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Sleep is Overrated

January 26, 2012 By Leave a Comment

Dear New Mom of Twins,

When you first heard that you were having twins you were ecstatic. The thought of 2 babies was overwhelming and amazing.  After losing 3 babies to miscarriage you could not have asked for more…except sleep. Be warned in those first oh… 6 months, you WILL.NOT.SLEEP. Just get used to it now. Just as soon as you settle down each night and think “ahhh finally sleep” a baby WILL start crying. You feed, burp, change, rock, and lay down again. Then guess what?? Another baby will start crying! There will be many a night that you will want to cry with the babies, and you just might. But, it is ok… it does not last forever. It does get better…eventually. It may seem like forever though.  Of course if you breastfeed this is harder. What? Didn’t think you could breastfeed twins? Well you can. And it is not easy!  And if you use a breast pump you just might want to throw it out the window after a few months.

You should know that breastfed newborns really sleep only 2 hours at a time. That is not enough time for Mommy to get a nice deep sleep.  However it is just enough time to tease Mommy with sleep and drive her crazy.

My advice to you is when one baby wakes for feeding, wake up the other as well. At least that is what the experts say. The truth is that you will try your best to feed that one baby as fast as possible and then lay down again yourself. It is a vicious, vicious cycle. You may just fall asleep while feeding a baby.

What others say is true – you need to nap when the babies nap… that is if you can get them both to nap at the same time. Some of the best naps will be had during the day on the couch, when you think you are watching the news. Or sitting up in a recliner, rocking chair, or wherever else you might rest your head.

You will wonder just how many dang diapers two itty bitty little babies can go through. You will wonder how a 6 pound baby can cry so hard. You will wonder if you will EVER get a full night’s sleep. Yes, they are super cute, but it is hard work!

If others offer help TAKE IT! If they want to come bring food, say OK! If they offer to come and rock a baby, let them! Every little nap that you can sneak in at any time is awesome, even while friends visit.

Just remember, it does get better and it is worth it in the end.

Kris Cain is a Chicago area mom to 2 sets of twins who balances her busy life blogging about technology at LittleTechGirl.com. She stays sane by running a social media business, a photography business, doing web design and more.

Filed Under: The 1st Week, The 1st Year

You Are a Mother … of Triplets

January 23, 2012 By Leave a Comment

Dear New Mom,

You are not an assembly-line worker. You are a mother.

Though you may swear you can hear the echoes of rhythmic machines, chug-chugging, whir-whirring and clank-clanking as you work through a routine of feeding, rocking, soothing, diapering, laundering, washing, retrieving and so on, and you wait with baited breath for the sound of the work-day whistle, something you long for but never hear – you are not an assembly-line worker.

You are a mother.

As the mother of premature triplets, you will find there is little gratification in the early months of parenting. Newborn snuggles are like no other, but the impending doom of another round of laundry, another diaper change, another load of dishes – it will all seem to stare at you from respective corners of the house, warning you of how you’ll never catch the tail you constantly chase.

Those tiny moments of gratification will give joyous moments of relief and purpose, and they keep you moving forward.

The constant care, the constant work, the constant changing of puked-on shirts (both yours and your baby’s) – these are not constants in the life of an assembly-line grunt. They are the rookie hazing you and your child face together in your new lives with one another.

What they say is true – the days are long, and the weeks are short. The never-ending list of tasks is daunting, and you may face your child, someone who seems more like the dictator ruling your every breath, and say, “GIVE ME A BREAK, KID,” and they will.

Without expecting it, that whistle marking the day’s end will blow, and that tiny dictator will intentionally turn toward you, dressed in cozy pajamas and decked out in sleepy eyes and yawns. He or she will seek your arms and rest a tired head on your shoulder. You’re the person to whom they’ve trusted their every need, which you’ve obligingly fulfilled. They have been watching, learning and remembering the love and care with which you’ve worked.

Without realizing it, your unending work will slip into the background of the day, pushed from your attention by giggles and squeals. It won’t be check marks on a to-do list that steer you through a day, it will be hugs and kisses, games and laughter.

You’ll no longer question what on earth you signed up for.

You are not an assembly-line worker. You are a mother.

- Jenny

Jenny is a stay-at-home mother of triplets. Once a journalist, Jenny now writes in between loads of laundry and games of Chase The Babies. You can find more of her writing at What the Blog?

Filed Under: The 1st Week, The 1st Year

New Mom Guilt

January 1, 2012 By 2 Comments

Dear New Mom,

Nobody warned you you’d feel guilty right from the start.

The night of your baby’s birth you’ll have not eaten for over 24 hours. You will be starving, salivating at the remembrance of the previous night’s meal. You will chastise yourself for listening to the advice you’d been given about not eating while in labor. You’ll wish you’d stuffed a granola bar in your mouth on the way to the hospital that morning. The nurses will tell you water is acceptable. In frozen formation only. And not all at once. You will beg for ice chips while your husband drinks too much water and complains of being waterlogged amidst your unquenchable thirst. Your mother will amaze the nurses by putting you in a trance so you can stave off contractions and deal with agonizing pain for two hours after the epidural wears off. After nineteen hours of labor, your baby will enter this world. The nurses will place him on your chest. You will take one look at him, and ask for a sandwich.

Guilt.

You will struggle to nurse him. His mouth and your nipple don’t fit together right. It will seem like a puzzle gone horribly wrong. A lactation specialist will have to intervene every time you nurse him. The suction of gums against flesh will hurt, even though the specialist will swear it won’t. It shouldn’t, anyhow, if you are doing it right. But you must not be doing it right because it hurts—hurts like hell—and the baby howls in hunger. Over time you will bleed, but you will continue to feed him, to nurture him, because you will feel strongly of its importance. You hope he’s getting enough nourishment.

Guilt.

You will lie beside him on an uncomfortable mattress on the floor of his bedroom every night until he is nearly seven months old. He will sleep in a car seat, and then in a Baby Papasan while you rise every few hours to feed him. You will not want to make your husband get up to fetch him a bottle. You are home day after day while he must drive to his job and function enough to get through a workday. You will be exhausted but fall into a pattern that works for you. Sleep when the baby sleeps, you have heard. And you will, knowing you are fortunate to be able to stay at home. So many other women do this and then go to work the next day. You should feel grateful, but you are too tired to feel anything but exhaustion.

Guilt.

You will wonder if you are doing everything right. People will give you advice when you complain the baby doesn’t like to sleep, or the baby has terrible gas pains and howls for hours on end. You will soon learn to stop complaining about these small grievances, but the advice will come nonetheless. You will learn that every mother feels they have something to teach you, and will often give you that look you find so aggravating—that look of pity—as you politely tell them you have already tried a Binky, he won’t take it. Or you’ve tried gas drops and they don’t work. You are sure it’s something you are doing wrong, but what? When your mother-in-law shows you an article on dairy products being possible culprits for gas problems in breastfed babies, you will cut out eating and drinking dairy products and your baby’s gas pains will come to an end. But it will have been after ten month of putting him through agonizing pain.

Guilt.

Years from now, when your baby turns seven and you’re dealing with his rambunctious three-year-old brother, you will realize you did the best that you could. You will understand that everyone, both old and young, has the same needs…to be fed, to be looked after, to be loved. You will watch your firstborn as he dives headfirst into newly fallen snow. He will not feel the cold in the same way you do. He will consider it a winter wonderland while you will think of it as something to endure. And that will be all right.

You will remember how you sacrificed for him, and how he doesn’t remember it. On the other hand, he won’t know your first view of him was obscured by hunger. He won’t realize he caused you pain as you served him vital nutrients directly from your body. Or know of your sleepless nights as you watched the rise and fall of his tiny chest. The gas pain still comes at times, but you rub his stomach like the days when he was a baby, and he relaxes into the motion, finds that spot in his heart where he appreciates you. And he will look in your eyes and say, “I love you, Mom.”

In that moment, the guilt will melt away.

-Kimberly Gore Wehner

Kimberly Gore Wehner is a stay-at-home mother of two rambunctious boys. She teaches teaches creative writing classes and facilitates a monthly writers workshop at her local Barnes and Noble on the side. You can find her writing advice at www.klgore.com or read her food research at www.amateurfooddetective.blogspot.com.

Filed Under: Birth Stories, The 1st Week, The 1st Year