Don't be such a boob about breastfeeding in public!

            I love how in a country where people are celebrated for being overly sexy, sexual, and sexed, a woman breastfeeding at Target can cause such uproar.  I just can’t wrap my head around the idea that you can barely watch a movie without hearing excessive profanity or seeing a topless woman or a sex scene, but the sheer idea of a woman feeding her child, which, by the way, is what the ACTUAL purpose of a boob is, sends people running in awkwardness.  I have a theory, which you can freely disagree with, but here goes my honesty….

1.     We are a perverted society.  We have been conditioned to see sexuality as something it was never meant to be.  Nudity is thrown at us at a rate that is hard not to get immune to.  However, we are not a natural society, so we actual see what is natural as perverted and what is perverted as natural. 

2.     We are an artificial society.  Oh yes, everyone in the medical field agrees that breastfeeding is wonderful, and most common people would have to agree.  However, as a society, we want that idea to be just that, an idea.  We want people to do the “natural” thing, which is healthy for their child, we just don’t want to have to know it happens.

3.     We are a selfish society.  This goes both ways.  Often, the mothers who cause uproar do so because they walk through a public place with part of their breast showing because it’s more convenient, or more likely, just because they think they can.  It’s selfish to do this, especially since there are specific products created to help a mother breastfeed whenever necessary without being exposed or making the baby uncomfortable.  On the flip side of this, those who are outraged make noise because they “felt uncomfortable”.  It’s funny that something like this is ok to raise a fuss about but in other cases, we would never say anything about something that made us feel uncomfortable if we thought it would be seen as politically incorrect to do so.

4.     We thrive off of illusions.  As a society, we take our artificial, perverted selfishness and form the illusion that having children is “easy and convenient”.  That is what we want out of everything in America, so why wouldn’t we expect that from our children.  However, this isn’t at all true.  Children are a wonderful blessing, but they are hard work, and honestly, it’s not convenient to take an infant, or in my case two infants and a toddler, somewhere while making sure you are at home when your infant needs to eat.  Others looking on, however, need that illusion.  They need to see you with your child and feel that children are a commodity, for whatever reason. 

Now, I am not saying that I am at all in favor of exposing yourself in pubic in order to breastfeed your child.  I believe we should have some feminine modesty about ourselves.  To me, breastfeeding is a wonderful, special thing that should not be put on display for an ulterior motive.  That being said, my pediatrician said some pretty insightful things to me when I had my twins.  It was a challenge, to say the least, to feed two babies at once by breastfeeding them.  I basically had to get into whatever strange position necessary and try to hold that pose for however long it took.  My surgeon and anesthesiologist both stood behind the curtain and darted for the door asap when they came to check on me and I was breastfeeding.  Personally, I’m a very modest person, but I had just been through major surgery, handed two children to care for completely for the rest of their lives, and was heavily medicated, so I wasn’t exactly diving under covers when medical workers walked in (not that I could have if I had wanted to).  My pediatrician, we’ll call him Dr. BabyGenius for obvious reasons, simply walked in, leaned against the sink and carried on as if nothing was happening.  We talked about both babies, and when we started talking about breastfeeding, he encouraged me to keep trying but also gave some subtle warnings and forgiveness, which I didn’t understand until now.  He talked about the challenge of nursing two babies in comparison to just one, which include the fact that you either have to feed two babies at the same time, which isn’t easy, or put them on opposite schedules, which means you are nursing almost all of the time.  He did not recommend the latter.  He talked about how backwards America is about breastfeeding.  He does a lot of work outside of the U.S.  in needy countries, and he says that the comparison is strange.  In the U.S., breastfeeding is seen as something obscene and should be done in hiding, while in other countries, it is not even given a second glance.  He mentioned that I would face the challenge of either having to pump, supplement, or stay at home basically all the time.  At one point he said, “For you, breastfeeding is going to basically be a topless job.”  This meant there would be no easy way to nurse in public discreetly.  This is one reason that I knew early on that I would supplement.  If you’ve read my other posts, you know that it didn’t work out for very long anyway since I never made a good supply of milk, but I had to at least give it a shot.  (I’m sure those of you who have had children can understand that feeling.)  I never tried to feed them anywhere other than at home, so I don’t know how it would’ve worked out.

            In the end, I get pretty ticked off at some of the people who publicly talk about how breastfeeding in public is gross.  Nursing is not gross.  You can feel that nudity is gross, boobs specifically are gross, or the idea of a baby eating in public is gross, but if you think the act of nursing is gross, you should try to decide why it is you have a problem with it.  I especially get mad at the fact that we applaud nudity in our society, but condemn this particular act.  I mean, it’s not like you’re seeing the whole actual boob.  I also get ticked off at the ladies who use breastfeeding as a reason to be an exhibitionist.  I think it’s completely unnecessary to expose yourself in order to feed your child.  I didn’t like hiding in dressing rooms, bathrooms, my car, or the occasional stock room (if the workers knew what I needed and were especially nice about it) to feed Princess either, but I always thought of people like my dad or brother who felt really weird being in the room while I nursed even if I was wearing a nursing apron.  Some people are just extremely modest, and I would never want to make them feel uncomfortable.  (I’m talking about strangers, because I actually thought it pretty fun to make my dad and Bubby feel awkward).  I think God wants us to do things for the right reason.  If you want to breastfeed your child because you feel it the right thing to do, and if you need to feed your child while out and about, by all means do so.  BUT what are you trying to prove by making yourself an exhibitionist?  What we all need to do is decide what our motives are for feeling the way we do about the subject.  Feed on ladies, feed on.  P.S. If you need a good website for a cute nursing apron, I have a friend who makes the cutest ones!!!

Squeaky wheel syndrome

            There is an old saying that goes something along the lines of “the squeaky wheel gets the oil”.  People use this saying in reference to children a lot.  In our family, Dean and I have two particularly squeaky wheels.  Princess, our oldest, and Tank, the youngest by a minute, are both squeaky wheels.  Don’t get me wrong, Tinker Belle can out squeak the others on occasion, but in general she is easy to please.  The problem is, onlookers see our family working as a unit and sometimes feel that Tinker Belle is on the outer perimeter and not getting as much attention as the other two.  This bothers me, because it matters to me that others see me as a fair mother, and it particularly bothers me when people are referencing just the twins. 

            I can’t stand to see a family unit in which there is a “favorite”.  I’m always one to root for the underdog, and it makes me sad to think of the one child who can be left out.  Therefore, I spend a great deal of my day trying to divide myself equally as much as possible.  This of course, is impossible to do exactly, but I truly strive to give all of my babies the same amount of smiles and praise.  However, I DO NOT believe in taking a child who is independent in nature and making her a dependent child.  I know this is possible because in some ways I subconsciously did it to Princess.  I know for a fact that I never let her walk herself into a store or restaurant from the car until I was so far along in my pregnancy with the twins that I couldn’t.  This meant she was three before that happened.  It wasn’t something I consciously did; rather, it was just easier for me to control the situation if I was carrying her.  In fact, I tended to carry her around the house for the same reason.  Therefore, I made her dependent on me in that way when she probably would not have chosen to be if given the option.  I refuse to do this to the twins.

            When we came home with the twins, it was all about survival.  We decided to co-sleep with Princess when she was a baby in order to actually get some sleep.  She has never been a great sleeper, and that was just something we did for our sanity.  When I was pregnant with the twins, we moved Princess into her own room and Dean took the job of lying down with her for a while at night.  It seemed cruel to just cut her off of any type of co-sleeping when we were the ones who started it to begin with.  With the twins, we tried a variety of things to see what worked out.  While I firmly believe that we as parents mold the personalities of our children to some degree, the twins have taught me a lot about natural tendency as well.  For example, Tinker Belle prefers to sleep in the mini crib that is in our room, while Tank wants to be in bed with us.  Right now, Tinker is in a bouncy chair sleeping because of her severe reflux.  I sit the bouncy down in the mini crib so I can get to her easily when I need to.  I feed her in the bouncy when she wakes up hoping that it will teach her not to wake up in the night (fingers crossed).  I do the same thing with Tank.  He either sleeps on a pillow in between Dean and me, or in a bouncy chair.  (I feel the need to keep them elevated for now.)  It’s a pretty even split between which he does.  People have made comments about how it’s sad that Tinker Belle sleeps by herself while Tank does not.  I personally think that is a ridiculous statement because I know for a fact that Tinker Belle sleeps better than the rest of us.  While there are safe ways to co-sleep with a child, it feels very unsafe to me to co-sleep with two that are both so young.  I’m constantly worried with just Tank in the bed, so I was a wreck on the nights when we had both twins in the bed with us.  Tinker Belle is tiny in comparison to her brother (3 inches shorter and 6 pounds lighter at the moment), so I don’t want him rolling on her or anything.  So, if I were trying to be “fair” I would either have to force her to sleep with us, which she doesn’t want, or kick him out of the room completely because letting him cry too hard for too long is sure to wake her up.  Ideally, I want to move them both into the nursery.  They both wake up twice a night right now, so I’m honestly not sure if I’m up for that transition.  I know that when I do this, I will have to move Tank first and leave Tinker Belle in the room with us for a while since it will be harder for him.  Therefore, I will be accused of being unfair once again since she will get to stay with us.  Oh well, there’s no way to make the “cry it out” method work when you have two little beings who will interfere with the actual process by waking each other up and feeding off of each other.

            On a normal night, the twins fall asleep in their bouncy chairs while I try to get everything ready for bedtime.  It is still a major process to get ready for bed.  Princess needs to be clean, brushed, and situated, bottles need to be washed and prepped, formula needs to be measured, medicine needs to be given, and Dean and I try to actually bathe ourselves pretty regularly as well.  To say the least, it takes a while.  I have definitely laid them down and let them put themselves to sleep in their correct location, and it worked pretty well, but I just can’t seem to get that perfect bedtime routine together where all three drift off to sleep in their own little beds without any struggle on my part.  However, my crazy bedtime routine is at least a routine, and my kids seem to like it just fine.  It does bother some of those around us, however, that the twins are not rocked to sleep.  It bothers them even more if one twin, usually my squeaky wheel Tank, is rocked to sleep and the other twin is not.  As I said before, this doesn’t happen all that often, because with Dean taking care of Princess’s bedtime routine, it leaves just me with two babies.  I don’t know how many of you have ever tried to rock two babies to sleep at once, but it is almost impossible, and rocking one at a time means the other one is screaming his/her head off waiting for his/her rocking turn.  That is why Dean got creative and began rocking them both at once in their bouncy chairs. 

            When our routine is off, the babies struggle.  It being Christmas time, our routine has been crazy.  Christmas Eve made them exhausted, so they didn’t sleep well that night, which made them a little grumpy on Christmas day.  By that night, they were over it.  Tank threw a fit, so I rocked him to sleep.  He is easy to rock to sleep.  I was holding him until our company left, but the comment was made, as Tinker fussed in her bouncy seat, that I should rock her to sleep too.  Tinker is not easy to rock to sleep unless she is absolutely exhausted and can’t fight it anymore.  (She tends to fight sleep worse than the other children.)  Therefore, Dean was bouncing her.  When I put Tank down to pick her up (who wants to argue about child rearing techniques on Christmas?), he started rustling around threatening to wake up.   She wasn’t immediately happy either when I picked her up and started trying to rock her, so she was taken from me and rocked to sleep by the person who made the suggestion.  I try not to get too defensive about comments made as to how I should put my kids to sleep, because I know that I do the best I can and Dean and I are the ones who put them to sleep every night of our lives.  Therefore, I let people make their suggestions and then I do what I have to do to keep them happy, healthy, and safe. 

            When it comes to just the twins, I think people believe that since Tank is a squeaky wheel, he gets more attention.  This may be true to a little in that he probably gets picked up one or two more times during the day and calmed.  However, since he gets picked up so many times, he doesn’t get held as long.  When Tinker Belle cries, we know that something is actually bothering her.  She’s dirty, doesn’t feel well, needs comforted, etc., so we tend to pick her up faster when she cries and hold her longer.  People don’t see this, because she isn’t one to act out when in a chaotic situation.  She’s very serious and observant, while Tank is either laughing or crying and mainly concerned with his own emotions.  In the end, it probably equals out more than people think.  I don’t know how to make people see the evenness of their little lives, so I guess I should just be the best mother I can and let the critics critique away. 

            I know you’re probably wondering why I even posted about this.  I guess I just wanted to encourage other moms with more than one child, and especially mothers with multiples that you have to just mother each child as he/she needs and let go of the “I have to be perfectly fair” idea.  I’m right there with you, but I think we’re just too hard on ourselves.  I mean, there’s nothing wrong with a baby crying a few minutes, and there’s nothing wrong with one sibling sleeping one way, while another sibling prefers to sleep another way.  Maybe I don’t do everything right, but it’s obvious that my children are loved and cared for, and none of them resent me thus far for anything.  Hang in there mommies, we’re going to make it.

           

           

Dr. Wonderful strikes again

     Is anyone else out there the kind of person who sheds at least one tear every time you go to the doctor?  No?  Maybe it’s just me, but I get so nervous when I go to the doctor, especially certain types of doctors if you know what I mean, that I ALWAYS cry.  I tell myself that I better not, but I do.  Today was no exception.  I walked in, Christmas cards in hand, like a pro.  I chatted up the front desk lady who recognized me, delivered a card to the ultrasound technicians, who I feel like old friends with, and waved at just about everyone who worked there who either knew me or at least recognized me vaguely.  I waited with my prewritten list, so as to not forget anything, feeling pretty darn confident.  Then, Dr. Wonderful walked in.  I immediately got nervous.  I am a master at controlling my nerves for the most part.  I speak in public regularly, and I’m a high school teacher (first rule of conflict management= do not show nervousness.  It smells to them like blood does to a shark, and they will attack).  However, for some reason, Dr. Wonderful makes me so nervous that I cannot remember that rule.  I would equate it to him having touched most of my organs, but my other surgeon never made me nervous.  I honestly think it is the characteristic that I like most about him that makes me so nervous.  He is serious, sincere, caring, and almost bland (while having just enough personality to keep you coming back) all at the same time.  It’s such an unusual combination for an ob/gyn that I just can’t control my nerves.  He works with another dr. who is so friendly and outgoing that they seem very opposite, and even that makes me like Dr. Wonderful all the more; he’s so serious that he is mysteriously wonderful.  At any rate, I really like him as a doctor, but struggle to hold myself together when in his presence. 

     I almost made it today.  I gave him the Christmas card I brought him, and I went through all of his medical questions for me (which I will spare you the details of) and most of mine for him without crying, but struggling to do so.  Dean, who went with me so that we could do some Christmas shopping afterwards, was silently encouraging me all the while.  When I thought a tear might escape, I glanced to him, and he smiled reassuringly at me, as if to say, “it’s okay baby, but for the love of all things Holy, don’t cry, because you’ll kick yourself for it later.”  (I’m paraphrasing of course.)  He was totally cheering me on the whole time, even jumping in to help when he thought I might lose it.  (This is no easy feat for a man during his wife’s gynecologist appointment.)  **As a side note, I’m secretly afraid my mom is going to cringe at the fact that I am posting about my appointment and actually using the word gynecologist on top of that fact, and I KNOW my dad is, but I’m trying to be honest with you guys, right?…**Back to the point, I almost made it through without crying, and I would have been successful if I hadn’t wanted to talk to him about the amount of time it will take for my body to completely retract and recover.  I asked my question and as the last word came out, my voice cracked.  Not just a little either; it was one of those, no turning back voice cracks that immediately elicited a tear.  It wasn’t the question or even the situation that caused this, but the fact that I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea about me.  I don’t want him to think that I’m vain. (I know, I know, I am probably a little, but I don’t want him to know that even if I do put it out there for the rest of the world.  He’s my gynecologist for crying out loud.)  Once the first tear shed, he seamlessly rolled his chair across the room and grabbed a tissue, (Funny, I would never have thought of them putting them there for that…) which he handed to me without acknowledging the three darn tears that snuck out unwelcomed.  Then, he used the magic that gained him the nickname “Wonderful” on my blog.  I explained apologized for crying by saying that I didn’t want him to think of me as vain (because, you know, if the thought HADN’t occurred to him, saying the actual word won’t make him think it.UGH).  I went through the whole, my kids are worth it, but I don’t want to be permanently deformed story I had been practicing on Dean and Athack from way back.  He said, “First off, I can already tell you that you look great for only 6 months out.”  He then explained that I was not being vain at all.  I was completely validated in feeling uneasy about my changed body and reminded me that I had carried my twins very close to full term.  (Is your heart melting yet?)  He went on to explain that one “might” be able to accuse vanity on someone who is trying to go against her/his natural physicality, but it is in no way vain to want to restore one’s body to its original state.  Most importantly, he told me what I already knew, and what everyone else keeps reminding me of, that it’s going to take more time.  One year up, one year (or more) down.  I was still fully clothed at this point, so it meant even more that he thought I was doing well without actually seeing my torso.  I just needed to hear it from him. 

     I retrospect, I guess it was pretty obvious that I was on the verge of tears the whole time.  He asked me three different times if I was overwhelmed or depressed.  Once as routine, once when I told him I had been getting sick to my stomach when I eat certain foods, and again at the end of the conversation (after the crying).  I assured him that I’m fine.  I mean, I definitely have moments of being overwhelmed (whose life isn’t stressful after all?) and sometimes I probably do have a little bit of PPD to creep up, but it is nothing that I feel needs to be treated, so there’s no need to make it into something that it’s not.  In the end, I think he thinks I’m a little nutty (which I may have mentioned…) but overall normal and ok. 

     I was finally feeling less nervous when he said, “I’ll step out and let you get 'changed' for the exam…”

Is a break really worth the trouble it brings?

     If I learned anything the hard way with Princess, it would be that Dean and I need a break every now and then.  A break from our kids, a break from either just the babies or just Princess, and sometimes even a break from everyone including each other.  We both love to be alone some, so don't think us an unloving couple.  Rather, we're thinkers, and it's hard to do a lot of soul searching with the racket of a family booming around.  So we try to make sure we take breaks this time around, especially the kind that will either grow us as a couple or grow us spiritually.  Sometimes though, coming back makes me wonder if going "out" was even worth it at all. 
     For example, Dean and I took part of our youth group, Peace, Love, and Mustardseed, (strange nicknames, I know) to see a Christmas play at a church an hour and a half away from our home.  This meant dividing up my children and asking people to take them to church with them.  Many people think it sad that we often divide our kids up when we go out other than to work, but honestly, Princess also needs time away from "baby land", so I don't mind it at all.  This way, she is also free from the circular schedule she lives on with the twins.  Plus, it's a task for me to take all three somewhere alone, so I wouldn't want to ask someone else to do that on a Sunday morning when you have to be somewhere on time.  We went to another church's program for the girls to see something different and new, and so that we could have a spiritual respite ourselves.  We are both very involved in our church's Sunday morning worship service, and we honestly just needed to be at church in a way that we could bask in the glory of God without having to worry about the pressures of our normal tasks.  Don't get me wrong, I love being on the praise team, and Dean is an awesome media person, but a break is nice sometimes.
     We sent Princess with Bubby and the twins with my in laws.  The twins visited their grandparents' church for the first time, and Princess was at her usual church.  Everything went fine for the whole family....until we got home.  I made the mistake of literally getting back into town, picking up the twins, and heading to the children's play practice at church.  Princess, who wouldn't eat lunch or take a nap, was grumpy, starving, and hyper all at the same time.  The twins were needy and clingy.  All this added to the pressure of trying to keep them behaving long enough for practice to occur made me immediately stressed out.  It didn't end there.  I came home from my wonderful day out to about 9 loads of laundry and a house so messy, I'm not sure where to start.  On top of that, I needed to fill out my Christmas cards so that they will hopefully make it to their destination before Christmas, AND I needed to repack the diaper bag for the next day.  Not to mention the fact that I wanted to spend time with my children. 
     I began the same self loathing inner monologue that occurs everytime I leave my children to do something for myself and they are anywhere other than at home while I'm gone.  "It's not worth getting a break if I come home just to instantly be more stressed out than I was before.  I should've just stayed home.  My kids are always good for the sitter and then immediately mad when I get home.  We will never be able to go anywhere again. etc, etc, etc."
     I woke up this morning ready to blog, hoping I would feel better and have a better perspective about the whole thing.  I don't.  I'm still not sure if it's always worth the trouble.  I know that being out in the world other than just for work is a good thing, especially if I'm with Dean, but I hate the backlash of doing so.  At any rate, I'm going to keep doing what I need to for my marriage, spirit, and sanity.  Hopefully, I'll learn how to come back in such a heavenly state that the chaos that ensues won't bother me.
    Now, for the encouragement part, all I can say is if you can identify, it's not just you.  Also, I'm pretty sure our kids aren't purposely trying to sabotage our brief vacations from mommyland.  They love us so much that sometimes they just don't know how to express themselves...I'm telling myself that is what it is anyway.

Being a MOOmmy: An udderly fantastic job.

            There is nothing in this world more humbling than being hooked to an electric breast pump.  AND this is coming from a woman who has had two c-sections and went through labor through the point of pushing with a natural birth.  I have had people help me bathe when I looked my absolute worse and people have literally seen my guts, but nothing is as awkward as using a breast pump.  Please don’t let this deter you if you have never used one but may need to in the future.  It is a perfectly fine way to get milk for your baby.  I did it for Princess.  I also hated ever second of it. 

            I never really pressured myself over breastfeeding with Princess, but when it was easy for me, I decided to devote myself to it.  It was a great experience in some ways and one that almost cost me my sanity in others.  I remember truly feeling like a milk cow (except for cows have it easy in this respect since they don’t have to deal with being socially acceptable).  My entire being was wrapped around this need to feed my child constantly…well almost.  Every two hours doesn’t sound that bad until you live it.  Every two hours means that from the time your baby starts eating this time, to the time she starts eating again, two hours have passed.  Depending on age, your baby will nurse anywhere from 15 to 45 minutes.  This doesn’t leave a lot of down time.  Now there are many ideologies for feeding schedules.  1. The timed method—You feed your baby every two or three hours to the minute by watching the clock.  If your baby gets hungry half way through that time period, they scream until it is time to eat, or they give up and wait patiently.  2.  The demand fed method—You feed your baby when she is hungry (no matter how long it has been) by relying on signals from your child.  3.  The blended method, which combines the two above.  Princess was demand fed, which basically meant that whenever she convinced me she was hungry, I fed her.  I wasn’t hard to convince.  Demand feeding worked for me, because I was never confident in how much she was eating.  She was a great nurser, but a poor eater in general (she still is for that matter).  She was born quite large, but she is built small, so I always wanted to feed her as much as possible.  I don’t believe that demand feeding was the best choice for my sanity, but I also don’t think the timed method is perfect either.  They both have flaws.  With one, there is a risk that your child will have to be hungry in order to keep him on schedule, with the other, you risk teaching him that the answer to every little crisis in his little life is fixed by shoving a boob in his mouth.  I’m not sure how the blended method really marries the two perfectly even after reading how to do so.  It seems that the mother’s natural tendency to either dictate when the child can or can’t eat or the tendency to compensate with more feedings would shine through.

            Anyway, back to the point.  Princess was demand fed, and boy was she demanding.  I loved nursing, because it made me feel special.  I unashamedly admitted then and now that I needed Princess to love me more than she loved anyone else, and she did…for a while.  Then I grew up and allowed her father some equality in her life.  While she was nursing early on, I was her prisoner.  It was the price of being loved the most.  I had to be with her at all times.  OR I had to pump.  I remember the first time I was brave enough to pull out the electric breast pump my friend lent me and “hook up”.  (As a side note, the “hands free” thing is open to interpretation and NEVER worked that way for me)  My husband and mother couldn’t even hide how horrified they were when they walked in on that scene for the first time.  My mother described it as looking animalistic, while my husband was convinced it had to be painful.  It wasn’t really.  It was worse to see than it felt honestly, but I despised it for some reason.  I hated it so much so, that I knew I would supplement with my next child to keep from having to do so.  I know women who could never get their child to latch on who pumped for anywhere from the suggested 6 weeks to an entire year and then bottle-fed the breast milk to their baby.  I applaud them.  I do not see how they did it.  It would have to take up a majority of your life to do that.   

I once saw a picture in National Geographic of a tribal woman sitting on a log weaving a basket.  Next to her sat her young child, breast-feeding!!!  Now, at that time, I thought it was a frightening display of what time, child bearing, and gravity could do to the female body.  I have now come to realize that it is an awesome display of multi-tasking.  I have managed to do simple things like talk on the phone or eat while nursing, but something that required two hands was not an option. 

            I never thought about not being able to breast-feed the twins at least at some level, but as I said before, I knew I would supplement.  When breast feeding was failing for me, I found myself nursing both babies at once and then bottle feeding them immediately after.  It was like feeding four babies, and it made me give up on breastfeeding at all rather early on.  I felt like a failure to some degree only because I did it so well with Princess.  However, I also felt like it might be healthier for me mentally to not have all of that pressure with two infants and a toddler depending on me.  So, I turned in my breast pump and went to Wal-Mart to buy more bottles…a LOT more bottles.

            I feel the need to defend both types of mother here.  Mothers who breast-feed feel that mothers who bottle-feed have it easier, while mothers who bottle-feed feel that mothers who breastfeed have it easier.  Both are a lot of work.  The conveniences of breastfeeding are 1. No bottles, 2. No nighttime preparations, 3.  The milk is always the right temperature and 4. You don’t spend your whole life washing bottles (keep in mind I’m washing for two).   The conveniences of bottle-feeding are 1.  Not being excluded in public 2. Not being half naked (or at least mildly exposed) underneath a thin barrier in public 3. Others can feed your baby and 4. Breast milk is free, while formula costs a FORTUNE! 

            What I’ve learned in my time at pasture as well as in the check out line is that what really matters is that your child is fed and loved.  The twins have yet to accuse me of loving Princess more, and I can guarantee Tank and Tinker are both well fed and pretty attached to their mommy.  I don’t think they’ll hold it against me as adults that they weren’t nursed, just as I don’t think Princess will be ashamed of the bond we shared.

In the grand scheme of things, both options are a labor of love and I don’t think either was more convenient in the long run than the other.  Feel free to disagree.

When Mommy hits bottom...

            It has been longer between posts lately because I only want to post when inspired.  I’ve been waiting on a memory or thought that led me to something I wanted to write about.  I almost gave up and just posted about something in the mommy world, and I even asked my facebook friends for suggestions.  I like the suggestions I got, but my inspiration came first…In the form of a four (almost five) person meltdown.  Fridays are usually a good day for me.  The workweek is over, and I know I have time to just spend with my children, actually clean a little, and wash a few hundred loads of laundry.  It’s my catch up time, and I don’t have to feel the guilt of being a working mother, which is a struggle for me.  (I’ll post about this eventually, too.)  However, with the upcoming Christmas season, I’m beginning to feel the stress of many things to do.  I’m the main present shopper around here, not because my husband refuses to, but because he would buy every single gift we needed in one single trip.  I can’t handle that kind of pressure.  I have to find the perfect gift for everyone that is meaningful or needed, much like I need to be inspired before I can post to my blog.  That takes time and at least four solid shopping trips (online shopping helps with this).   It’s harder to get away to shop when your kids are with sitters all week.  We feel like our three regular sitters are tapped out, so we are currently looking for a sitter who we can pay occasionally to keep our kids.  However, it’s not easy to find someone who can handle them all at once.  Teenagers who are good with children could do two at a time, or even all three for an hour or two, but not for the length of a shopping trip.  AND then there is the guilt of yet another day away from my children (even though I’m primarily shopping for them, not that they know, care, or want me too….)

            Anyway, so instead of feeling relieved at 3:05, the end of my workday,  (see why I don’t quit my job?)  I felt stressed, with a million mile long list of things to do.  I came home to three kids who for over a week have been impossibly grumpy.  It seems they can hold it together for the sitters, but when I get home, they want me.  Don’t get me wrong, I want them too, it’s just I’m one mere woman with only two arms, and now that they are bigger, I can’t hold everyone at once in a way that makes them satisfied.  What’s even harder is that 30 minutes of snuggling per child just isn’t enough for them.  They don’t understand my need to cook, clean, or even just rest sometimes.  My husband is awesome with this situation.  He holds our children when he feels they need it, or when he wants to play or cuddle, but he refuses to let them monopolize his entire being.  He puts them in their bouncy seat when their needs for a bottle, diaper, or snuggle are met and bounces it gently with his foot.  If sitting them down makes them cry, he continues to do it until they stop, however long it takes.  I try this, but it just doesn’t work for me.  I can’t listen to it for as long as he can, so I usually give in first.  They know this of course. 

            When we had Princess, my lifestyle changed much more than Dean’s.  I insisted on being the primary caretaker so that he didn’t have to sacrifice his second job, farming, at all.  He loves to farm.  He’s a very natural worker.  He actually likes building fences and stuff, and I didn’t ever want him to resent Princess (or me) for having to scale back.  Now, he did have to make some changes, of course, but they weren’t that bad.  I almost went insane, but….

            This time, however, we both knew that couldn’t be the case.  Three kids, a three year old and baby twins specifically, is a lot.  It’s hard to keep them by yourself, and it’s impossible to do it around the clock.  We split it however we have to.  When I have things I need or want to do, he stays in.  When I don’t, he works as hard as he can.  I try to make sure I accomplish as much as I can as quickly as possible when I’m away.  The farm has suffered a little, but we try to make sure he does what is necessary when it is necessary.  We want this to be a family farm, so the idea is to begin incorporating our children into the farming process as they become old enough to do so.  Princess already knows more about types of grass than I do (not that it’s too hard to do so), and she loves to go farming with her dad and papaw.  We want that for all of our children, a general understanding of nature and an appreciation for God’s creations.  I truly want to give them that, but sometimes I wish Dean’s hours weren’t so long, or that I could be outside with him (or outside anywhere for that matter).  I appreciate his sacrifices, and I try to acknowledge it as much as possible.  However, that age old “I do more than you do” fight sometimes creeps into our hearts.  We don’t say it, but we both know that is what the other person is thinking or saying. 

            It all hit the fan this Friday.  I came home feeling stressed to grumpy babies.  My mom had them, so she stayed for about two extra hours trying to help me.  (As a side note, Dean is my soul mate in life, but my mother is my kindred spirit, a phrase stolen from Anne of Green Gables, which means someone who understands your spirit and disposition completely, you know, someone like you.)  More than anyone, my mom can look at a situation and know how I will react.  This means that when the situation looks like one that will stress me out, she sacrifices her own sanity to stay with me.  I love my mother in a very obsessive special way.  I don’t know why the connection is how it is, but she can read my mind, and I can usually read hers.  She stayed as long as she could and helped me try to situate everyone.  She even ended up taking a grumpy Princess with her, who, in tears, claimed she never got to go anywhere (to which we both added in our minds “because of the twins and everyone’s inability to do with me and for me like they used to, which isn’t my fault and I’m only 3”).  I know, I know, she probably doesn’t feel that way…but she might.  She helped me get the twins to sleep before she left, and told me she’d bring Princess back after taking her home with her, then out to dinner (which she later called and invited us to), and then buying her a toy she’d been bribing her to behave with all afternoon.  That is my mom.  It’s how she works.  I don’t remember being bribed as a child, but I digress…

            After mom left, my afternoon went like this.  I began washing bottles as she walked to her car.  Before I could even finish, Tank woke up and began crying.  I picked him up, fixed him a bottle, and tried to feed him and get him back to sleep.  As he finished his bottle and drifted off, Tinker woke up and started crying.  I laid him down, and picked Tinker up.   He woke up immediately and starting crying again.  She refused her bottle and screamed.  I calmed them each individually, for the next…however long it was until Dean came home.  We had been invited to dinner with my parents, Princess, and my father’s mentor who was in to visit.  Even though it had been a rough afternoon, I was afraid I wouldn’t get to see Mr. D. before he left if we didn’t go.  So, though neither of us felt like it was a good idea, we decided to go.  Dean was trying to relax for a couple of minutes (literally) before starting to get ready, but I was struggling with the babies.  Eventually he made a simple comment that I took the wrong way and snapped at.  He reacted badly to my bad reaction, and that thought from the devil (you know, the “I do more than you do” one) crept into our minds.  We have learned to recover quickly, apologize, explain what we meant opposed to what the other person heard, and remind ourselves of all the other person does.  It is still frustrating though, that we just can’t control ourselves for those moments before we say something we shouldn’t.  We both live very full lives and stay tired (the twins each still get up a minimum of once a night each, but often twice), but we don’t want to excuse ourselves from bad behavior.  By the time we were in the car, we had made up and moved on, but I felt defeated.  I hated myself for once again failing as a wife.  God gave me Dean first, so I should make him a priority.  My children are a product of our love and commitment, but it’s so easy for parents to forget that and put their children in place of that relationship.  I constantly pray to God for Him to help me love Dean like I should as a Godly wife, and for him to help me not make my children an idol in my life.  (I struggled with this more when Princess was a baby that I do now, but I don’t ever want to forget the dangers of it.)  Careful new mommies, it’s so easy to get too wrapped up in your child and start worshipping them with you constant attention, praise, and thoughts.  Don’t forget that our God gave us those children to help us understand the kind of love He feels for us, and we better not replace Him with them, His creation.  Don’t get me wrong, love your children to the height of your ability, but don’t knock God or you husband out of their places in order to do it.  This is easy to do because our children need us; they legitimately have to be attended to, so it’s easy to stop doing other things, like praying or doing for your husband what you did before.

            All of these thoughts and ideas made me feel even worse.  I hated myself for a few minutes in a very real and scary way.  I hated that I had let my stress of the week make me irritable when trying to take care of my children.  I hated that I had let a stressful afternoon with my babies make me react badly to my husband.  I hated that Princess had wanted to leave even though she hadn’t seen me all day, and deep down, I hated myself for being relieved that I would only have to fight two of them by myself for the next couple of hours when I felt like I should want all three of them there whether grumpy or not.  It’s a dark place, ladies, fight it off and don’t go there.  Pray yourself through it, do the best you can, (which might not be good enough in your own opinion) and forgive yourself for not being Superwoman.   That’s what I’m trying to do right now…

Post baby body image

     I don’t fully know how other mothers feel about their post baby bodies, so these thoughts come from my personal experience and discussions with my friends.  We do not claim to be “normal” or “average”, so we do not claim to share the views of the average woman.  I do, however, feel that most women will relate to my/our feelings in general.  I’ve been pretty open so far about my personal struggles with self-image, but I'll briefly recap for those who need it.  I was a chubby kid until I was about 13 and slimmed down, so I was faced with image issues at a pretty young age.  While I’m at the age now where I’ve been considered thin or average sized for more of my life than I was considered chunky, in my mind, I’ll always be the fat kid.  These demons have always hovered around the outer perimeters of my mind, attacking when possible; sadly they have, at times, almost destroyed me.

            I wish I could figure out why some of us are more susceptible to feeling badly about our bodies than others.  Is it a personality trait, something taught to us by the world, or a spiritual issue that we could learn to control?  I’ve explored all of these options.  While I don’t really think that I have the answer to this completely, I have decided that there are a few things I am certain of:  1. I do believe that my Type A, control freak personality adds to my body issues.  It just makes sense to me that if I strive for perfection in every other area of my life, I would strive for perfection in this one too.  2. When I am not spiritually focused, it is more of an issue.  I constantly remind myself that I am “fearfully and wonderfully made” (Psalms 139), and that if my God is perfect, and He is, then he made me look the way I do on purpose.  Therefore, if God thinks I am good enough just the way I am, I should learn to feel that way also.  After all, how I look is not all that I am as a person.  (Though I do struggle to keep this statement in mind constantly.)  3. I do think that past experiences can have a lasting effect on someone’s self-perception; however, I do not think this is an underlying issue for me.  I was not made fun of excessively for my weight by my peers.  My parents never EVER made me feel inadequate or less than beautiful because of my weight; they were always my biggest supporters and worked very hard to build my confidence in a world they knew would tear it down if possible.  Bubby worried the most about my weight probably, because he didn’t like the idea of others making fun of me.  He was probably the hardest on me about it, but never made me feel badly about myself; rather, he encouraged me by showing me his football work out.  (Kind of cute now that I think about it.) 

My overeating stemmed from being an extremely nervous child.  While I had plenty of security at home, I changed schools a lot when I was young and constantly felt like the “new kid”.  I was pretty shy, so I made one or two friends and stayed in the background.  This all changed eventually, right around the time I started dropping weight.    When talking with a former pastor, Rfitz, after having Princess, I sort of realized for the first time what my major problem is with my weight:  I am either losing it or gaining it.  I LOVE to eat.  I will eat almost anything and like it.  Therefore, I am either obsessing over eating wonderful, wonderful food, or I am obsessing over losing weight.  There is no middle ground.  I get this from my dad.  When he decides to do something, he goes at it full force.  What makes him good at everything he does leaks into all areas of his life, and this is probably the one way that I am more like him than Bubby.  I’m not saying this is a rollercoaster in big blocks of time, either.  Sometimes, it is a day-to-day thing.  I know that this is not a healthy way to be, so I am striving to focus on being as healthy as I can, and relying on God to show me my beauty. 

I felt like I had to give this rather lengthy background in order to make you understand how having a baby (or 3) affected my self-perception.  When I got pregnant with Princess, I was at a pretty comfortable weight.  I was wearing about a size 6.  This was definitely larger than my end of high school/most of college weight, but not bad in my opinion, nonetheless.  I gained about 40 pounds during my pregnancy.  At my nine-day check up, I had lost all but 10 pounds of that weight.  Unfortunately, I gained another ten over the next few months.  I was too obsessed with Princess to be very obsessed about my own personal appearance for a while.  As you would expect, that fact eventually changed and I began to worry once again about my physique.  I began dieting and exercising.  In the past, I could lose weight rather easily when I wanted, but something had changed.  Losing weight was hard.  After battling the weight off over a much longer period of time than expected, I felt pretty normal again.  I did achieve my pre-Princess weight, but I couldn’t hold that weight easily.  When I went in for my first prenatal doctors visit with the twins, I was 14 pounds heavier than I was for my first prenatal visit with Princess.  Yikes!  This was especially unsettling when I found out there were two kiddos in there to nourish.  I gained 48 pounds while pregnant with my duo, but the physical change was much grater than the number difference lends itself to make one assume.  The stretch marks I avoided the first time, made an appearance the second.  The shape of my body changed a little as well, and all of a sudden, the body I had strived to love for 27 years had been replaced by one I liked even less.  Now what?  I spoke to a well-meaning nurse practitioner about it who suggested, in a surprisingly unoffending way, that if I wanted my old body back, I might want to consider surgery.  HMMM…  Please don’t let me elicit any sympathy from you, because that is not my intention.  My stomach is not horribly deformed.  In fact, I can look at myself and know that I was genetically blessed as far as my skin’s ability to stretch and retract is concerned.  At the same time, please don’t discredit my struggle.  Yes, I know I am wonderfully blessed to have my babies and a tight, normal looking tummy is a small sacrifice for the miracle of life.  I happily and knowingly made that sacrifice.  I would give an arm, leg, or even my life for my children, so I do not begrudge them my figure (or blame them for the change).  That doesn’t change how I felt the first time I looked in a full-length mirror after having the twins.  Being someone who has battled the body demon for so long, he took advantage of my weak moment and plagued me with feelings of freakishness.  I may not have thought my previous body perfect, but this one looked like a stranger’s body, not my own.  I knew that I could not put off working on my physique for 8 months like I did with Princess.  My mind couldn’t handle it this time around.  SO, I started trying to diet.  The first step of this process was learning to not eat like I was carrying two growing babies around inside of me.  Then, I had to try to actually be aware of calories.  It took me a while physically to be ready to exercise, but I knew that it was important to begin when I could.  Losing weight isn’t any easier this time around (I switched to present tense here, because it has only been 5 months next week since their birth.)  It is a huge struggle, and just when the scales start to move and old clothes seem in the near future, I get stuck and camp out at a certain weight for a while.  Carrying the twins was pretty hard on my body also, so exercising is more of a challenge.  My knees and ankles hurt when I exercise, and my stomach muscles are still pretty far apart as well as some muscle soreness around my scar, making abdominal exercises (which I sincerely want to do) more painful.  I am happy to say that I have met my first goal.  I am within a few pounds of my pre-twin pregnancy weight.  I’m proud that it didn’t take me as long as it did last time to get here, but my ultimate goal is to get to and maintain (in a healthy way) my pre-Princess weight.  We’ll see if it happens.

Now, let’s go back to the nurse practitioner’s advice of plastic surgery.  From now on, we’ll call her Barbie.  It will give you a better visual of her appearance.  She was beautiful, skinny, and blonde.  Not exactly who you want checking your new Frankenstein figure after delivering, but she was a better option than sitting there waiting until Dr. Wonderful finished delivering a baby.  As I said before, she did not mean any meanness at all with our conversation.  She was sincere, and I get the feeling that if she does ever have children, she would personally take her own advice.  She first complimented my scar and healing.  Then she asked if I had any questions about it while still looking at my bare belly.  Stupid me, I did.  You see, I knew that my six week post check up after Princess wasn’t when I felt like my stomach had gone back to normal, but I couldn’t/can’t for the life of me remember when it was.  SO, I figured she, who looked at post baby bellies everyday, would know.  Silly me.  Her response was, as best I can remember, “Umm, well, I guess some of it will go down a little more, but it isn’t all going to go away.  How do you feel about plastic surgery? “ Me:  “stammering incoherently and saying something that prompted a response.”  Barbie: “ Well, if you decide you want to look more like you did before, the scar would go from here (pointing to one side of my lower belly) to here (pointing to the opposite end).”  Me:  “Wow, that’s a lot bigger than my C-section scar.”  Barbie:  “Yes, it is a pretty big scar.”  The appointment went on, and she was wonderfully sweet and knowledgeable, which I knew from the other times I had seen her.  I liked her then, and I still do.  It was an innocent statement, but effecting nonetheless, because, like most women I would think, I then began to wonder if the thought I needed a tummy tuck, or if she just thought that I thought that I needed a tummy tuck.  When I related the situation to Dean, his reaction was:  “Wow, even I know not to say something like that to a woman who just had a baby.”  The insinuation was that if even a man knew not to say something, then surely Barbie should have.  I don’t know.  I appreciate that she was trying her best to be completely honest.  What if she had promised me that with hard work, things would go back to their previous state?  I would have gone home with a false hope.  I would rather know the truth and begin my workouts with a realistic expectation of knowing it will get better, but it won’t be perfect.  As a strange counter feeling, everywhere I went people complimented me on how great I looked.  I live in a small town, so I know a lot of people who work in my regularly frequented stores and restaurants.  Others gave so many wonderful compliments to me, but there were two things that always made me want to discredit the compliment.  1.  It was the last phrase of the compliment when people said, “You look so great to have had twins.”  I want to just look great.  Now I know that people didn’t mean it in a mean way, but our crazy minds do crazy things, and I felt like people who didn’t know I had just had twins wouldn’t think I looked especially remarkable.  2.  They were judging my appearance in clothing, and I knew what I looked like underneath.  I might have been around the same size as before (just a few clothes sizes larger), but  “naked truth” was huge.  For some reason, it made me feel like a fraud.  Underneath the baggy tank tops and maternity jeans (which I wore for months and months post delivery), things just weren’t what they used to be.  So I began to ask myself, “How DO I feel about a tummy tuck?”  When it comes to plastic surgery in general, I feel like if others want to do it, I wish them great luck, and I will be jealous of their courage.  However, I have the double standard for myself that I shouldn’t want it.  I should learn to love myself the way I am, because that makes me spiritually superior in some way.  (I say this not because I feel it true, but because that is what the crazy girl in my head says.)  So, I have this tug of war between wanting to be repaired and not wanting to want to be repaired.  I don’t yet know which side will win.  My husband assures me that he still loves me with my new body just that same as he always did, and I guess that is enough for now.  I don’t want to rush into getting anything “fixed”, but I don’t know if I want to leave it broken forever either.  (I mean, what would the mortician say?)  So what do I do until I do decide?

I guess my current plan of action is to continue to attempt to love my new body.  After all, I did earn those stretch marks.  My stomach muscles did some hard work, not to mention the area that lies between my stomach and chin, which took some pretty bad hits as well.  I can’t expect things to go back to the way they were, but I can strive to make the best of what I do have for now.  At the end of the day, I look at God and praise Him for the good things He has given me.  I push down the feelings of inadequacy that are not of God, and I look at the promises He gives me through His word.  For all the other mommies dealing with post baby body issues, I’m with you.  I understand, and I support whatever decisions you make about how to deal with it , whether it be a journey to acceptance, reparative surgery, or working out to make the best of what you have.  I pray for happiness for the other mommies out there that sometimes look longingly in the mirror and wish they saw something just a little different. 

The PPD demon

            Before I ever had Princess, I just couldn’t understand the idea of post partum depression.  It seemed so odd that “just having a baby” could in some way make you depressed.  Don’t get me wrong, I had dealt with being depressed before, I just couldn’t wrap my head around the idea that something so wonderful as having a baby could lead to such a difficult mental state.  I was happy, well rounded, spiritually sound, and thrilled to be pregnant, so I didn’t even fear the PPD demon.  I should have.

            I don’t know if I even made it home from the hospital before my battle with PPD began, but I do distinctly remember that within an hour of getting home with Princess, my first meltdown occurred.  I was sitting in a glider that my parents brought over for me to use until I could get up and down out of my comfy (yet extremely low) living room set.  I was surrounded by people who loved me and were trying to take care of me, my child was healthy, life was great.  I was not.  With no warning to even myself, I started crying.  To make things worse, I couldn’t figure out why I was so sad.  Now, I’ve already told you before that I’m a hold it together through the tough stuff and fall apart later type of gal, so I should have seen this coming.  I had a 20 hour labor that ended in a c-section and was followed by a string of tests on my heart, one of which meant that I couldn’t nurse or even hold my one day old baby for 24 hours.  (Thank you God for a husband who took up the role as a father wholeheartedly.)  The epidural caused my heart rate to be extremely elevated, so my heart needed to be checked for any damage.  If I could go back, I would have taken the Doctor’s thoughts into consideration when she suggested a c-section the first three times.  But, being who I am, I was determined to try to have Princess naturally.  Too bad her shoulders were hung in my hips.  In the end, everything was fine.  My heart was not damaged, not technically anyway.  I tell you this, not to share a horrible birthing story, (believe me, I’m trying to make it sound as least frightening as possible) but because I think my own ideas of what I could control going into the entire motherhood situation contributed to my PPD.  First, I thought I could control the birthing process to at least some degree.  WRONG!  When they finally broke my water, I was almost taken in for an emergency c-section because they lost Princess’s heartbeat.  They found it, thank You God, but Dean and I were horribly shaken from that moment on during the labor process.  I had never had surgery of any kind, and I was terribly afraid of even the thought of it.  SO, I determined to try everything I could to avoid surgery.  Well, I gave it a good effort, but when they finally got me to the pushing phase, Princess wouldn’t budge, and we had to throw in the towel.  Secondly, I thought I could control my worries as a new mother by being logical.  WRONG!  I don’t think I had the mental capacity to be logic about anything for a little while.  My friends who had babies before me made it look easy, but for this Type A control freak, it was impossible at times.  The pressure I put on myself for perfection as a new mother only made things worse.  Thirdly, I thought I was prepared for the 24 hour a day demand that a baby presented.  WRONG!  I thought I could handle it all by myself.  WRONG!  I thought asking for help showed weakness.  WRONG!  Eventually, I learned these things, but my life would have been so much easier had I just been able to express the feelings then and accept the help from others that I needed.  Don’t get me wrong, I did plenty of talking, but for some reason, I just couldn’t let things go.  My PPD was probably not considered extremely severe, but it felt like it lasted an eternity.  I had to constantly fight to enjoy Princess fully rather than giving in to the darkness looming.  I loved everything about Princess and being a mother (well, maybe not the lack of sleep), so I couldn’t understand why I was so depressed.  I would love to be able to say that I immediately hit my knees in prayer to God for strength, but I can’t.  Honestly, I felt like every day and night was so full, that I didn’t even stop long enough to think about praying.  Satan is a wily one.  I did eventually have one of those days where I just completely melted down to God, and poured my heart out to Him.  AND, little, by little, things got better.

     Looking back, I can see why things were more difficult than necessary.  Princess nursed exclusively.  Nursing was easy for me with her, so that’s what I did.  I didn’t like to pump, so I didn’t.  This meant that going anywhere was a struggle.  When you have to constantly hide everywhere you go so that you can nurse, you honestly just don’t want to go anywhere.  I am NOT the stay at home type of gal.  (That is what makes Dean and me work so well.  He has to work the farm on Saturdays, and my independence on those days makes me not feel or seem so needy or lonely.)  My mom and I usually go somewhere, but carting Princess around wasn’t easy.  I know they have nursing aprons for a reason, but I just couldn’t nurse inside a restaurant with people around.  (I come from a long line of conservative men who feel uncomfortable with the idea even at home while covered by a blanket.)  If I did go somewhere, I spent most of the trip nursing in the parking lot, dressing room, bathroom (if it was clean enough), back office (if I was desperate enough to ask), etc.  Therefore, I spent the first few months of Princess’s life feeling like a prisoner.  I had lost my freedom.  I can see now why I got depressed.  To make matters worse, two of my best friends from high school had children only three months after me, and they didn’t seem to be going through the same struggle.  Athack from way back was going through much more than me around the time of her baby’s birth and still seemed thrilled with her new motherhood, and LynsRae embraced motherhood in a way that is truly inspiring.   Both of them sacrificed their careers completely, which I didn’t even have to do, and yet they didn’t sit around crying about losing their freedom like I did.  My feelings of incarceration were made worse by my guilt over the feeling of incarceration.  (Strange circle, I know.)  I loved my child so much, so why did I feel sad about losing myself?  These are questions that I’m sure many new mothers ask, and if you are asking them now, or ever find yourself asking them, know that it gets better.  I learned to balance a new important part of my life.  Sometimes it was as simple as taking a walk (alone). 

            BT (Before Twins) I actually considered not having any more children for fear of PPD occurring again.  Please don’t dismiss this statement as unimportant to my journey.  I SERIOUSLY could have missed out on the blessings of my twins because I was afraid of PPD coming back into my life.  To even write it now feels ridiculous.  How could I possibly let something like that control me?  I have God to thank for rescuing me from myself.  My mom, godmother, and Sissy (who was only 16 at the time, God bless her) helped me to get out with Princess and see how it was possible.  My husband and Adod helped me learn to venture out without Princess, which was equally important. 

            I’m sure you’re wondering about my experience with PPD after having the twins.  I prayed fervently before their birth, not that God would keep me from feeling any depression after their birth, but that He would help me to fight off any dark thoughts the devil threw at me.  I won’t say that I didn’t have moments of feeling overwhelmed, because I did (and still do four months later).  I will say that I (with God’s help) only let it go that far.  I did not allow myself to be engulfed in that feeling and sucked down into the hole of despair.  My husband prayed about this as well, because I know he worried about PPD occurring again even more than I did, though he wouldn’t say so.  PPD was as hard on him as it was me, since he felt obligated to helping me while maintaining the household during the moments I fell apart.  I know more than once he came home to both of us crying as hard as we could and had to decide which of us to try to comfort first.   Those who love us most rallied around us again this time around to help us adjust to our new life.  This time, I let them.  I slept when they offered to stay awake, I went to the store for myself when they offered to stay with my kids, and I ventured out with all three of them into the world when help allowed.  It made my life so much better.  And while nursing didn’t work out for me this time, I allowed myself to only feel a little guilty about it, and switched to formula.  Sometimes, we have to give up on the little things we want to hold onto in order to just enjoy the moment.  I would rather enjoy feeding my baby a bottle than despair while trying to nurse when the milk just isn’t there.  I had to learn that the most important things are that my children are well taken care of, well loved, and learn to love Jesus.  The rest, I can let go of. 

     For those of you who are suffering from PPD, this is my prayer for you:  “God, please touch those who are suffering the pain of depression.  Ease their minds and heal their hearts.  Let them know that they are not alone.  Show them their strengths as a mother, and be their strength through weak moments.  Guide them to get help if they need it.  If they are too down to praise You God, I will Praise You for them until they can praise You again.  Put a blanket over their hearts to warm and comfort them.  Remind them of Your blessings.”

     I never know how much to say about things in this blog.  Maybe I say too much and am too open.  However, when it comes to an issue as serious as this one, I feel that those of us who have seen the dark times and come through them should reach out to those who may still be there.  If you would like to talk to me more about PPD, you can post a message under anonymous with your information.  It will not show up on the blog, but it will come to me to be approved.  I would be happy to email you.  If you would like to make a comment about the blog, feel free to post under anonymous and you can sign the bottom of it, or you can follow the blog and post a comment as well.  I am no expert, so I can only try to understand, sympathize, and pray with you.