"I just need to"

This morning Carter and I headed to Goshen for a play date with my high school friends and their kiddos. I left milk in the fridge for the twins, but by the time we returned, I had missed a feeding and had tingly ta tas to prove it. I was also 30 seconds away from leaking through one of the few shirts that fit me right now. Hey, no one said motherhood was sexy.

Ben was about to put Carter down for a nap, so I decided to pump before the babies woke up and needed to be fed again. As they were getting ready to head upstairs, the phone rang and Ben got distracted talking to someone. Then I got distracted Facebook-stalking. All of a sudden we caught each other's eye long enough to silently point to our dear boy.

There, in our window seat, stood Carter with his shirt half up, breast pump firmly in hand. Though we struggled to disguise our laughter, the outburst was inevitable. When we asked him what he was doing, he said "Pumpin". When we asked why, he replied, "I just need to".

This moment will forever be etched in my memory, and taught me two things. 1. Maybe I should supervise my child better because before I know it he'll be in the knife drawer and 2. Again, toddlers do not discriminate when it comes to "lady things". Note to self: hide all breastfeeding supplies, tampons, bras, etc. before he smuggles them into school or whips them out when we have company!

Diapers and Undies

So as of today, we estimate that we've gone through about 373 newborn diapers (lost count of wipes). It has been 3 weeks and 2 days.

This is obviously not even counting C's diapers...cross your fingers that potty training takes off! On Saturday Carter got to pick out big boy undies. We've been promising "Handy Manny" underwear but just my luck, Target did not have them. I was thrilled to see they had Sesame Street and Mickey Mouse, two of his favorites. However, my little man instantly gravitated to the Disney Princess pack. I managed to distract him with the Elmo variety pack, until he lay eyes on the pink sparkly Minnie Mouse undies. It was like he got a little glimpse of heaven.

The sad look on his face was almost too much to bear as I explained to him that those were little girl underwear. Normally this sort of thing would not matter to me, but since the bulk of his training will take place at daycare, I just couldn't do it!!! Ultimately he picked the Sesame Street ones.

My guilt really got the best of me that day and Carter ended up leaving the store with the big boy undies, two pairs of pants, a new bathing suit, sunglasses and...a little mermaid camera that says, "You're as pretty as a princess" when you take a picture. I couldn't resist. It almost made up for the lack of Minnie Mouse panties!

For now, Carter pees on the potty spontaneously and we continue to bribe him with M&Ms :)

"Me do it"

The other night the babies were being sleepyheads and didn't drink that much milk, so I decided to pump a little to start stockpiling the freezer (and ok, I was uncomfortable). Since I've been too lazy to get my electric pump and all it's attachments out of the attic, I plopped down on the couch with my manual pump. Next thing I know, Carter is in my face (ok, in my chest) fascinated by the milk spraying out into the bottle.

One thing you should know (and here I go giving away family secrets) is that my nephews have taught my whole family that nipples are called "pennies". Ben and I find this hysterical, and although we are not children, we have embraced this term in the spirit of immaturity and use it on a regular basis.

Now, Carter has clearly seen me feeding the babies, but this was a wonder all its own. He could actually see the milk coming out. He looked very perplexed. I started to explain what I was doing then thought to myself, "Who am I kidding? The kid thinks this is some kind of squirt gun".

Before I could nudge him away, my angelic child-turned devil's spawn, had grabbed the pump by the handle and squeezed so hard that I thought my penny might rip right off and find it's way back to it's rightful change purse.

It's moments like these that are so spontaneously unexpected, yet in no way surprising when I think of my new life as queen of boy kingdom. Let this serve as a warning...beware of 2 year-olds going anywhere near your ta tas!!!

Headline: Dairy Queen opens early this year...

Breastfeeding is a curious thing. Women are reprimanded when they don't do it, yet scolded for doing it in public. Any La Leche League-Nazi will preach it's importance, and how it is such a beautiful thing. Really? Milk dripping down your half-deflated tummy and spraying all over your poor, defenseless baby is beautiful?

My philosophy is simple. I make myself do it because it's the healthiest thing for my kids. Also, breast milk happens to be cost efficient, odor free and you never have to worry about heating it up. That, and because I fear the wrath of my R.N. sister if I ever chose not to!!!

Whether you're for it or against it, breastfeeding is a phenomenon all it's own. The biggest thing I've learned is that you have to have a sense of humor or chances are you probably won't succeed. Buy stock in nursing pads, invest in a good pump, use lots of lanolin and take a deep breath.

When I had Carter, the first few weeks were rough. He cried a lot at night and looking back I honestly think he was just hungry and I wasn't feeding him enough because it hurt. Poor little guy. My mother in law explained it best when she said "It will make your toes curl" but if you can make it through the first 3 weeks, you'll be golden. I made it, then didn't stop for 15 months.
I had morphed into a creepy lady who was sad when her toddler was clearly ready to wean, and I was the one crying.

A lot of analogies come into play when dealing with breastfeeding. For instance, when all goes well you can feel like the virgin Mary, or superwoman at the very least. You know, the calm, nurturing rocking chair-bound mother you always imagined? However, most of the time this image is terribly interrupted by the harshness of reality. 9 times out of 10 you will feel like a cow. Especially if you have to pump full time, like I did when I went back to work. Hooked up to all these tubes and wires, you are painfully humbled and yes, unless you are inhuman, you will feel like a heifer. And, don't be surprised if your husband walks in and moos at you, it's only a sign of affection. If you choose to lay on your side and breastfeed in bed in the middle of the night, you may feel like your old friend Porky Pig. Think of the fairgrounds on a nice autumn day when you stroll through the barns and see the big mommy pig laying comfortably in the hay with her little piglet latched on, blissfully unaware of anything around him. In this instance, if your hubby oinks at you, you have my permission to draw the line, haul off and smack him.

This time around with the twinsies, I have to admit that breastfeeding has been much easier now that I know what I'm doing. Last week I set a challenge for myself; latching both babies on at the same time. I'm proud to tell you that I was successful. I am not proud to admit that it is in no way a pretty sight. First of all, this is not something I can do beyond the comfort of my own home. Basically, you have to let it all hang out, there is no way possible you can be discreet. And, if you start dripping milk on your hungry little babes, I've got news for you...there's not much you can do about it because, surprise! You've got your hands full. While much more time efficient (feeding one baby right after the other can take up to an hour plus when all is said and done), it is not always so practical. And this ladies and gentlemen, brings me to one final analogy...dairy bar. When those two little boys are settled on either side of the boppy pillow. I just can't help but visualize them stepping up to a counter and ordering a milkshake. I know, I'm a weirdo but here's where the whole sense of humor comes into play in such a desperate way.

Rocket Poo

Two nights ago, I woke up in a dazed stupor to nurse the babies at 2am. Typically the boys get their diapers changed and then it's time for the feeding frenzy. Reid was up first.

I routinely unfastened his diaper by the light of the "3's Company" episode on television. I took a wipey and began to wipe a tiny bit of poo off his tiny little bum. In a flash, I felt a splash hit my right arm and before I could utter any words, I let out a yelp, waking my snoring husband and prompting him to fly out of bed and hit the lights.

My little angel had projectile pooped on me. I've never seen anything like it, and working in the field of early childhood I've changed many a diaper in my day. I looked down to find poo on my shirt, shorts, sheets, comforter, Reid's jammies, a pillow...the list goes on.

Ben's laughter still resounds in my head. To top it off, Carter threw up on our bed first thing the next morning. This is only the beginning, I told myself as I prepared a fresh batch of laundry.

3 testicles or 4?

Imagine my surprise when our beloved pediatrician came into my hospital room shortly after performing circumcisions on the boys. He sat down in the rocking chair like an old friend and said, "So, yesterday did (Twin who will remain nameless to protect him from years of embarrassment) have 1 testicle or 2?"

Hubby and I looked at each other on the verge of nervous laughter. "Um...I thought there were two?" I cautiously answered. What kind of mother does not know the answer to this question? I rationalize that I was overtired and didn't exactly take the time to examine anything. Seriously, changing little boys is a high speed mission. You have to move quickly or else the garden hose will flood everything around you!

Apparently the testicle in question has yet to drop and Doctor M was not too concerned. Only time will tell if Mr. T will make his appearance! Boys are proving to be confusing already...

Happy New Year!

On New Year's Eve, we had cereal for dinner. Then I made a delightful batch of brownies and we stayed up til a whopping 9pm.

Throughout the night I was restless and had this awful back pain. I woke up a lot, either to pee, to have Ben rub my back or to order him downstairs to pop my heating pad in the microwave. I couldn't lay down so I sat up most of the night. Do you think it occurred to me that I was in labor? Nope!

Finally, around 5am Ben offered to call the hospital and I agreed. I think this took him by surprise because I have avoided these type of calls at all costs in the past, despite some other uncomfortable times. We called my Mom to stay with Carter, and we were off to Charlotte Hungerford to brave the dark, icy morning.

Now, one thing you should know is that I've never experienced natural labor before. With Carter I was induced, so this was one of those decisions where I really wasn't sure. All that came to a profound realization as we drove on Route 8 and it occurred to me that I had full blown contractions which were averaging 3 minutes apart. You could say that panic mode set in right about then.

Long story short...Got to the hospital around 6:30 at 8 centimeters. Panicked that I would not be able to get an epidural and pleaded with a poor unsuspecting nurse to give me one. She gave me a rather vague answer, as if she were scared of me and what I was capable of. Little did she know I was looking for the nearest object to smash over my own head. By the time the doctor arrived, I was 9 centimeters. He was pretty much an angel in disguise, giving me the go ahead to get my epidural.

Then Mr. Anesthesiologist showed up with an attitude problem, telling me that it was silly to get the drugs at that point because I had already done the hard part. A script played out in my head, "I'm sorry kind sir, but have you ever squeezed two children out of your vagina?" Fortunately I kept my mouth shut and so did he. In about 20 minutes I was in seventh heaven and being wheeled down to the O.R. (standard for twins in case a c-section needs to be performed)

The Doc opted not to break my water, rationalizing that it would break as I began to push. In the next few moments I can guarantee he was second guessing himself. As I began to push, an explosion shot out of me, splashing all over the doctor, as if he were hit by a giant water balloon. I couldn't help but laugh and let me tell you, by the time the second bag broke all of the staff learned their lesson and jumped back almost simultaneously.

Reid Bradford was born at 9:17am, weighing in at 5lbs 9oz and Landon Dean came at 9:22am, weighing 6lbs 3oz. Turns out they were the first babies born at that hospital in 2010. While most of my friends were likely to be nursing hangovers from exciting celebrations the night before, I had just become a mother of three boys.

Oh boy(s)!

On August 30th, we made the trek to UCONN Medical Center for an ultrasound. I was 17 weeks along and we anxciously anticipated finding out the sex of the babies. We had decided that this would probably be my last pregnancy, so I sat down on the crinkly paper, kicked up my feet and braced myself for the big news.

Back in June we told my parents I was expecting and that they would now have 6 grandchildren. Through my mother's joyful shrieks, I saw a light bulb go off in her head. "5 grandchildren, you mean", she corrected me. "No, Mom...6" Louder shrieks ensued. That very day, in my parents kitchen, I uttered the words, "I guarentee they will both be boys".

As the tech doused my belly with the special jelly, we went through the standard measurements of Baby A. As she neared the region of glory, she spoke the words, "And that looks like a little boy part". I started laughing. I knew instantly that Baby B would be a boy as well. Turns out I was right!

As I wiped my tummy down and tucked my new pictures into my purse, I looked at Ben and said, "I cannot believe this, but I'm happy! It's ok that we're going to have 3 boys". Moments later, we walked past the gift shop and out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a tiny pink outfit . And I began to cry, right there in the lobby. "Maybe I'm just a little sad that I'll never have a girl" I guiltily whispered to my husband.

Telling our family and friends was interesting. Most were thrilled and thought they were hysterical bringing up the "My 3 Sons" reference. However, there is a population of individuals out there who either say, "Ohhhh" in disappointment or "So are you going to try for a girl?" Are you kidding me??? I haven't even popped out TWINS and you're asking me if I'm going to get pregnant again, with the 50/50 chance that I could possibly have a girl? As if boys aren't good enough or make our family complete?

It was then that I came to the realization that I wanted a girl one day for selfish reasons. I wanted to buy tights, sparkly shoes and poofy skirts. I wanted to shop for prom dresses, wedding dresses...and for a little while I actually felt sorry for myself that I wouldn't have these opportunities. Material things that I somehow thought contributed to my quality of life. I decided to embrace my news and prepare for the long road ahead. Maybe headlocks, soccer balls and fart jokes were in my future, but I would be prepared. It was then that my mama bear instinct kicked in and I vowed to jump in feet first and raise the best boys possible. Besides, I could always dress one up in tights, right?

The Joys? of Pregnancy

Every pregnancy is different. I've heard it a thousand times and believe me, it couldn't be closer to the truth!

When I was pregnant with Carter, I loved it. Yes, I suffered a bit of morning (and 5pm) sickness, but it was short-lived and the rest of my pregnancy was smooth sailing. Despite a rocky finish with a bout of high blood pressure and an induction at 37 weeks, I felt good. In the months following his birth I actually missed being "with child", rubbing my non-pregnant belly at the most inopportune times. Once or twice, I was caught by onlookers wondering if I had a stomach ache.

This time around, things were different. I threw up all day, every day for about 16 weeks or so. I wore really stylish bracelets (intended for motion sickness) which made it rather difficult to hide the pregnancy from co-workers in the heat of summer. I would wear long sleeves and extra deodorant in an effort to avoid inquiring minds.

Let me make a small disclaimer, that I happen to hate when people make choices for themselves and complain about these choices in an effort to make others feel sorry for them. HOWEVER, pregnant women and mothers need to stick together. We are a sisterhood and someone needs to warn others of the imminent dangers of getting to know your new porcelain friend (we'll call him John).

As far as "morning sickness" goes, I have to say that no one can truly understand this heinous phenomenon unless they've experienced it themselves. There is nothing like it. And if you're a man, please note that the stomach bug you suffered from 3 years ago, does not even come close. I threw up in the car, at work, in the car on the way to work, in restaurants, in a bed and breakfast, in a rest area, in a port-o-let...the list goes on. Did I mention that I was told that it would be worse with twins? I didn't believe it until the day it arrived banging down my (bathroom) door.

Another pleasant side effect which I discovered while carrying twins, was the torpedo-like "growth" many refer to as the belly. My stomach grew so preposterously large, I looked like I was smuggling a watermelon. I also had the great bonus of having a full length mirror hanging just inches from my shower. So, when the time came to exit the tub, BAM! There was this tall, disproportionate amazon woman staring back at me. It never failed to amaze me, especially towards the end. Once simple tasks such as tying my shoes or giving my son a bath became painful, if not impossible! I cannot fathom people like Kate Gosselin, the TLC mommy of 8, who you could say "fell from grace" this past year. How did she carry sextuplets? And here I am complaining about two! Still, as a woman who has managed to avoid major body image issues, I wondered if my belly would ever go back to normal, or transform into a saggy, wrinkled, stretch mark ridden bag of loose skin.

At the risk of sounding like an awful mother, I also have to come clean about my feelings regarding the babies kicking. I agree, pregnancy is a true miracle-the first time around I loved those little movements. The twins on the other hand, were nothing short of freaky. When they moved around it looked like something out of a Stephen King movie not to mention it didn't feel all that pleasant. There were absolutely no vaccancies in my dear old hotel a la uterus, so when they moved it felt like my skin would just tear open and an alien would pop out. And hiccups! Don't even get me started on the constant hiccups...

I won't go into all the other little party favors I received this time around, because many are rather disgusting and may prevent my single girlfriends from ever taking the plunge into motherhood. Let's just say that I had a revelation that these little beings inside of me were going to give me a run for my money.

Is this really happening?

Allow me to introduce myself. Small town girl with two cats, married a great guy, got a dog, had a beautiful baby boy, bought a house (complete with treehouse and white picket fence), decided to get pregnant again. All in the course of about 5 1/2 years. Crazy? Maybe. But I've always known what I wanted out of life, so when opportunity knocked, who was I to turn it down?

On May 21st 2009 I entered my bathroom and did what many women dare to do. I peed on a stick. I saw two lines. Then, in the days that ensued, I peed on more sticks. All signs pointed to "you better get used to it, because your life will never be the same!" Hubby and I were very happy to become a family of four, and decided to keep our news quiet for a bit. In my opinion, nothing is sacred these days and in the era of cell phones and social networking (of which I am shamefully addicted) we promised one another that we would savor the moment for ourselves, maybe for the first trimester.

For the next few days I enjoyed every minute of my ravenous appetite, even dragging my husband and 18 month old to a Thai restaurant 30 minutes away on an almost violent craving. We pondered these cravings, wondering how I could possibly have them so soon. "Imagine if it were twins?" said Ben. "I would die" I replied. We even went so far as to look up "symptoms of twin pregnancies". Funny how mother's intuition was #1.

On June 3rd, our silence was broken...oh how it was broken. Things didn't seem quite right and my doc sent me for a pleasant internal ultrasound. After a giving the technician a brief tutorial on where to stick the wand (not even kidding and I flatly refuse to delve into this any further), she non-chalantly chimed, "Oh, it looks like you're having twins, do they run in your family?". Cue the record scratch.

"Excuse me?" I choked. She repeated herself, congratulated me and sent me on my way with a wave of her bangle-clad wrist. I walked to my car, with a slight feeling of having the wind knocked out of me. I sat in the front seat and dialed hubby's number at work. I believe I spit out something along the lines of, "Everything's fine, but I'm having twins". Of course he thought I was kidding, as many people tend to suspect of me, but eventually I got through to him and the rest my friends, is history.