together they determined it to be severely blocked ducts.  I was given a perscription for a medication to stop my milk entirely. 

I couldn't do it.  I couldn't just up and quit nursing when the day before I had no intention of doing so for another 8 1/2 months.  I stuck the night out, with the help of ibuprophen and Vicadin.  The next morning, we called a lactation consultant.  She asked if there was any sort of pus filled area.  There was.  The "nursing blister" had become a big pus filled blister.  That meant it was mastitis that was blocking the ducts.  That meant that once the antibiotics kicked in, I should be able to get the milk out.  I took more Vicadin and pumped, pushing down on the area as hard as I could.  Eventually the blister popped and milk started coming out of my ducts.  I pumped over 10 ounces out of that one breast and felt enormous relief.

I decided then I might want to become a lactation consultant, after the kids are a little older, so I can help people like me, people who, without a lactation consultant, would have been told they just have to quit nursing.

Two days later, I was feeling mostly recovered.  But, just two days after that, my breast started to hurt again.  That afternoon, I put Ally up to nurse and it was like fire shooting through my nipple and breast into my shoulder.  I screamed.  I couldn't even get her unlatched; I was overcome with pain.  Dave came and took her.  I had scared her so bad she cried and cried.  I felt horrible.  But, that pain!  I began to sob.  What was happening now?  The pain was different than the throbbing and stabbing pain from mastitis.  This was burning.  Like hot needles tearing through my breast.  I called the lactation consultant, and she said it sounded like yeast, breast thrush.  The antibiotics had lowered my body's ability to fight off the yeast, and the open sore provided a perfect entry point.  The babies didn't show any symptoms, but we got to work treating both me and the babies.  I took a diflucan and we bought some gentian violet.  It is incredibly messy, like ink.  I was supposed to put it on my nipple and areola and then nurse the babies.  It got all over my fingers, my bra, the babies' faces, and the babies' clothes.  Dave decided, with Thanksgiving being the next day, we should use some Nystatin to treat them instead.  Luke puked at the taste, and it didn't seem to help my breast.  We went back to the gentian violet the next evening, and it did help.  Although the babies were purple, the pain was lessening.

After a couple days, though, the yeast pain came back.  I couldn't nurse on that side, so I began pumping.  But, maybe I didn't pump enough, because yesterday, the mastitis came back.  I woke up feeling like I had mono and there was a lump in my breast in the same place it was when I had mastitis a week ago.  I immediately tried to pump, but it didn't go away, and soon by breast began to have both dull and stabbing pain, all in addition to my nipple burning from the yeast.  (To make matters worse, my tire popped before I could get to the pharmacy, but that's beside the point.)

My OB perscribed more antibiotics.  "But," I questioned, "won't that make the yeast worse?"  He said to take diflucan every other day and antibiotics for another seven days.

When Dave came home, he found me feverish and near tears, feeding Ally with a bottle, nursing Luke on the left side.  I'd put the big girls in front of a movie.  When I finished nursing, he asked to talk to me.

He said, "This is ridiculous.  What are we doing here?  I know you want to nurse no matter what, but is this worth it?  You're sick all the time.  They're four months old.  Let's stop this."

I said I couldn't make that decision at that moment.  I don't know why stopping nursing seems so out of the question for me.  I completely understand why stop nursing.  I used to think it was selfish, but after everything I went through trying to nurse the twins initially, I totally understand why people choose not to.  And, it's not that I think the babies will suffer from formula.  I think I'm most afraid of regretting the decision. 

I've decided to try everything I could.  I'll take the diflucan and antibiotics, and I'll keep up the gentian violet and I'll take acidopholis.  I'll boil all my pump supplies and artificial nipples.  I'll cut sugar and dairy out of my diet so the yeast has less to feed on. I'll rinse the milk off my breast after each feeding with vinegar and water, wear cabbage in my bra to keep the milk flowing, and swallow raw garlic as a broad spectrum antibiotic. If I get mastitis again or if the yeast still doesn't go away in two weeks, then I'll consider quiting nursing.


With all the vinegar, cabbage, and garlic, I feel like walking sauerkraut, but if I need to quit, at least I'll know I did everything I could.

Mourning missed time

Every November since Kate was born, I've made a calendar for Dave.  I design the calendar so that each month of the coming year has pictures from that same month of the previous year. Making the calendar is a long process, but I've always enjoyed reviewing all those pictures and reflecting upon the past year. 

This year the process has been different.  First, it's been significantly quicker.  January, February, and March have about a third as many pictures as I usually have in a month.  Instead of the my usual 400 to 600 pictures, February, for example, had 159.

Although the number of pictures is a type of evidence, it's not the most significant difference this year.  That difference involves how the pictures have made me feel.  When we look at a good picture, part of us is brought back to the time during which we took it.  Unfortunately, these pictures are bringing me back to a time when I felt unbearably sick.  When I look at these pictures, I vividly remember fighting with my body to do the few things I did during those months.  I once again feel the mounting nausea as I'm snapping shots of the kids playing in the snow.  I feel the stabbing pain in the left side of my head, only slightly dulled by the Vicadin, as the girls look up at me with paint covered hands.

And, most of all, what's different this year, is a feeling of mourning all the missed time.  Most years, I reminisce about all that we did this past year, smiling at the happy memories.  This year, I feel like I'm looking at someone else's vacation pictures, a vacation I was supposed to go on but had to miss.  I'm mourning the time I didn't get to have with my 4-year-old Kate and 2-year-old Anna.

I'm not sure if it's fair that I feel this way, if it's reasonable, considering I have two amazing little babies to show for the missed time, but it makes me sad to have missed it.

217 Pictures

Wednesday I decided we needed a Christmas card picture.  Four hours and 217 pictures later, we had some of the worst photographs ever.

But we did get some cute ones.

Babies

I love these babies!

The wipe

Tonight before bed, I was going to change Anna's diaper.  As she lay on the floor, she told me her nose needed wiping.  It looked fine to me, but I offered to get her a tissue.  She insisted on using a wipe instead.  When she was done wiping her nose, she directed me to use the same wipe on her bottom.  Since there was nothing on the wipe, I complied.  As soon as I wiped her bottom, she began to laugh and, in a pretend panic, yelled, "Oh, no!!  Now there's nose on my bottom!"

The yellow bib

We have two bibs, one yellow and the other pink.  Anna usually wears a bib at meals, but Kate usually only wears one for lunch to protect her school clothes.  Neither girl wants the yellow bib, and generally we just let Anna have the pink one, because she wears bibs more often than Kate.  This morning, in a sleep deprived stupor, I accidently tried to put the yellow bib on Anna.  She protested, "No!  I want the pink bib!"  I took the yellow bib away, reaching for the pink instead.  As if to solve the problem permanently, Anna decided to give me an eternal truth, "Mama, Anna's don't yike yellow bibs."

Burp

Kate and Anna were having their snack after Kate got home from school.  Anna took a drink and let out a little burp. 

Kate said, "Anna!  Say 'excuse me.'" 

Anna looked at Kate and said, "I don't have to say 'excuse me.'  You're not in my way."

Happy babies, happy mommy

A week ago Friday, the twins turned 100 days old.  Unlike U.S. presidents, this isn't a milestone I'd ever marked before in the lives of my children, but this time it seemed significance. 

I'd survived 100 days with four kids under five.  And, more importantly, things were finally changing.  It is still hard, but it is less hard and it is hard less often.  The babies have started smiling and cooing at me.  I am interacting with them, and I am finally enjoying them.  Instead of having many moments when I am so overwhelmed I can't imagine surviving another minute, much less another day, I have moments when I am overwhelmed by happiness and can't imagine why I've been given so many blessings.

Although they are still babies and babies can be challenging, Luke and Ally are wonderful babies.  For the most part, they're pretty content.  If they're fussy, it's usually because they're tired or hungry, and once their needs are met, they usually give me great big smile!

"Why does he get to be twin A?"

A few thoughts about vasectomies...

I was just thinking about how men quiver and squirm when the word vasectomy is mentioned and of how a weekend is required to recover from the procedure, and it got me thinking.  I wonder... is it fair for a man to get put through this? 

Let's compare a vasectomy to something relatively common for women.  Let's put aside any discussion of the nine months of pregnancy.  And let's steer clear of c-sections.  Let's not compare a vasectomy to childbirth either.  Let's just compare a vasectomy to an episiotomy.

With a vasectomy, a very small incision is cut, through which a thin cord is pulled.
With an episiotomy, a much larger incision (over five times larger) is cut, through which a head, and then entire body, is pulled!

A vasectomy generally requires a single stitch. 
The average number of stitches required for an episiotomy is hard to say, because there are so many layers of tissue.

With a vasectomy, the recovery usually involves coming home, icing the area, taking pain medicine, watching T.V., and resting.
With an episiotomy, the recovery involves caring for a demanding new baby and being awake at all hours of the night doing so.

An episiotomy is a small part of a much larger "procedure." 
A vasectomy is the procedure.

So, is it fair for men to be put through such a procedure?  No.  No, it isn't fair at all.

Luke and Anna

Evidence

The babies in their little vests and jeans.  The girls in their striped shirts.  This could have been a cute picture, but it looks more like evidence for Child Protective Services.

My babies

Halloween pictures... already!?

Kate and Anna enjoying ghost shaped pizzas, monster garlic bread, and green goblin gook to drink at our Halloween party.

Strawberry Shortcake and Custard

 Jessie and Woody

 Trick-or-treating with Greta

Our little daredevil finds something fun to do.

And still more from Anna

I really don't think there's anything more entertaining that a precocious little two-year-old.  I guess it's good I feel this way, since I'll have more than my share of them.  Here are a few stories about my current precocious two-year-old:


Anna is either completely confused about the concept of growing up, has an overactive imagination, or just knows the rest of us find comments like the following amusing.

Last week in the car, Anna told me, "When I was a baby, I was Luke."  I smiled and played along, "Oh, you were? I thought you were Anna..."  Anna immediately insisted, "No, I was Luke."  I decided to find out more, "Who was Kate when she was a baby."  Without hesitation, Anna replied, "Strawberry Shortcake."

When Anna saw Dave drinking coffee a few days ago, she informed him, "When I was a grown up, I drank coffee, too."

She has also told me about a few things I can do someday when I'm little.

*

On Friday we had a movie night and watched Toy Story 3.  Before the movie, there was a preview for a movie about Santa. Anna got excited and said something about Santa coming here to our house. Dave confirmed that Santa comes to bring presents to good girls and boys.  I rolled my eyes a little, because I get incredibly annoyed when people use the concept of Santa to coerce kids into good behavior. 

As if to prove my point, a couple minutes later Anna declared, "I'm going to be so good and nice once the snow comes."

I love that Anna worked it out in her head that she doesn't have to be good quite yet, because Santa never comes until there's snow anyway.

*

Anna loves to sing.  She doesn't always get the words quite right, but I actually prefer a couple of her variations.  Take for instance the Diego theme song.  Part of it goes "talkin' to the animals and swinging from a vine.  This rough and tough adventurer is working all the time." Anna blends those parts and sings, "roughin' up the animals..." I love picturing a little cartoon character going from animal to animal roughing them up a little, maybe shaking them down for some cash.

Anna also sings, "Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wolves?"  Again, I can't help but picture that.  The poor little sheep, completely petrified because he has three bags full of his natural born enemies!

*

Anna loves to tease Kate.  Kate, of course, does not love to be teased.  It's kind of gotten ridiculous, and, honestly, I often find it a little hard to empathize too much with Kate.  All Anna has to do to get Kate completely riled up is call her "Kate ... Sarah" or "Miss Kate."  And, Anna's smart enough to do it when Dave and I aren't around, like when they're supposed to be falling asleep.  Since Dave and I figure this is a good time for Kate to learn about handling teasing, we gave her some coping strategies, mostly asking Anna to stop, telling her she won't talk to her if she calls her those names, and then ignoring her until she calls her just "Kate." 

Well, this apparently worked quite well...  Because Anna now came up with a new way to tease Kate... and, uh, me.  The other day, Anna said to Kate, "Kate, Yuke [Luke] doesn't yike [like] you."   I was sitting right there, but I waited a moment to see what would happen.  Kate looked at me, and then, thinking hard, said, "Anna that's not nice.  I'm not going to talk to you until you tell me you're sorry."  All right, Kate!  That darn little Anna looked completely innocent and said, "I not say I not yike you.  Kate, I yike you.  I said Yuke doesn't yike you."  I was actually stupid enough to wonder if it was a misunderstanding.  Maybe Luke had made a face that Anna interpreted as grumpy toward Kate.  Well, that question was all cleared up for me yesterday when Anna pulled the same thing on me.  "Mommy, I not say I not yike you.  I say Ayyie doesn't yike you... [giggle, giggle]."  Darn kid!

*

Today we went to Dave's office to visit him and weigh the babies.  While I stripped Luke and Ally down to weigh them, Anna ran on and off the floor scale.  She'd run on it.  It would beep.  She'd run off it.  She'd run on it.  It would beep.  She'd run off it.  This continued for at least five minutes.  After I weighed Luke, I announced to him, "You're 11 pounds, 8 ounces!"  Anna ran onto the scale.  It beeped.  She ran off it.  After I weighed Ally, I announced to her, "You're 10 pounds, 5 ounces!"  Anna ran on the scale.  It beeped.  She announced, "I'm 18 dollars!"

She told me...

Kate and Anna were playing with some little people and dolphins in the bathtub last week.  Kate's person said to Anna's person, "I found this dolphin in the sandy deserts of Africa."

I thought about what she said.  A dolphin wouldn't be in a desert.  What a good learning opportunity for her.  I interrupted, "You found a dolphin in the desert? Do you know what a desert is?"

Kate immediately answered, "It's a sandy place with a lot of dry sand and very little water, except for in oasises."

I guess she knows what a desert it.

Anna's sweater dress

I took the kids to get their pictures taken at Sears Monday, a decision I wouldn't recommend.  For the pictures, I dressed Kate and Anna in sweater dresses with big turtle neck collars.  This was especially irritating for Anna, who finds many shirts to be "itchy" around the neck, and this shirt had a lot of neck.  Anna was actually really good about it, though.  She tugged at it a little, but really didn't complain much.

When we got to Sears, both women working there and another mother waiting for pictures commented on how cute the girls looked.  One of the photographers bent down by Anna and said, "Oh, you look so cute.  Can I have have your dress?"

Anna nodded emphatically and explained, "It's a itchy one!"

Library

I ventured back to the library with all the kids for the first time since the twins were born.  As I walked in, entirely outnumbered by children, I thought of the time about a year ago when we'd gotten asked to leave because Anna was too loud.  I made sure the girls' voices were quiet, and that the babies didn't cry.  I ended up carrying both babies around to keep them from fussing.  We did pretty well, actually.  After about a half hour, I decided we better quit while we were ahead, and we went to check out. 

We'd gotten quite a few books, including six or seven books on CD, which take about a minute a piece to check out.  While the librarian checked out our books, the line behind us grew longer, Ally cried progressively louder, and Anna chose to have a tantrum about a book we'd returned.  I think time stopped.  It was unreal how long it took.  I rocked the stroller, trying to get Ally to stop crying.  I tried holding Anna.  I rocked the stroller.  I apologized to the people around us.  I tried consoling Anna.  I rocked the stroller.  I smiled at the people around us.  I tried threatening Anna.   I rocked the stroller.  I apologized to the people around us again.  And after all that, there were still half the books on CD left to be checked out.

When the librarian had finally made it through our pile of books, I packed the books in the stroller, apologized once again to the other patrons, and turned the excessively long stroller around.  I was so relieved to finally be getting out of there, hoping everyone would forget my face!  I sent the girls through the alarm sensors first and then pushed the stroller through, only to have the alarm sound.  No!  For a moment, I thought of just leaving, pretending I hadn't heard the alarm, and just speed walking out to the parking lot.  But, they called, "Please come back," and I pulled the stroller back, feeling the stares at my back.  Kate chose that moment to ask, loudly, "How did we steal a book?"

Through clenched teeth, I explained that we didn't.

"Then why did the alarm go off," Kate asked.

As I took a deep breath and collected my patience, Anna answered, "No babies ayowed [allowed] in the yibrary [library]!"

A man waiting to check out heard Anna's explanation of why the alarm sounded and laughed.  This was all Anna needed for encouragement.  She said it even louder, "No babies ayowed in the yibrary!"  Anna looked around to see if she'd gotten more smiles.  When she found one, she really got going, she ran around singing, "No babies ayowed in the yibrary!  No babies ayowed in the yibrary!  No babies ayowed in the yibrary!"

I should have just speed walked to the parking lot.

The f- word

Driving home from the library tonight, our first evening out after the end of Daylight Savings Time, it was dark out.  Our road doesn't have any street lights, so it was pitch black.  As I turned onto our road, I nearly ran into a man on a bicycle.  Despite it being a stupid idea to ride a bike down an unlit road without a bike light, the man apparently thought the incident was entirely my fault, because he yelled, "What the f#$%!?" 

Kate asked, "What'd he say, Mommy?" 

I was a little shaken up, so I replied, "I don't know, honey." 

Kate, always helpful, asked, "Do you want me to tell you?"

I said, "No.  I don't think it was nice.  Let's not say what he said."

Kate was confused.  "I thought you didn't know, Mommy."

I explained, "I think I know.  Well, I do know, honey.  I'm sorry I didn't tell you the truth, I just..."

Before I could finish my sentence, Anna interjected in a big husky voice, "Fut!!!"

I tried to start over and explain that what the man said wasn't a nice word to say.

Going into the house, I overheard Kate and Anna. 

Anna laughed and imitated, "Fut!" 

Kate corrected her, "No.  It's 'what the fut.'"