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?

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...?).