Art and Kindness

I have a good life, no, let me rephrase that, I have an amazing life!  I woke up this morning with two bubbly babies and a kind, caring, smart, and funny husband.  I walked up to town with them to take them to day care for their last day.  At day care, there are no tears upon drop off, we crawl on the floor, joke with Miss Julie or Miss Neisha or Miss Tammy and I slide out the door as they boys are zooming around the room with toys in hand.  I come back to a great house on the river and am able to sit on my back porch enjoying a cup of coffee.  I am financially secure thanks to a great job with a great staff in a great community.  I went last night to a paint 'n sip with my mother who lives two blocks from me and enjoyed laughs, drinks, and creativity with her.  I truly have a great life, however, there are times of stress and anxiety that have swelled up and are in their own way debilitating or hampering on my enjoyment of the privilege I enjoy.  So when two major celebrity suicides (among countless others that will go unreported) occur in such a small window, it makes me reflect on how mental health and taking care of oneself as well as reaching out to others who are hurting is so important and critical for all of us.

While my life is great, I have had my own battles to navigate.  As my mom lovingly puts it, I am generally a high-strung, anal-retentive perfectionist.  I have very clear and high expectations of how I believe things ought to be both small picture and large.  I have learned flexibility, but it is not always easy for me to adapt and modify how I think things should be (so I had children-the definition of change!).

Often I will put failures (perceived or real) on my own shoulders as some function of me not trying hard enough, or working long enough, or not being smart enough.  I sat in my end of year meeting just days ago with my principal trying to workshop where I went wrong with my instruction or classroom management as I had one of the most stressful years of teaching in my career.  There is a lot of Kool-aid out there that says that teachers are the variable that make all the difference in the successes or failures of students and this year I was drinking it hard-core.  She didn't want me to see my work this year as a failure or moral deficit which I appreciated her saying as I have been beating myself up over shortcomings as a mother, spouse, teacher, daughter, person for nearly a year.

I'm not well versed in the causes of depression or anxiety so I will not pretend to be any kind of expert on anyone besides myself.  Saying that, I know as a meticulous planner, I feel most vulnerable when big things or small things don't go according to plan.  When my first marriage blew up after just over a year, I let myself sink into some unhealthy choices as a way of 'having control' over a very unstable time.  Thankfully family, friends, and therapy helped me pull it back together and get back on even footing.  Going into my pregnancy and early motherhood, I had a vision of how things would look and turn out.  However, no amount of reading or preparation could get me ready for lady hormones, two babies, or how sleep deprivation affected my mood or feelings of control.  And then I  transitioned to being a working mother with a classroom of students who possessed enough personal baggage to fill a 747 kept the ground from settling.  Again, a support system (doctor, therapist, coworkers, friends, spouse, family) was what kept me pulled together and functioning on days when I didn't want to or didn't think I could.

I know it seems easy to look at the lives of others and think to ourselves they ought to have nothing to complain about or wonder how could they possible suffer mentally when it appears they have so many good things in their lives.  I have great things in my life and yet the anxiety is still there and I work to cope with and manage the stress in my life.  We are all going through a journey that fluctuates between joyous and terrible, with on-days and off ones.  It can be difficult, painful, and lonely, even when there are many folks around commenting on how wonderful they think you have it.  Take a moment to read the signs or look for the clues that someone may be hurting just a little more today than yesterday.  Maybe they need you to hear them, or maybe they need a distraction during a tough time.  Ask before assuming (remember the two ears, one mouth rule and listen twice as much as you speak) and respect what they need before offering what you think they need.  Let's take care of ourselves, each other and spread some kindness in a world that could always benefit from a little (or a lot) more.  Let's also make it clear that it is okay to not be okay and to ask for help or extend some help when and where it is needed.            

State of Our Boobs

In the lunchroom, many conversations happen that tend towards the edge of curious (see the 4th grade team's obsession with the "Dark Web")  to downright weird or alarming (I'm looking at you fear of drowning in a car conversation).  Truthfully it is far better than some teacher lunchrooms where you sit through an endless barrage of bemoaning student choices/personalities, however, I wonder if we may seem off our rockers to the occasional substitute or block student who wanders over to our table.

This past week the table was outnumbered with ladies as two of our fourth grade teammates took early Easter vacations to warmer parts of the globe.  So naturally we talked about our children which led to talking about boobs and sustaining the lives of our children.  I think we ended up in this topic because one of my currently BF coworkers was looking forward to the long break where she didn't have to pump/BF on any given schedule.  She is a badass for many reasons, not the least of which is that she is BF her baby boy and working full time and raising her toddler as well.

Before going to much further down my own personal experiences with breastfeeding, let me say to any woman or man who stumbled onto this page, these thoughts are my own personal experiences and do not at all resemble opinions for any other living person out there.  Some advice, you will read so many things; SO MANY THINGS, telling you what you should or shouldn't be doing.  I read them too, sometimes at 2am when nobody should be reading things, especially sleep deprived, especially with a squalling infant who won't budge in the sleeping direction.  Almost none of those things are written be the people that actually matter in the feeding my child conversation (just a reminder-those people are you).

I found it helpful to confide deeply in my spouse during my boob journey and it would be a much better world if men realized how grateful they should be that (1) some mother possibly sustained their life early on with their boobs, (2) boobs are almost magical in their ability to produce what a baby needs during the phase they need it however that magic doesn't make the process any less work, (3) boobs are sexy and curvy and cool in a fashion sense, but the price for that is they are a nuisance when it comes to having mobility in life, work, fashion, comfort, and independence after having children.  So men, all one of you who is probably my husband, take a moment to say a kind word of praise to the woman in your life who grew your baby and is working (or fighting) with her body to continue to provide sustenance for that child.  If your baby mama would not or could not breast feed, praise her for that too because too often we are not celebrating all the different choices that are available when raising children.  We're all doing it, we ought to celebrate our efforts.

Along with PAG, I was able to easily talk to my mother and my doctor about the issues I faced.  Even before the babes were born, I remember mom showing up with a box that I called the boob box and if I were to pay it forward to any mum planning on breastfeeding, a boob box is a must.  It had things I had never even heard of before the babes, but was well versed in after my breastfeeding journey.

Lactation specialists and other moms are helpful as well, however, there is a problem when adding more voices and choices.  It's kind of like the wedding dress shopping problem when you start to all see the same thing over and over again and it gets too hard to think what is right for you.  A couple key people are great and it is important to remember that your voice and needs are the most important here.  Your baby is going to be great no matter what you choose because you are making that choice out of love.  Your baby deserves to have a happy, healthy mama, so you do you and be proud of the choices you make.

Saying all that, I was not tight with my breastfeeding experience.  To be truthful, as we are nearly four months post the end of my breastfeeding journey, I feel like parental amnesia has set in to erase some of the early weeks of struggle an pain.

I was pumped about the opportunity to feed my children, and overwhelmed with how to do so with twins.  There are tons of resources, and I consulted many to see what advice and necessities for BF my boys.  I had absolutely nothing against bottle-feeding, but knew that I wanted to try BF and had the arbitrary goal in my head of feeding the boys for a year.  Where that number came from, I have no idea, but it made sense and many moms I know were able to do this if not go past to several months after this.  It was kind of the same feeling I had about the vaginal birth thing; I wanted to at least be given the opportunity to try because it felt like I could or at least I should be physically/mentally able to for whatever reason.

During my pregnancy, I was a big reader of any parenting advice book, pamphlet, blog that would lead me to having a plan for post-preggo life.  Let me just say that plans are great and everything, but when they don't pan out as intended, it is just best to be gentle with yourself and go with the flow (I know this but rarely am so easy on myself.  It is part of my anxiety that I am working on everyday).

I attended a breastfeeding class offered at our local hospital and was excited about learning all of the support the Family Birthing Center offered and would continue after babies' births.  The woman teaching the class is an angel who had just come back from her own maternity leave and was so easy going about questions and concerns that I had.  She ended up being one of the evening nurses we had during our stay after my c-section and I was so glad because things did not start as easy as I thought they would, or I should say painless.

I can recite over and over that breastfeeding should not be a painful experience, however, I did not have such an easy time, especially at the beginning.  I don't know if it was the twins thing, I don't know if it has something to do with my boobs or my nipples, but my babies' mouths and my ladies did not click and rarely co-exsisted nicely.  Bilbo and Wall-E latched fine, all of the lactation specialists came to make sure that was going well, and my milk came in not like a cute little milk truck, but more like a milk tractor trailer.  I am sure it is a different feeling for every woman, but it honestly felt like I had rocks coming out from my armpits down across the sides of my boobs to my nipples.

I tried not to be stressed those first few times co-feeding the boys, but I was so sore, so tired, and traumatized from the surgery, that every encounter after that felt like it was life or death.  I was worried my boys were too small, both babies were being monitored and toe-pricked for glucose levels, we went to feeding them every two hours for Bilbo who was on a glucose pump and Wall-E who was being watched for jaundice.  The girls felt raw within the first couple of feedings, and good Lord, there is no pain on earth like nipple pain (or at least I thought until I had mastitis the first of three times).  My nurses were so amazing, they brought me ointment, cooling gels, warm washcloths, and kind words of support and encouragement.  I ordered all of the gels (seriously all of the gels, there are some still in my refrigerator) while I was in the hospital and researched the best nipple balm I could find (yup-some in my bathroom cupboard), and was determined to the point of stubbornness that I would be able to get past the two-week period that everyone said was challenging without giving up.

We went home on track still making it work and feeding the boys every three hours.  I learned to set my alarm clock for 9pm, 12am, 3am, and 6am and hoped we could get the babies both fed, laid back down, and sleep a smidge before having to repeat all of that again in the dark.  During the day there was a lot of laying on the couch with sleeping babies while we watched TV between feeding sessions.  Sometimes babies could be laid down in their pack-in-play for naps while I showered or rotated laundry (but never both, because seriously, we can't have it all).  I felt we were eating alright.

And then we went to the pediatrician for the first time two days after getting home.  He has since grown on us, but those first couple of encounters were not my favorites and the Dr. did not win any supportive points as he expressed concern that the babies were born early (they were exactly 38 weeks), they were small (they were born 5+ and 6+ pounds), and that he was concerned about their size.  I heard "wah, wah, wah, your babies are too small, wah, wah, wah, your babies need to eat more, wah, wah, wah, you need to breastfeed your children better." No, those are not the things he said, however, new mamas are fragile and probably should hire an interpreter to help them communicating with other humans for the first few weeks.

So I panicked with his words in my head, and PAG and I rearranged the feeding schedule to get some nutrition in the babies every two hours.  We were told to use an SNS to supplement Bilbo's nutrition because of the extra help he had needed in the hospital and his smaller stature.  I don't know about you, but my experiences with the SNS suggest that the device is created by the devil.  It is a tiny tube that you dangle from your shoulder and slide into the baby's mouth as they are nursing.  They get extra food that slips in from a bottle attached and hanging on your shoulder.  Sounds simple, right?! Well you try tandem nursing two babies and getting the device all set up and in place without falling and then get the babies latched but with enough room in their mouth to slip in a noodle sized tube that bends and wiggles out and drips all over just to piss you off.  No lie, I threw the thing more times than it actually worked, but I would cry every time because I was sure my baby would starve without the SNS.

This is about when I started pumping regularly in between feedings.  Yes, feed, pump, enjoy ten or so minutes of nothing being attached to my boobs, then repeat.  I don't know what I expected with pumping, but I knew my coworkers had pumped at work, so how exciting could it really be.  Not exciting, terrible, just terrible.  I had never felt so alone and less human and more like a cow in my whole life.  Like is this why Darth Vader is so angry, because his body is part machine (and that is how Amanda ruined Darth Vader for fan boys everywhere!).  It hurt with or without nipple balm; it felt as though I was producing droplets and not ounces, but after just feeding two infants, and with the stress of the two hour schedule, who is surprised.  And the business with set up and clean up is just shenanigans.  I would later learn to love my hand pump that I had gotten at the hospital but by then I was on the downhill slide of my breastfeeding career.

About a month into breastfeeding, during one late night, I began running a fever.  I could tell because I would go for about a half hour of feeling all of the layers were not enough to make me warm even when it was the beginning of July to kicking off all of the covers and still feeling like I was going to sweat until I died of dehydration.  I was not supposed to be running any fever post surgery so we called my PCP and got in right away.  My Dr. seemed unsure what was the cause until I asked if it could be from breastfeeding my babies.  I told him that I had noticed a little open cut on my left nipple and that morning my boob was feeling heavier and harder.  He asked to see, and there was what looked like the worst sunburn on the underside of Lefty.  It had not been there getting ready to go to the Dr.'s office.  This was the mysterious mastitis I had heard about which is discussed only briefly when being told about the wonders that are breastfeeding joys.  Nobody likes to talk about how you'll hate everyone (malaise), you'll feel like throwing up and not eating ever (nausea), and you'll have seriously flu achy feelings in your boobs.  The cure, rest (HA), more breastfeeding and pumping on the affected side (did you not see how my tiny carnivorous dinosaur babies have murdered Lefty?), and antibiotics (but only certain ones because you are still breastfeeding).

That was the first time of three going through mastitis.  I must have been prone because I had it later on the right side and then again on the left.  I got so used to showing up at the doctors and showing them the girls that honestly if they asked to see them I probably wouldn't think twice (seriously, pregnancy and parenthood do weird things to your sense of bodily privacy).

It was the second time I had done the mastitis that PAG and I decided to alter our expectations for breastfeeding and planned to supplement with formula and take turns feeding babies.  I had struggled through the first eight weeks of my babies' lives beating myself up over breastfeeding.  I felt pain all of the time, I felt guilty I wasn't enjoying this part of motherhood as I thought I was supposed to, and I thought I was failing so many people with my struggles: my children, my husband, my mother, my pediatrician, my lactation specialists.

We made the change to PAG doing a bottle with one baby while I breastfed the other, and I started treatment for PPD/PPA to support me.  It was the best decision.  As I said, having a great man to share the load of parenthood is so critical.  We also let the babies sleep longer at night and they let us know when they needed to eat.  This gave us all longer sleeps so we weren't as sleep deprived and raw.

I still had one more bout with mastitis to go through, but the switch to bottle and boob were what we needed, especially going into the return to work phase.  I had wanted to be a super mom like my coworkers who pumped at work, but I just couldn't.  I have too much on my plate at school and couldn't do either job, pumping or working to the best of my abilities, so I chose school.  We decided to send our kids to daycare with the formula they provided.  It was another best choice because weaning them was not arduous and emotional for them.

I revised my goal of one year to six months.  We were starting to incorporate solid foods at five months and they were so happy eating all of the food.  At five months I researched painless ways to wean and landed on using cabbage leaves during the day to ease the engorgement and pain as my boobs were screaming, "think of your children!" (trust me, you think it's crazy, but my boobs had lots to say all throughout this adventure).  I enjoyed so much my last feeds with my kids, because I knew I had done my job as a mother, and done it the best I could (she typed as she got teary eyed just reflecting).  I was thankful we were done with BF when the RSV Christmas occurred because it was terrible being apart from either baby enough without dealing with my boobs' feelings at the same time.

There are times I miss it and as my babies approach one, I wonder what it would have been like to have made it this far like women I know have been able to do.  But, as I said above, my journey was mine and the choices I made were the ones that were right for me.  I'm thankful for the experience it was even as the memories blur and fade.  I'm thankful for the people who had kind words of support along the way.  And I'm thankful that my boobs have this story and this accomplishment, because, no joke, they are champions.  Get those girls a medal.

Choosing to Snuggle

It was a glorious, GLORIOUS night where the boys slept from 8pm to 4am earlier this week.  Seriously, those who have not gone months where the longest sleep stretch is three hours cannot process the amount of crazy that starts to accumulate and how regular brain function begins to deteriorate with the deprivation.  I felt so human and jazzed for the day, and thankful that baby-sleep gods had looked down on the husband and me and threw us a one night bone.

Bilbo, boppy, and baby snuggles.

So, it was a bit of a bummer that last night we were back to the 11pm, 1am, 3am, 4am bottle relay that we have pushed ourselves through for 800 months.  The only difference between last night and the previous many was that I had banked some sleep the night before and struggled with falling and staying asleep rather than waking up to tend to my children.  When you know you are probably going to be needed and on call for baby fetching and feeding at 11pm, the needing to fall asleep in an efficient, expedient manner is a matter of maintaining sanity.  So I was unhappy with my wakefulness when all I needed was a bit of unconsciousness to get me through the regular nightly routine.

Wall-E and Bilbo, one and a half months.

By the time we got to the 4:15 wake up and bottle feed of the early morning, I had been thinking to myself that maybe I should just haul my ass out of bed and get my day going early.  Perhaps I could get the dog's morning needs addressed and put away dishes or get a load of laundry started.  However, as I was laying in my bed feeding Bilbo and feeling his body tucked into my side and armpit, I realized that by pushing myself to clean, organize, and clean, I am forgoing time that is fleeting with my babies.  I was reminiscing earlier this week about last January when the husband and I were starting to feel the flutters and bubbles that were baby movements in my belly.  It's sad to think that what seemed like such a long time going through it is over and how the same issue of time slipping too quickly will happen as my boys grow.

Wall-E and Bilbo, party animals.

As much as I feel the impulse to declutter, clean, and straighten the things as a way of managing my anxiety and wanting to make my house feel cozy, functional, and a place I can relax in rather than feel fret-y about, I want to be with my husband, and I want to be with my children because this time will be gone before I know it.  I want my babies to grow and be happy and become amazing kids who later grow into amazing people, so I need to realize what/who is the most important even in the times where I could be working on my never ending to-do list.  At the end of the day, there will always be something I could be working on, but at this point, I am learning that I'd rather snuggle with my husband and babies while I have the time to enjoy it.

Be Gentle

Some days are just rough ones.  This day was one of them.  I have never known exhaustion to the level that I do now as a parent.  There must be a word for what happens when you have only had like five complete REM cycles in the past seven (plus the end of my pregnancy where I was up and uncomfortable all of the time) months.

The look of our bed throughout the night; often one or more babies , post-bottle catching the sweet sleep we so so are longing for.

For the most part we have had luck with babies who are willing to fall asleep without too much pomp and circumstance.  We bathe, read, eat and then they are generally conked by 8/8:30pm, with us following quickly behind.  We have been testing this with staying up little bits later here and there, sometimes reading, sometimes playing a stupid phone game, sometimes even watching an episode or maybe just half, of television.  I know this daring of time to bite us in the face would come back to get us one of these nights, and last night it did.

We had a highly stimulating day yesterday, traveling to Pittsburgh to participate in the Women's March.  I was thrilled to see my godmother, who is a badass queen of a lady who had not yet met the boys, so it was like a combination of all of my favorite things and people.  There were quite a crew of marchers for the walk downtown from the Courthouse to Market Square.  Lots of noise, speeches, cheering and booing to keep the fellas up when they might otherwise be napping.  That paired with being off our normal eating routine, I think built up a perfect storm of sleeplessness that they later rained down on all of us.

We saw them by chance crossing the street amongst hundreds of people, because the world is awesome sometimes.

It started with Baby B at 11pm, quickly followed by Baby A.  Normally when both boys are fed, we are able to slip them back into cribs for at least some chunk of the evening-not last night.  The guys were not having anything to do with sleeping by themselves, however, they were not pleased with their positioning in our bed and felt quite comfortable to vocalize their frustration through screams.

Had this been a Friday or Saturday night, I might have not been as brittle and frustrated as I was on a Sunday night going into a long stressful work week.  The PPD/PPA rears its ugly, scary-images head when I feel weak and tired and worn thin.  I made a hurtful comment to my wonderful husband that I deeply regret, causing him frustration and sadness which I never want, because he is in this 100%.  We are both slogging through the ups and downs of double-baby parenting together and he is there for me over and beyond anything I could have imagined.

I followed up my rough outlook on humanity at school having little to no patients with me kiddos.  Granted they bring their own baggage to the table that is exhausting emotionally and mentally, but if parenthood, especially the unglamorous, not-so fun side of parenting and working on the least amount of rest as possible branch of parenthood has taught me anything it is to take care of each other.  Be kind and gentle because we are each fragile and raw and working through this unpredictable stage working with the tools we have and are capable of summoning.  We don't always have the right words or the strength to make the best choices, but we can at least acknowledge that we are doing the best we can with what we are given to manage at any given moment.  So be gentle, show more grace and understanding and patience, and give hugs and listen because there are so many feelings in this business and Swiss cheese, non sleep brain just jumbles them up and makes everyone feel worse than they already do.  And when someone offers to watch one or both or all of your children for the evening or afternoon so you can catch some zzzz's, take it; you never know when you will get your next eight hours.  Happy resting.

Hello to a New Blog

Hello!  I am excited you stumbled onto this page.  This is the third blog I have kept in my lifetime, and like the previous two, I don't yet have a vision for where it will go or what it will be about.  That seems to be a resounding theme to my life at the moment, being the new mother to twin boys.  They are seven and a half months old, and from the moment they entered my life, they changed me and keep changing me everyday.  At first I found this jarring and a bit unnerving; mostly I enjoy stable, some might say boring, and predictable.  I had it-the job, the perfect marriage, the house by the river, the dog, the close friends and family, Friday night clam chowder at our restaurant.  So I traded the stability in for twins.  Now my life is messier, cuter, and much louder.  There is much less sleep, but so many more snuggles and giggles.  

I don't pretend to be an expert at motherhood or at teaching or at being adult, but I hope to use writing to reflect on the good that is happening and how thankful I am for the experiences, even the heart wrenching and challenging ones.  My blog goals are to write about what makes me happy and what helps me to learn more.  I want to reflect on what I am reading and in turn, read more as a way to generate more things to write about.  Currently, I am in search of something that I can read in my spare (read: none) time.  I have learned why people keep books in their bathrooms (is that too much! You chose to read this; you can always stumble your way to someone else's blog).  I'd like to get back to working my brain that I find personally rewarding and that will help me in my motherhood, teaching, or adulating endeavors.  

In addition to writing about life experiences and reflections, I want a place that isn't Facebook or Instagram to linger and share thoughts, frustrations, and musings on happenings.  I am weary of current events (please don't read that as I'm checking out-I just need a new space to occupy my thoughts) and how I feel trapped in a Facebook, social media bubble that echoes the same noise without moving the plot forward.  So I'm hoping this is a place to clear my head and refocus energies onto something I can do, progress that can be made, hope that can be magnified (whoa, that sounds like a lot to ask from a mum-blog 😂).  

So if you came here because you are family or a friend, thanks for your support.  I hope you don't find this too trivial or nonsensical, and that maybe you'll come back.  If you are a stranger, hopefully you found something interesting or fun and hopefully you have some hope for your own journey.