The Booby Trap

To nurse or not to nurse? That is the question we mothers are faced with each time we have a baby, and a dilemma I am struggling with right now.

As you might imagine nursing twins is a totally different experience from nursing one baby. As my pregnancy drew to a close, I gathered advice from other mothers of twins who had breastfed, and they all said the same thing. If you want to nurse twins, you need to nurse them together, at the same time.

Ok, I said to myself overconfidently, that sounds straightforward enough—two breasts, two hands, two babies. Easy.

You see I was a very cocky nurser. “The Dairy Queen” my mother-in-law used to call me with my other babies. With my firstborn Gabby I had initially been very skeptical about the idea of breastfeeding, squeamish about the idea of a baby sucking on my breasts and self–conscious to reveal any part of my body. I’m not one of those women who parades around topless in an all-women spa changing room. I’m the one who does all the tricks so no one sees anything. But from the moment Gabby was handed to me on the hospital gurney she latched on perfectly, and I was able to maneuver it all very modestly. In fact, that first night in the hospital, about 10 of Rob’s childhood and college friends came to visit us (they did not have kids yet) and asked if it was ok to come in while I was nursing. “Of course,” Rob said effusively, beckoning them all to sit down on the hospital bed with me. “Come right in.” (We all know how in-tuned husbands are with our post-partum state.) And from that moment on I knew I could be a very discreet breastfeeder. I could do it anywhere, in front of anyone, without showing anything, and thank God I had a good milk supply. I breastfed Gabby for 6 months.

Ditto for my daughter Caroline—only difference was I nursed her 8 months. Vanity had been the deciding factor. While with Gabby I had retained about 25 pounds of baby weight while nursing, with Caroline, something started happening around month 6 that we women only dream of—the nursing started sucking every ounce of fat off my body. I could eat as much as I wanted, whatever I wanted, and I couldn’t stop losing weight. God bless Caroline’s suction.

Sophie, I would have held onto similarly until the same weight vanishing phenomenon took place but unfortunately she was discovered to have a severe milk and egg allergy, and I was advised to eliminate those foods completely from my diet. I decided instead, to stop nursing, and eliminate all foods from my diet so I could look like myself again.

And with Lily I held on for about five months when the demands on my time from my older three girls became too hard to juggle with a nursing schedule.

Ha! I say now, to think that was tough to juggle.  What was that arrogant nonsense I said going into it--Two hands, two breasts, two babies? Yeah right. Next time you’re nursing a baby, imagine trying to take one hand, only one hand, and pick up another baby and get him or her to latch on as well? It’s hard. I bought this enormous pillow called My Brest Friend Twins Plus Deluxe Nursing Pillow, which made it a little easier.

Yes it looks like a brown flying saucer descending on planet Earth. And remember that part about my being a discreet nurser? Well that doesn’t work when you’re “doublefisting” as I like to call it. To nurse two babies together I can’t simply lift up one side of my shirt. No, my whole shirt needs to be raised, making the nursing experience with twins essentially a time to get undressed.

I gave My Brest Friend a shot for about six weeks, during which time my twin daughter refused to ever latch on to me. So it went something like this: I’d position them both on the pillow, nurse him, while struggling with her while she flailed her arms, wailed, and often elbowed him, then I’d finish nursing and go pump for her. She liked it bottled not on tap. Oh and then I’d have to supplement him because he was always still starving. Sounds fun right?

Those days are behind me. Now I am just a fulltime pumper. I figured once I was pumping and didn’t have enough for both babies anyway why not pump out as much as I could and let the wonders of Similac take care of the rest? And so this is where I am right now, dethroned as the Dairy Queen, forced for the first time in my life to “supplement,” but still a persistent pumper, and every day I weigh the reasons to stop versus the reasons to continue.

The reasons to stop are kind of obvious. But here are my top 10:

1) I have four other kids who need my time and attention.

2) So I can drink heavily, not just alcohol but caffeine too. OK mostly alcohol.

3) So I can take Xanax when I feel like I’m going to lose it.

4) So I can take Klonipin too—I figure I could probably benefit from alternating the two during the day regularly, kind of the way Children’s Tylenol and Motrin are recommended together for a really bad fever.

5) So I can lessen my appetite (read: diet. Actually read: starve), eating whatever I want — even cauliflower, broccoli, artichokes, too much dairy—or as little as I want.

6) So I can finally stop drinking this poisonous Yogi Nursing Mother’s Tea used to promote lactation.

7) So I don’t have to sleep in a bra.

8) So I don’t have to worry that any crying baby I see at school pickup will start to make my breasts leak.

9) So I can free myself of any hormonal residue remaining from the pregnancy

10) So my body does not need to spend the little energy it has producing milk

Reasons to continue:

1) Guilt

My breastmilk is the only thing right now I feel I can offer these babies. I rarely even give them the bottles of expressed milk, I hand them over to a babysitter for that, so I can help my others with homework or take them to an afterschool activity. Those nice nights I recall of nursing my four singleton babies before they would go to sleep, when they’d fall asleep peacefully at the breast, or better yet stop sucking momentarily to look up at me and smile, unfortunately none of that exists. It is the pump I spend the quiet time with, not the babies.

“Something’s Gotta Give.” This is what everyone says to me right now, encouraging me to stop. Ten to one doesn’t sound like much of a decision, but guilt can go a long way for a mother.