how being hairdresser prepared me for motherhood

Prior to having twins, I was a hairdresser for a number of years. It occurred to me recently that, in many ways, my former occupation prepared me quite well for my new one.

Here are just a few of the ways...

When you are a (stylist or mother), you find yourself going to work early and/or working late to meet the needs of (clients or babies).

As a (stylist or mother), you must listen to requests, orders, and demands from (clients or babies) who may or may not know how to communicate their desires to you in a fashion which you can understand.

Your (clients or kids) may call you during your 'off' time, seem almost surprised when you (answer or appear), and then seem to have no idea what they wanted to begin with.

Sometimes a (stylist or mother) must give her (clients or kids) what they CAN have in an effort to compromise with them on what they WANT to have but for whatever reason, cannot have.

As a stylist, I learned to eat while standing over the washing machine or dryer, waiting on fresh towels, while returning phone calls to clients. I also learned to quickly navigate the salon floor while carrying smelly chemicals in one hand and the client's beverage or snack in the other...

... as a mother, I can eat while standing at the washing machine and dryer, waiting on fresh 'onesies', while ignoring phone calls. I can quickly navigate my kitchen floor while carrying a smelly baby in one hand and the other baby's beverage or snack in the other.

When I was a stylist, I cheerfully brought Cokes or sandwiches to my clients to enjoy, knowing that I would likely not find the time to eat because of my too-hectic day; and as a mother, I feed my babies multiple times a day, rarely finding time for feeding myself because of my too-hectic day.

When I worked outside the home, I dressed in clothing that pleased me... after first acknowledging it very well may be ruined that day due to messy co-workers leaving smears of hair color on various surfaces in the salon. As a mother, I dress in clothing that pleases me, knowing full well it may be be ruined (or at least become very dirty) due to messy babies leaving smears of food or spit on every surface I can come into contact with in my home.

As a stylist, I found myself waiting until I got a break in my day to use the restroom, only there were no breaks and if I had to go in the morning, I'd still be having to go at closing time. As a mother, I find myself waiting until I get a break in my day to use the restroom, only there are no breaks and I sometimes wish I could diaper myself...

As a (stylist or mother), after a particularly stressful day, or preceding a day when I knew I'd be faced with a difficult (client or baby), I can be absolutely exhausted, but still have trouble falling to sleep at night.

Lastly, as a (stylist or mother), I have sometimes felt unappreciated for the real effort I make to take care of my (clients or babies). Being a (hairdresser or mother) is often a thankless job (at least, being thanked enough!). People who are not (stylists or mothers) may not realize the amount of care, time, sometimes even tears, and sweat-effort we put into our (clients or babies).

*********************

Of course I know that being a mother is not something I do for the 'thanks'. I didn't do hair for that reason, either. Suffice it to say that I tend to try to see and learn all the lessons I am given in life, because I believe that we are empowered with all the tools we need along the way to be successful at whatever we choose to do. I am always grateful for my mistakes because they help me learn and reinforce each lesson in my mind, and, especially this time of year, I am thankful for all of my blessings (though sometimes they are keenly disguised, I must admit!).

In case I don't get a chance to post again until the New Year...
...Best Wishes to All!!!!

the agony and the ecstasy

ag·o·ny (āg'ə-nē)
n. pl. ag·o·nies

1. The suffering of intense physical or mental pain.
2. The struggle that precedes death.
3. A sudden or intense emotion: an agony of doubt.
4. A violent, intense struggle.
   

[Middle English agonie, from Old French, from Late Latin agōnia, from Greek agōniā, from agōn, struggle, from agein, to drive; see ag- in Indo-European roots.]
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ec·sta·sy (ěk'stə-sē)
n. pl. ec·sta·sies

1. Intense joy or delight.
2. A state of emotion so intense that one is carried beyond rational thought and self-control: an ecstasy of rage.
3. The trance, frenzy, or rapture associated with mystic or prophetic exaltation.
4. Slang MDMA.
   

[Middle English extasie, from Old French, from Late Latin extasis, terror, from Greek ekstasis, astonishment, distraction, from existanai, to displace, derange : ek-, out of; see ecto- + histanai, to place; see stā- in Indo-European roots.]
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OK. There you have it. The above is what I have been experiencing, to varying degrees, for the last week or so. I have chosen to slowly cut back on pumping for breast milk so as to be able to quit my job as a dairy cow by the end of next week and it is A-GON-Y... and also ecstasy.

The first 'cut' I made was to go from 6 pumpings to 5 a day, and that wasn't bad. I have had to skip one here and there before and although I was always VERY ready for that first o' the day session the next morning, I wasn't in pain at all, so this initial cut was not that noticeable. Next, several days ago, I went down to 4. I suffered a lot the first 2 mornings; I had boobs in my armpits, boobs around my collarbone, wet bra, wet tee-shirt, etc., and intense tenderness. But I hung in there, and after those first 2 days, I was fine at 4 pumpings, so yesterday, after almost a week of '4's', I went to 3.

"Oh. My. God. I am not going to make it! I'm going to have to pump milk for the rest of my life. I'll miss dance recitals, football practices, and debate team meets. I'll be late for weddings, funerals, and family dinners. Sure, I won't lose my enlarged breast size, which would be a dream come true, but I'll have to buy stock in Johnson & Johnson to keep me in breast pads for the next 40-50 years, because I can't take this."

Such were my thoughts as I found myself awakened by my motherly processes at 4 AM this morning. It hurt to have my tee shirt on, never mind a BRA! I couldn't even writhe in pain because to move would have used the pectoral muscles located just below my mountains (and believe me, they WERE) of terror!

So, I breathed. In and out, in and out. I tried to relax by ordering myself to do so. I gingerly propped two pillows behind me so as to put myself in a more upright position, thinking it would help if only the lowest part of my breasts were pulled by gravity, and only in one direction. I sat tight. I suffered. After what seemed like 2 hours... (I thought I would be close to 'regular' pump time of 6), I carefully reached over to the nightstand to check the time. 4:37.
I considered myself mocked by Father Time.

I grabbed my book and glasses and headed out for the living room couch. I spent lots of time in the wee morning hours on that couch during my pregnancy, when the discomfort of carrying twins made sleeping a near impossibility. I thought maybe a book and dim lighting would help me with this new pain as well.

I was not so lucky. I finally broke at 5. I couldn't read. The words blurred and rippled across the page. My pain had made me delirious, but I knew enough to realize that if I couldn't stand it until 6 (I couldn't) then it would be best to just pull the trigger(s) and then just go back to bed. So I pumped. Of course, by this time, there is enough to fill 4-6 bottles, but I hold myself to 2, leaving my breasts still very full, but less tender and I was able to go back to bed.

7 AM: I awaken, startled... my husband is in the shower and I hear Jackson crying in the next room. Oh NO!!!! I haven't started the bottles, I haven't made the oatmeal, I have not unloaded the dishwasher and the babies are awake and I am not (really) and I haven't HAD MY COFFEE!!!!! What will become of the WORLD???? I run, albeit clumsily (I don't wake up gracefully, especially when startled) to the kitchen to find that my husband has started the bottles and they are warming away on our stove top. My husband has unloaded the dishwasher. And although he has not made the oatmeal, he has let me sleep. He simply went on about getting ready for work, knowing I don't go get babies until at least 7:30 anyway, and all is well. I collected myself, made the oatmeal, started my coffee and even had a sip or two before retrieving my son who smiled and giggled at the sight of me (that's when I found my sweet daughter still asleep, making her little cooing sounds, butt in the air... a sight I rarely get to see since I stick to my rule of not going into the nursery until it is 'time').

We said goodbye to my husband, Jackson and I, and then watched exactly 2 minutes of Curious George with him cuddled in my lap with his blankie (alone, just like a mother with 'only' a son would get to do) before deciding to get Evelyn up for breakfast.

I am writing this blog post as the twins nap. I am trying to make it another hour before my 2nd (and next-to-last in a day of '3') pumping. I am in agony again, my chest tight as a drum and it hurts to even type, but it keeps my mind off of the pain by about 20%, so that's nice.

If you are wondering where the ecstasy lies in all of this, you have not read very carefully, have you?

pretty cool

Yesterday, I received the latest issue of Parenting magazine in my mailbox. Inside, I learned of a website where a girl can enter some simple information about her body type and/or fashion dilemmas and get a list of various clothing/undergarments that may suit her. In addition, she can also see where to purchase said items, and even order them online!

Like I said, 'pretty cool'...

clipped from www.parenting.com

D is for 'done'

My days of having the rack of my dreams are numbered. Soon, there'll no longer be a need for the letter 'D' in my undergarment drawer. I've accumulated enough milk to stop pumping at the end of this month and still feed my twins until they are 12 months in December.

To be honest, this momentous occasion is bittersweet for me. Breast feeding was my #1 goal once I found out I was pregnant, and I still had that goal once I knew I was having twins. My babies latched on well, but were such slow eaters, I had no time to nurse them and still pump so that someone else could feed them and I could shower, pee, sleep, breathe, or eat, and so I made the very difficult decision when they were about 5 weeks old to pump exclusively and build up my supply that way. Looking back, I recall the tears and how awful it was for me to make that decision. It meant giving my babies a little formula with their breast milk while I 'taught' my breasts all about how much work they'd have to do for feeding twins. You might as well have told me that I should start my precious babies on a diet of cigarettes and candy, the way I felt about formula! It seemed I was failing before I was really out of the gate. Would they ever feel how much I loved them and was my decision to give them the nutritional optimum of breast milk even though, for me, it meant giving up the closeness true nursing, a good choice?

At around the twins' 5 month mark, my husband (who made up the next day's formula the night before so as to make things easier for me when mixing it with ebm in bottles for feeding) noticed we seemed to have enough milk to ease up, or even quit needing altogether, the formula entirely. At that point, I felt I had reached my goal of 'feeding' my twins. I was triumphant. I felt like I was doing the most basic thing I could do for them; even if I was to be unsure of everything else I did in their lives, at least they had breast milk. I had stuck to my grueling pumping schedule of every 2 hours for all 24 hours of every day (and night!), and I'd finally made it!

Now, my babies are nearly 10 months and over 20 pounds in weight and over 30" in length. After months of struggling with the chronic constipation of my son, and trying to add nearly everything possible to his diet so as to be able to avoid using medications daily/weekly to help him 'go', I came up with the radical thought that perhaps he was getting too much milk in his diet; more than he needed at that age. It is easy to do with bottle-feeding breast milk, since babies don't have to 'work' to get milk and can sometimes overeat. I wondered why adding up to 16 ounces of water, fruit juice, flax oil, and feeding only foods with fiber wasn't helping in a reliable manner. It came to me when I asked myself, 'what has he had all his life that I could potentially cut back or remove from his diet since nothing I am adding is helping?'

To be fair, I also consulted a baby manual and it seems that a 10 month old infant really only needs 4-6 ounces of milk 3-4 times a day and I was giving 8 ounces and sometimes much more, thinking that breast milk is such a wonder food. I was so impressed with my body's ability to provide for twins, and opening my fridge and seeing the bottles and bottles of milk --from ME-- was exhilarating... I'd put it on the twins' cereal, sometimes sneaked it into other foods, and if they wanted it more than the rate I gave it, they could have it. I thought I was doing the right thing. I'd never read that too much of this 'perfect food' could be a bad thing.

Thinking more simply... too much of anything can be bad for anyone, and milk can be constipating -- yes, even breast milk sometimes, or at least in my case, which is something else they don't tell you. They also don't tell you to offer a baby water until after 6 or 12 months, and lead you to believe that constipation won't happen to breast fed babies until you start solid foods. I am here to tell you that for the last 2.5 days, I have cut back on milk (6 ounces each of 3 feedings), and increased the foods I offer, and kept offering diluted juice in between meals, and my son is back to moving his bowels 2-3 times a day with ease! When nothing else worked -- nothing -- trusting my gut came through for me. I feel like more of a mother now than I ever have in my 10 months of being one!!!

But back to my boobs, since they are the topic, after all. I LOVE them right now. Sure, they can't be stimulated too much, and my nursing bras aren't so sexy. Sure, I've grown WAY too accustomed to lifting my shirt and pumping in the middle of my living room, even if people are here (of course, I tell them not to enter the door-less room first, but still...). But, I have to say, aside from the pride I feel of being able to provide breast milk for my babies, I feel rather womanly and dare I say, 'hot' (maybe) with my D cups. Hence, the bittersweetness of my last days pumping. I will have my husband return my rental pump (my second one after burning up the first one, which I owned) and it may be a little like losing a companion. Though early on I spent more time with it than I do now, having to 'only' pump 6 times every 24 hours and for less time per session, still, we've really been close, both physically (ha!) and psychologically speaking. It may be a joy and a pain to see it go.

However, let's be real. It will be the hooters I miss the most. I am trying to prepare for what I am imagining to be my upcoming shoot in National Geographic where I will undoubtedly be featured as a topless, saggy-breasted Midwestern mother who overused herself to feed her twins. I will say goodbye to that girl who beautifully filled out her tops of late. Gone will be my long-desired voluptuousness, I am afraid.

Must close now, so I can practice the earliest part of the alphabet (you know, the A, the B...?).

20 years

Well, we took the trip to IA for John's class reunion. I would call it a success; Jackson threw one fit on the way there and one on the way home, and we ignored them both (it wasn't lunch time and he had been changed, so we just kept moving along). The first night, neither Jackson nor Evelyn wanted to sleep, so John had to stay with them for the night and I was just sure every night was going to be that way and was honestly ready to head for home right then. I'd been up since 5 that morning, packing and getting myself ready since we'd be on the road during my usual shower time, and I wasn't really able to deal with two screaming infants that evening and still catch up on pumping... so,once again, I'll say 'thank God for my husband!'

I didn't get to wear the anthropologie dress I posted in a previous blog; we decided to go more casual in order to make packing and getting ready easier. We knew it would be hard to leave the twins for the first time to go to the reunion, and thought not having to iron would simplify things (it did). Instead, I opted for a black top and pencil jeans with peep toe pumps. I was comfortable and it was nice to be out, though I will say, for various reasons, the reunion was not the most fun I have ever had...

My husband's high school girlfriend was there, and although I am 100% secure that my husband would never even wonder about 'what might have been' with this girl, I did want to meet her. I thought she was probably a very nice girl and saw no reason she and I wouldn't get along. At the time of the reunion dinner, I'd seen her 2 other times when I had been in town over the years and she'd avoided my introduction both times. At the dinner, she did it again.

This chic waited until my husband left my side to use the restroom and then made her way to him to chat. That journey was a much greater distance, considering she was only at the next table from us prior to the restroom break -- the restrooms were on the far side of the hall-- but apparently a more convenient locale for her to catch up with John, who was then unfettered by me. After the 2 other evasions (and I won't go into the Christmas cards addressed ONLY to my husband and making no mention of me even though she was well aware we were living together), I have decided that if she hasn't got enough class to be cordial with me nearly 20 years after she and my husband's break-up (which was well before he ever met me), then I would just let my visions of making her acquaintance go as well.

By the way, I later saw her with her digital camera taking pictures of us from a few feet away; I guess she assumed we were so engrossed in conversation that we didn't see her... so sad (and weird!)

Leaving the twins was surprisingly easy for me, though not as easy for my husband. They were asleep at my in-laws' house with 2 aunts and a grandma to watch over them and never knew we were gone, but he worried the entire time, even checking to see if he could hear anything from outside the house, outside their bedroom window, before we even got in the car. I don't know how many times he checked the cell phone for messages, and asked about 10 times if we should call to check up on them. I was so happy it wasn't me who had the anxiety!

Overall, it was nice to get away and nice to get out alone as well... but, as always, really, really nice to be home too (although it seems today I am 'paying' for all that good behavior I had over the weekend -- Jackson is back to his screaming again).

take it down a notch

Well, my son is constipated. He has acid reflux too, but the constipation is the biggie. A week or so ago, we took him to the emergency room (it was a Sunday, not many other options in the wee hours on a Sunday), and through the genius that is the emergency room staff in our town, after all their 'testing': ie; blood taken from both arms of my tiny child (I guess they expect infants to be able to explain their own malfunctions to them!), they diagnosed my son with 'teething'.

They attributed all the ceaseless screaming, refusal of food, and vomiting to teething. I guess medicine has really come a long way for teething to be the disovered cause of all that is wrong with my son. Wow. They tell us this, but not before admonishing me by asking, 'you haven't taken him to the doctor and he's been screaming for nearly 2 months?' , and, 'don't you try to give him water or Pedialyte?' Of course, these questions were posed directly to ME, not my husband, who is actually holding the offender/patient at the time. Yeah, that's right. Two months, no doctor... we are gluttons like that (or maybe we have TWINS, and the one who is screaming has always been fussy and who can tell the f'ing difference at this point?).

We were sent home with essentially no answers or advice, $150 co-pay lightening our wallet, and imagining we'd just been pushed aside for a drunk driver's head injury or a teenager's pesky cough, and I knew we'd be begging the twins' regular doc to fit us in the next day. Trouble was, my husband would be leaving for work in the morning and I had never taken the twins to the doctor alone... whatever; if needed, I'd do it. However, the decision was made for me when Jackson began projectile vomiting (once again!, darn that 'teething'!) during the morning bottle.

I ran to the driveway to tell John, who was about to enter his car to leave. I didn't 'expect' him to cancel work for the day, but I wanted to give him the option; he has never missed an appointment for these kids -- even when they were just tiny specks on the ultrasound screen, so I wasn't sure, but I figured, he'd want to be involved in this too. In the end, Jackson and I went to the doctor while John stayed home with Evelyn (no point in dragging her through it again, though she did well during our almost 4-hour visit in the emergency department the day before).

Jackson's doctor thought teething and acid reflux could be causing the intolerable behaviors and quickly wrote a prescription for Tagamet. I wanted 'proof' of who-knows-what, so she agreed to order an abdominal X-ray. Turns out, he was full of poop. Full. Entire intestines showing up filled on the X-ray.

Now, we're doing flax seed oil in the AM oatmeal, and glycerin suppositories as needed (he needs them a lot, and I know they aren't to be used for long term, but I also know that if Jackson is screaming and won't release his bowels, then we are BOTH in pain). He seems 'better', though not back to 'normal'. Like on a scale of 1-10, ten being the screaming he was doing, he is now about a 7. He still has the same type of screaming going on, only now instead of all day, it is only when he needs to 'go'. I can see how crazy all of this has made me, because it feels like such a break to 'only' have to go through this several times a day in bursts instead of all day without breaks! I do my best to relax him and try to get him to go on his own, but the last two days, he's needed at least 1 suppository to go.

My husband is starting to break. Usually, he is the King of Patience while I am tearing my hair out and muttering about how our baby is never going to be able to poop on his own and that we'll never again be able to leave the house, but since the doctor's visit, I can tell that the ongoing screaming is getting to him; he seems depressed and withdrawn, and I know he is overwhelmed with work as well. I have almost no energy to cheer him up either. It is all I can do to remain calm and 'cheery' for Jackson all day long so that he doesn't become more upset over bowel movements.

I hope this gets straightened out in the next couple of months. At this point, I am so beaten down, I am no longer shooting for relief in the next few days, but would love some normalcy to return by the time they are 12 months. As it is, we think traveling (with babies) out of state to my husband's 20 year reunion the first weekend of October may be out of the question.
If this goes on much longer, sanity may be out of the question.

let's go crazy

Not much to say today except that my son is a cry-whiner. He has always been much more demanding (de...monic?) than my daughter, but it is really coming to a head lately, either because it has been 8 really long months of it now, or because it is getting worse. I honestly can't tell.

He sleeps and naps just fine, and takes his pre-food bottles just fine, but something happens between the bottle and the baby food and he goes berserk and cries and whines up until the next nap. You can only get him to be quiet/happy if you (constantly, without rest) wrestle him, tickle him, or toss him around in the air, but with two babies to care for, SOMEtimes you have another diaper to change. Other times, I have to pee, but I guess he can't handle that either, and I have already given up eating, so I'll be damned if I have to give up elimination of my meal-replacement drinks too.

The twins have their 9 month check-up soon and I plan to ask the Dr. what we can/should do about the crying+screaming+whining that have made it so we can't go anywhere or have any friends over if the twins are awake. The incessant crying that makes it so I can't eat or relax. The noise level that makes it so I can't play with and enjoy the other baby (oh, yeah, remember her?), my daughter.

Right now, I am thinking it could be reflux, though he doesn't show many of the more obvious signs of that problem, but I can't put my mind to thinking he is just a 'bad' baby or that we'll have to wait for him to outgrow it. I hope there is a diagnosable, treatable problem with him... something we can 'fix'. If there isn't, there WILL be a diagnosable, treatable problem with me - insanity (or anorexia... anxiety... exhaustion, you name it).