Category — Adventures in Breastfeeding

(Man, my blog post titles are getting stupid.)

It’s been eight days since I last nursed my girls.

::sob!::

Since I first started writing about weaning last month, I gradually reduced the number and frequency of nursings. We’d skip a day, then two days, then three. The couple of times we went for three days, my boobs ended up insanely uncomfortable — not really engorged, but heavy as bowling balls and very sensitive.

Then the tantrums started.

When it became obvious that we weren’t headed to my bedroom to nurse, the girls would start throwing a tantrum. That wasn’t worth it to me, so we’d nurse.

And then one morning, they didn’t freak out.

And they didn’t freak out the next morning either.

And here we are, eight days later, and my boobs have not freaked out and the girls haven’t freaked out and we’re all doing just fine, it seems.

My boobs have changed already. The last vestiges of hormonal brown discoloration are finally fading away. My nipples have regained their non-stretched-to-hell appearance. The aereola seem to be shrinking and looking less Nat Geo.

I think I’m doing okay with it. For a silly, superstitious reason, I kind of wanted to make their last time nursing be on the 17th, when they’d be 17 months old. You know, golden birthday nonsense.

But we did good. Sixteen-and-a-half months of nursing twins ain’t bad, in my book. We’re happy. We’re healthy.

After everyone’s awesome, insightful and suportive comments on my “Wean Me, Seymour” post, I got the courage to do something good for myself.

We’re starting the weaning process.

Since the 11th, we’ve gone down to just one feeding a day, the morning feed. The girls don’t rely on nursing to sleep, but we all love the morning feeding, so it was easy to eliminate the night feed.

Then, yesterday, we just didn’t nurse at all. I went 48 hours without nursing. I didn’t get engorged at all, but something clicked in my brain last night and I started to panic a little bit. I don’t know — it was just this internal impulse to nurse the girls. So I went ahead and nursed them this morning. I’ll do every other day for a little bit until it feels right to just stop.

I have mixed feelings, of course. I’m sad to let go of this phase in their lives and this phase of our relationship. On a selfish note, I’ll be very sad to see my boobs go to the great nursing bra in the sky.

But after experiencing a full day of not breastfeeding, it was kind of liberating. Like, “Wooohooo I can get wasted at 9am!”

Which of course I didn’t do. But I could have.

Also, I’m kind of excited at the idea of buying a bra that doesn’t unsnap to full-frontal nudity.

I’m curious about the hormonal shift when you stop breastfeeding. Any experienced mamas out there have any input?

Okay, I’ll bite.

Ms. Perpetua has been doing this for the past few weeks and I’m ready to jump in. It’s called ControverSunday, where we write about stuff that polarizes the best of friends and angers the most loyal of readers. I love it.

This week’s topic is extended breastfeeding, a subject near to my heart. (Literally, because I’ll be talking about my boobs, and they are located near my heart.)

I’d never heard of “extended” breastfeeding until a few months into my own breastfeeding experience. Back then, as now, I didn’t really think about how long I would breastfeed my twins. I breastfeed today, and probably will tomorrow, and likely the day after that.

Or maybe not. I’m not sure anymore.

In any case, here we are, 16+ months in, and I’m still nursing my babies. Er, kids, I guess. Because Elise and Althea aren’t babies anymore. I snuggle them close to my sides when they’re nursing and, in my mind, they are still tiny, needy little newborns. But then I glance over my shoulder and see round toddler bellies and long toddler legs and I realize that I have two thinking, learning humans drinking milk from my breasts.

It rattles me for a fleeting second because I know there are people who think it’s strange that I’m still breastfeeding my 16 month olds. Thing is, I don’t think it’s strange. Most of the mom friends I hang out with don’t think it’s strange, either. Many of them are still nursing their kids — toddlers who are the same age as Elise and Althea.

Perpetua elucidates an underlying but major aspect surrounding the controversy with extended breastfeeding:

This discussion seems to have less to do with nutrition than it does with how we feel about breasts in public, and how we feel about the way a two-year-old relates to those breasts. Regarding the first issue, there’s nothing inherently wrong with breastfeeding in public.  Kids exist, kids have to eat, some kids eat breastmilk, la dee da. Adults relate to the public display of breasts differently. . . .

This leaves us with how toddlers (as opposed to “un-thinking” infants) relate to breasts. I’ve heard the “If he’s old enough to ask for it, he’s old enough to stop!” rule before, which also seems rather a bit too arbitrary. . . . More to the point, though, is that toddlers most likely don’t relate to breasts as sexual objects.  WE relate to toddlers relating to breasts with sexuality in mind.

And that’s where I think some folks have a problem. I understand that people get uncomfortable with the idea and/or act of breastfeeding an older infant or toddler, particularly in public and especially in the U.S. The sexualization of the lactating mother and her nursling is indicative of the larger social perceptions and fears of sexuality in general. And that’s stating it mildly. As they say, we’re more comfortable with the sight of people being blown up on film than we are with the flash of a nipple during the Super Bowl halftime show.

But every day, there are small revolutions that challenge this attitude — from the public protests against breastfeeding discrimination to a Facebook fan page on the historical images of women breastfeeding.

So where was I going with this . . . Oh yeah, boobs. The bottom line:

• Breastfeeding is great and I’m a very strong advocate for breastfeeding your child(ren) as long as possible and is comfortable for mother and baby.
• Extended breastfeeding is great too.
• Except, in my opinion, when the nursing child is old enough to warrant a film crew coming out to document it. I saw that lady on that BBC documentary and yeah, that was extreme.

(Awful post title, I know. It was either that or “To Wean or not to Wean,” and that would’ve just been lazy.)

Today I had a doctor’s appointment. Doctor D happens to be the girls’ pediatrician, so he was familiar with our situation.

He saw that I was on Zoloft for depression and asked how it was working.

The truth is, it isn’t. It’s definitely taken the edge off. I don’t feel like driving myself into the Grand Canyon. Usually. But I don’t feel good. Hell, I don’t even necessarily feel stable. I still have many of my previous symptoms: self-loathing, depression, despair, guilt, difficulty sleeping, anxiety, rage.

Before getting pregnant, I was taking Lamictal, a drug used for bipolar disorders, which is what my psychiatrist had diagnosed. Lamictal worked wonders for me, much more than any antidepressant ever did.

Unfortunately, Lamictal is a no-no for pregnant and nursing moms (depending on what you read). Doctor D’s literature said it’s straight-up unsafe for nursing mothers.

To get to the point, Doctor D recommended weaning so that I could get on a drug that actually works for me.

And that’s my dilemma.

I’m not eager to wean. I’m not looking to nurse until the girls are four, but I’m in no rush to wean either. I feel like….well shit, I’ve made it 16 months. What’s another eight? Make it an even two years. Their immune system still benefits, right?

On the other hand, Doctor D has a point. I’ve given my kids nutritional and immunological benefits that the vast majority of kids don’t get. It’s time to take care of myself, because the disorder I’m dealing with is not something to mess with.

When it comes down to it, if mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy. And the fact is that I’m not whole. I’m not who I could be.

It’s not about a mother’s little helper. It’s not about chasing an image of the ideal. As I’ve chronicled previously, I just have something ‘broken’ in my brain and, like anyone else with a medical issue who benefits from medication, I am a much more functional human when I’m being treated with therapeutic drugs.

I just can’t seem to embrace the idea of purposely or forcefully weaning my children so that I can pop a couple of pills to feel happy. It’s just not an even trade-off in my mind.

But I don’t know if feeling that way is a legitimate concern, or martyrdom and self-castigation.

The other voice in my head says “Yo. Forget anything you’ve heard or read. You aren’t doing well. Your girls and husband need you. You’re not a failure if you don’t nurse for two years. Wait….. two years!?? Are we seriously having this conversation? Because if we are, then you really do need to go back on the meds.”

I don’t know if I’m venting or looking for advice or what. But if you have any insight, I’d love to hear it, even if it’s just an “Aw man, that sucks.”

Because aw man, this sucks.

It’s 10:45 on a Saturday night and I’m at the pump. No, not the gas pump — the breast pump.

I’m still nursing my 14-month-old twins. I can’t say what I thought it’d be like to breastfeed this long because I really had no idea what I was in for when we started. My mom always told me that it was normal and beautiful to breastfeed, so I just figured I’d put a couple of babies on my boobs and it would be all natural and easy and organic and happy.

Ha. Ha.

I am a breastfeeding advocate and believe that every mother should at least give it her best effort to nurse her child/ren (barring emotional/physical trauma that makes breastfeeding exceedingly awful). (And I’m not anti-formula-feeding. I understand every situation is different and I don’t judge any mother . . . oh for fuck’s sake, you know what I mean.)

Anyhow. I’m trying to say that breastfeeding has been full of issues. Oh sure, plenty of joy, beauty, happiness, etc.

But man.

When you read breastfeeding books, go to support groups or La Leche League meetings, you develop this image in your head of a blissful infant at the breast, the mother smiling contentedly while cuddling her suckling child . . .

No mention of how long or when or how often. No mention of the physical/mental toll, breast infections, clogged ducts, gigantic nipples, stretch marks, lactating during sex (yep, happens). The social awkwardness, emotional drain, self-deprivation and self-castigation. The feeding rejections, nursing strikes, teething, illnesses. The fact that full-time working mothers have a damned-near impossible feat trying to breastfeed full time while working 10-hour days  . . .

Don’t get me wrong. Breastfeeding is and has been absolutely the most awesome thing for my girls and for me ever ever ever. It’s wonderful and completely possible, even with twins.

But damn. Basically everything you need to know about breastfeeding in modern society? Kinda sorta majorly overlooked.

Leave your $.02 in the comments. I’d love to hear what you all think.

This post is about my boobs. And not in a sexy, heaving bosom sort of way. You have been warned.

Background: Althea has violently and suddenly weaned herself (more on that in the next post). Elise has gone down to usually three feedings a day (from four). Now, with the intense congestion from the croup/cold, she’s having trouble breathing while nursing so she sometimes gets frustrated and doesn’t finish nursing.

So my supply is all spastic and wacky and my boobs are going through some big adjustments. (Huh, or maybe small adjustments. Goodbye, C cup.)

Yesterday, I started feeling a sore spot in my right boob. I figured it was a clogged duct. But within a few hours, it started to hurt REALLY FUCKING BAD. And then it started to hurt REALLY FUCKING WORSE. The slightest hint of a touch would send me into a screaming fit of pain. Soon, I started getting chills and muscle aches. It felt like I was coming down with the flu.

A call to my lactation consultant confirmed my suspicion: mastitis.

Overnight, my fever shot up to 100.1 and my breast developed a nasty, inflamed red spot on the outside. I was pretty sure my boob was going to fall off and  I was going to die a slow, breastless death.

Thankfully, I’m still alive. And I have two boobs. I’m on an intense round of antibiotics to prevent it from getting worse.

I highly recommend NOT developing mastitis. It is incredibly unpleasant and involves really unattractive things. Like puss. Yes, PUSS. From your boob. Hawt.

The girls will not eat.

It started during our recent trip to California. Althea started refusing most nursings, but ate like a horse during regular meals. Elise, on the other hand, started losing interest in solids. I figured it was just the trip, the foreign environment, the change in climate, etc.

When we got home, Elise went to an almost complete refusal of solids. She’ll eat yogurt and these natural fig bars I get from the crunchy section of the grocery store. She’ll eat Gerber yogurt melts. Today, she ate some turkey neck meat (????). Other than that, she spits the food out, drops it on the floor, or outright turns her head and refuses it.

Upon our return to Florida, Althea went back to nursing four times a day and continued eating table food like crazy. But over the past two days, she’s rejecting solid food more and more. Like Elise, she spits out or refuses most anything I offer aside from yogurt and melon.

Elise had a bad bout with her stomach this week. Althea had a fever for a day. But even outside of those factors, no dice.

I constantly remind and promise myself to be patient, calm and content with my kids. I usually try not to make a big deal of anything so that they don’t act out based on my response.

But man, I’m getting FRUSTRATED. More than frustrated, I’m getting annoyed and resentful. I’m feeling angry and hurt. I’m dealing with one year olds who are learning a desire for control but can’t communicate in any way that doesn’t involve defiance or tantrums.

And of course, I’m worried. I already have it in my head that my girls are “small.” And now I can’t get them to eat at all? I’ll probably be put in jail.

I’ve tried every food in the house that I can think of — pasta, vegetables, a variety of fruits and meats, breads, cookies, crackers, drinks, sweets, savories, finger foods, baby food, cold food, hot food, food with sauce, food without sauce, spoon feeding, self-feeding.

I’ve tried letting them eat out of the high chairs — free-range baby feeding.

I tried putting a variety of foods in a muffin tin and letting them eat as they pleased. Althea turned the tin upside down, dumped all the food out, and the girls proceeded to smoosh the food into the tile and their hair.

A quick consultation with Dr. Google revealed that this is super, super normal. I was a very picky eater growing up, too. But this is something beyond picky. This is an straight-up “Screw you, I’m not eating.”

My next step is to try smoothies — yogurt, milk and some other stuff with nutritional value. Do they make broccoli and liver ice cream?

The girls had their (late) nine-month appointment on Friday. Elise is at 17lb 1oz and Althea is at 17lb 2oz. (For the first time ever, Althea outweighed her sister!) Elise was twisting around during her measurements and measured about 26 3/8 inches long (pretty sure that’s wrong), while Althea measured 27 inches long. Both had 17″ heads.

The pediatrician was the “partner” pediatrician of the practice, the same guy that kinda sorta pissed me off at their four-month checkup. I didn’t like him much the first time we met him and definitely didn’t like him much this time.

Both times, he’s questioned my ability to successfully breastfeed the girls.

“Well, they’re in the 25th percentile  blah blah blah. At this age, babies need at least 16 ounces of milk a day blah blah blah. So the question is, are you producing four cups of a milk a day?”

I exhaled so that my flapjack, B-cup boobies would disappear. Because I knew he was looking.

(BY THE WAY. Breast size has basically zero to do with milk output.)

The babies aren’t gaining weight as rapidly anymore. The doctor therefore  gave me a sideways warning about “needing to do something” if the girls don’t gain weight more quickly by their 12-month appointment.

First, isn’t it super common to slow down weight gain as the babies increase movement? Both of the girls are crawling like crazy and standing all the time. They’re burning more calories than I am. They haven’t lost weight. They’ve gained since the last appointment. They just aren’t gaining like crazy anymore.

Second, I thought the growth charts were CHARTS, not CONTESTS. It isn’t a race to the 100th percentile, right? Aside from my post-baby muffin top, I’m not a large or tall woman by any means, and Chris is a natural stringbean.

Third, I fucking HATE that the human body’s ability to naturally care for itself is so constantly questioned by modern medicine. Advances in medicine are awesome — hell, lifesaving – for countless people/babies/moms, but why does that have to mean that other folks have to undergo or face the threat of unnecessary intervention? For what? To fund pharmaceutical statistics so that Glaxo can make another overnight vaccine?

Can you tell I get a wee bit defensive and suspicious of “modern” medicine every now and again?

Like any 21st-century mother, I posted about my hatred of the AAP on my Facebook status. (Unlike a 21st-century mother, I did not post to Twitter because, frankly, I’m too lazy to keep up with anything that requires a character count without paying me by the word.)

Anyhow.

I plan to start checking out other semi-crunchy pediatricians before the girls turn one.

Um and holy shit the girls are going to turn one.  Suck on that, doctor.

Due to recent events, I’m a day late in celebrating the girls’ 7 month-day.

For those not really interested in the fact that this blog essentially serves as an electronic baby book, then you can shove it check back soon for something more exciting. Here goes:

Eating

The girls nurse five to six times a day now. My milk supply seems to be doing better these days. Huge relief.

For solids, they each get about an ounce of fruit with 2 tablespoons of cereal in the morning, then about two ounces of vegetables plus half a tablespoon of cereal in the late afternoon.

I make most of their food at home, using fresh, organic fruits and veggies. (The girls definitely eat better than we do.) I’m really not sure how I feel about it. There are some foods that just aren’t worth it for me — they either cost more to make than the jarred stuff, or take way more effort than I feel like putting in.

Also, I don’t particularly enjoy the process. Between the shopping, washing/peeling, steaming, pureeing, straining and adding water, freezing, storage, and cleanup, it takes for-fucking-ever. It’s like, wow, carrots take two hours to make? It’s fucking carrots. They aren’t even seasoned. And with two babies, a lot of effort yields very little food in the end. You go through it twice as fast. I’ve been lusting after this Beaba baby food maker, but it’s $135. Sigh.

Tips for making it easier?

Milestones

Both girls have been rolling like crazy for months, but recently started rolling in both directions (they used to only roll to the left). Elise scoots using her left arm and right knee. Althea scoots a little bit, but she looks like she’d rather forgo the scooting in order to figure out crawling. Both girls love to get on all fours and rock back and forth. Althea even goes so far as to do downward dog. My little yogi.

Both girls also sit well unassisted, but they haven’t figured out how to get to a sitting-up position by themselves.

Other small things:

• They hold on when being held
• They’re starting to lift their arms up to be picked up
• They love to bounce

The most amazing thing that’s emerging these days is the spontaneous laughter. They just look at you and start cracking up.

Even cooler, though, is that they’re finally starting to show interest in one another. They first noticed each other at three months old, but they didn’t really care about the other until the past week or so. Just this morning, some unfamiliar noises on the monitor stirred me out of my sleep. It was Elise and Althea, “talking” to each other and making each other laugh. I walked into their room and found them peeking at each other over their crib bumpers and busting up. It was as cute as it sounds.

Sleeping

Hallelujah, after the issue with my boobs (or perhaps a growth spurt mixed in with that), they’re back to sleeping from 8 p.m. to 7-ish a.m. They nap in the morning for about 45 minutes, then take a cat nap in the evening for another 45 minutes. They have one long nap at about 1 p.m.

Personalities

Althea continues to be the firecracker and Elise is the mellow joker. They both love to laugh, smile and flirt. They do have a bit of stranger anxiety, which first started at about five months. They seem most wary of people with dark hair and ladies with a lot of makeup, jewelry and big hair.

Talking and playing

Althea’s kept mum for quite some time. Just recently, she’s started more frequently with lots of vowel sounds. She also likes to purse her lips out, like a duck, and blow raspberries. Today, she discovered how to stick her tongue between her lips and make the “PBBBBBLLLL” fart sound.

Oddly, Elise’s favorite sound right now is the “th” sound. She does lots of vowels too, but has also moved on to consonants — g’s, d’s, p’s, b’s, some m’s and r sounds.

They still put everything in their mouths. They’re able to entertain themselves for good stretches of time, maybe 20 – 40 minutes.

Size

Wearing 6 – 9 month clothes and size 3 diapers. They’re about 15 1/2 pounds and over 26 inches long by now.

in dresses

Elise eating Mum-Mums

Althea eating Mum-Mums

To all who have expressed support, encouragement and/or sympathy for my boobs, I thank you.

Between the fenugreek, lactation cookies, Mother’s Milk tea, cutting back on caffeine, nursing more and stopping the pill . . .

Phew!

I think we’re going to make it. At least, I have to retain that faith that we will because yes, the stress does affect milk supply.

Several people, including some new posters to the site (thanks gals, and thanks to Mommy Melee, who uses social networking as a platform for entertainment as well as social responsibility and support), mentioned growth spurt. Well hell. I honestly hadn’t thought of that. At the same time, though, the fact that I’d run dry before a full minute of nursing makes me think it’s more a supply issue. The problem seems to be worse in the late afternoon and evenings, pointing to (I think) a big(ger)-than-usual hormonal shift during that time of day.

The girls slept through the night last night, thankfully. Perhaps things are improving a bit. Amazing how quickly you get spoiled with seven or eight consecutive hours of sleep.

I also spoke with my slightly crunchy and ultra chipper lactation consultant today. A positive attitude can sure rub off on a body. When my supply seems to be back up to what feels right, she recommended slowly weaning off the fenugreek first while keeping the tea and cookies. She also suggested I attend her breastfeeding support group on Friday (NOT La Leche League). She said I’d be a rock star, nursing twins.

Appeal to my sense of ego? Yes ma’am, I will be in attendance.

She sure can read me.

Now why doesn’t she recommend margaritas at noon?

So, final thoughts: “They,” as in mainstream doctors and drug information inserts, say that the mini pill does not affect your milk supply. I say nay. Every woman is different. I am endowed with a healthy enough dose of WTF to just say that I know what I know, and I know that artificial hormones are bound to do something whack to someone like me who is predisposed to whackness in my girl parts.

P.S. Why is “I’m a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here” on my TV? And wow, Lou Diamond Phillips is still alive?