October 15: Loss, Life, and Love

October 15th is a day steeped with meaning for me. It is a day that commemorates both joy and loss, fear and relief. It is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day, and it is the day we found out we were expecting not just one, but two babies.

I was scrolling through some old documents last night and I came across one titled: Life Plans. If you don’t already know this about me, I love plans. I try to plan everything- or at least, I used to before the Pixie and the Bug came along and I learned that there are some things you just can’t plan for. My “Life Plan” started with June of 2012 and went all the way up through the year 2016. 2016! As I read over my plan that starkly laid out my hopes and dreams, two entries made my eyes well up with tears. Both were in July 2012.

For those of you who aren’t as familiar with United Methodist ordination lingo as I am, DCOM is the District Committee on Ordained Ministry, and BOOM is the Board of Ordained Ministry. You must first pass through the DCOM before going to BOOM, who ultimately decides if you can be ordained or not.

I went to the DCOM that July, and I was told “not yet”. It was an incredibly stressful day, filled with hours of interviews that are more like oral exams than conversations. I was devastated.

We returned home and for the next week I felt off. Something wasn’t right. I was tired, I felt sick to my stomach, I was crampy and at times experienced what I can only describe as a burrowing sensation in my lower abdomen. The day of my period came and went, as did the next day and the next. When I realized that I was now a week late and on a Friday I took a pregnancy test. A very faint second line appeared, and I remember collapsing to the ground, laughing and crying. I was pregnant.

RevEv didn’t believe the test, the line was so faint, so the next morning I got up early and drove to the drugstore to get a different test. I took it as soon as I got home, and the word emerged clear as day: Pregnant. We were excited, and nervous, and I was so very happy. We celebrated with breakfast at the diner, then walked to the library to get out books. What to Expect When You’re Expecting. What to Eat When You’re Expecting. A whole stack of books that we split between us to carry home. I told my close friend who quickly did the math: my due date was March 30, the day before Easter. My head and my heart were filled with hopes and dreams for this child that I had wanted and had come as such a surprise. I could see him- or her- being passed around the congregation I served. I could see us singing in the seminary chapel, saw them take their first steps among the old oak trees on campus. Saw them being held and loved by the people I loved.

Monday was the first day of Vacation Bible School; thirty little bundles of joy running around causing a ruckus all morning. When they had all been picked up and I was done cleaning I went into the bathroom and discovered I was bleeding. By Wednesday it had been confirmed by blood tests and an ultrasound. I had been pregnant, and now I wasn’t. I had lost my baby.

I struggled to use the word “miscarriage”. It had been so early- SO early that if I hadn’t taken that pregnancy test I wouldn’t have even known I was pregnant. But I did take the test, and I did know. For three wonderful days I had created a lifetime of hopes and dreams, and just like that they were gone.

It took me nine months to mourn the loss of my baby. As I slowly told people about my loss I was surrounded with love and support, but I was still very afraid of it happening again.

In the fall of 2013 we decided we were ready to start trying to conceive. I was cleared by my doctors, and was told that because of my previous early pregnancy loss I should schedule an appointment as soon as I got a positive pregnancy test. On September 25, the anniversary of our very first date, I took a test. It was the day my period should have started, and I was so sure that I wasn’t pregnant I took the test in the basement of Seminary Hall just minutes before my Greek class was to begin. I had spent the 45 minute car ride trying not to get my hopes up, trying to tell myself that it was crazy to even waste the test. But the thought kept creeping up: wouldn’t it be cool if we found out on our anniversary?

I tried not to look at the test that was sitting on the floor between my feet as I waited the three minutes, eagerly watching the clock to make sure I wasn’t late for class. When I looked down I couldn’t believe what I saw: it had lit up like a Christmas tree in no time at all! Pregnant! I cried with surprise and relief, then had to pull myself together to run upstairs to class.

On October 15 we waited in the OB/GYN office and I was terrified. I was so afraid that, once again, the ultrasound would show that my womb was empty. That maybe the test had been wrong. I tried to hold back tears of joy and relief when the doctor pointed out the egg sack, and what would become the placenta. And then she pointed to something else, and said, “and here’s a second.”

We started laughing, and I was screaming “Oh my God!” over and over- we made such a commotion one of the nurses poked her head to see if everything was alright! Just as the shock and joy was beginning to sink in, the doctor gave us sobering news. Because it was so early, only 6 weeks and a few days, there was a chance that one of the babies would be “absorbed”. I would have to come back in ten days to see if there were still two.

Those were the longest ten days of my life. Ten days of waiting, and hoping, and praying. Ten days of trying to not get too attached to the idea of having two little ones growing inside of me. Ten days of being afraid.

I went back to the doctor on October 25, the anniversary of our engagement, very, very afraid. And there they were, two little gummy bears, with two little heartbeats. And Baby B’s little arm buds were spread wide as if to say, “I’m here!”

The Three Bath Day

Some of you may be familiar with the term “a three dog night”.” This phrase, which is also the name of a rock band, is popularly believed to come from the Australian outback. It describes a night so bitterly cold that it would require snuggling up to not one, not two, but three dogs in order to keep warm. It is a way of qualifying the cold: one dog, it’s not too bad out. Two dogs? It’s cold, but not unbearable. But three dogs- that’s a teeth chattering,  bone chilling cold.

So it is with bath time at our house. One bath? That’s routine- although I will be the first to admit that bathtime is not an integral part of the sacred ritual of “bedtime” that is for so many families with little ones. In fact, there have been times when so many days have passed between baths that I can’t remember when I last bathed the girls. As long as hands and faces can be cleaned with a wipe, and there isn’t too much goop in their hair, I’m pretty relaxed about bathing.

Anyway, one bath is routine. Two baths is a sign of a really fun, we-had-all-sorts-of-adventures kind of day. I really like two bath days- it means the girls were running around working up a sweat, or that we did something that required sunscreen, or that they got into paint or cookie dough. All good things.

But Dear Reader, I recently encountered for the first time ever the Three Bath Day. And as good as a Two Bath Day is, the Three Bath Day is as horrible.

The day started out at 3:45am when first Pixie, then Bug, woke up crying and came into bed with us. Except, when you have two toddlers, one Mama, and one RevEv in the bed there isn’t much sleeping going on. There simply isn’t enough room for everyone to have the space they need to sleep. Plus the girls decided it was time to play, and RevEv is a pretty fun jungle gym. So I took the girls downstairs to the couch, wrestled with them for a while, and finally gave up. They were more than happy to play with their books, blocks, and dirty socks while I watched watched I Love Lucy through my eyelids.

After breakfast it was time for a bath. Bug has been consistently leaking out of her diapers at night, which typically means it’s time to move up in size but I am bound and determined to finish up this box of Pampers so help me, which means she was pretty stinky. So into the tub they went. It was an uneventful bath, except that RevEv had removed the bathmat because it was grungy, so there was a fair bit of slipping and sliding going on.

Because the day had started at 3:45, and because days that start at 3:45 typically don’t put Mama in a good mood, we made chocolate chip cookies. The girls helped to dump in the sugar and chocolate chips, and to “clean” up afterwards. 

The girls got in a nap while I cleaned up and had another cup of coffee, which is when I had the brilliant idea of doing an art project when they woke up. I got everything ready: I taped paper to the wall of the shower, secured the tray of watercolors to the soap stand, and gathered the brushes. All was going well- the girls were delighted!- until Pixie lost her footing and took a tumble which left everyone in tears. Epic Mommy Fail.

The rest of the afternoon was uneventful, and I even felt productive as I made soup for all of us to have for supper. I pureed some of it for Pixie and Bug to have for their supper, and it was a hit! ‘More, more!’ they signed excitedly, and I happily gave it to them. It was full of good things: kale, chickpeas, tomatoes, potatoes, sausage... they couldn’t seem to get enough of it! And since they are incredibly independent, and insist on feeding themselves no matter how messy the meal may be... 

You guessed it, time for another bath! This time, however, in the kitchen sink, in order to avoid any more tumbles in the tub.

After our baths we put on jammies, had milk, and snuggled on the couch, waiting for RevEv to come home from a meeting. We were all settling down when suddenly Bug picked up her, made a gagging sound, and BLEGH. She puked everywhere. It dripped down my nursing tank and down my back. I looked and it covered half of Pixie’s face. Immediately both girls started crying and I tried to move as quickly as I could. I set Bug down on the floor to clean up Pixie’s face when BLEGH! there she goes again. Startled, she took a few steps back, whimpering, and she retched again. Few steps back, retched again. All across the living room. Kale-chickpea-tomato-sausage-potato puke spewed EVERYWHERE. I stripped us all down and rushed upstairs, plopping Pixie in her crib before hopping in the shower with Bug to hose off, which she didn’t like one bit.

Finally, everyone was clean, dry, and puke-free. We snuggled in the glider for more kisses and milk, and then went to bed. I went downstairs to clean the living room and have a nice, cold drink, thankful that tomorrow would be a new, and hopefully bath-free, day.

Monday Family Fun Day

One of the things I have wanted to be more intentional about is spending time together as a family doing something fun outside of the house. The girls and I do things together all the time, but RevEv usually misses out on all the fun because he is working. Today was his day off (yay!) so after naps and lunch we headed off on an adventure!

We drove into the neighboring county to Tranquility Farms on the recommendation of another mama from one of our playgroups. When we arrived we got scissors and a box lid to pick our own flowers. On our way to the flower fields we passed a small petting zoo (is it still a petting zoo if the sign says ‘Please don’t touch’?) which the girls loved! Bug likes most animals from afar, and today was no exception. She was perfectly happy to watch the animals from the safety of RevEv’s arms a few feet away from the fence. Pixie, on the other hand, was beside herself. As soon as we saw what appeared to be a combination of a donkey and zebra she started ‘neigh’ing excitedly, alternating between pointing and clasping her hands to her face in delight. Animal sounds are Pixie’s specialty, and she was so excited to see the ‘neigh’, ‘moo’, and ‘baa-baa’s.

Picking flowers was an adventure. Bug is a little archaeologist in the making so she was primarily interested in collecting rocks along the way. Even with two adults it was tricky to keep track of two toddlers among the rows and rows of flowers that were taller than they were. But we managed to put together a small bouquet that is now gracing our dining room table.

On our way out we stopped at the playground to slide down the slides and play peek-a-boo through the portholes in the wooden pirate ship.

 

On our way home we stopped at a Vietnamese restaurant for supper. The girls were incredibly brave, trying a lot of brand new food. They are adventurous eaters, to say the least. Bug was so excited about her food that she ran through her entire ASL repertoire and even learned two new signs, asking for ‘more,’ ‘water,’ ‘please,’ ‘yum,’ and then ending with ‘all done’. It has been amazing to watch her vocabulary grow. Pixie is not as interested in signing but is much more verbal, which is wonderful too!

I’m so glad we got to spend this afternoon and evening together as a family- I’m sure it is the first of many memory-filled family fun days.

Our Breast(milk)feeding Story

Photo taken by Elle Photography, http://www.danielleastrab.com, 2014.

If you find yourself in any of the mommy circles I am a part of- and perhaps even if you don’t- you know that this past week has been World Breastfeeding Week, a week dedicated to supporting and advocating for breastfeeding women’s rights around the globe. In honor of WBW, and National Breastfeeding Month which runs the entire month of August, here is our breast(milk)feeding story.

I can’t remember when I decided that I was going to be a breastfeeding mama, but it was long before I met RevEv and became pregnant with the Pixie and the Bug. I loved images of women nursing their infants- you all know the images I’m talking about, where mother and child are looking adoringly into one another’s eyes, perhaps holding hands. I knew the slogan “Breast is Best” and was familiar with all of the benefits of breastfeeding for both child and mother. I was in awe of the female body’s ability to continue to support and nourish the life of a child after it had been nurtured in the waters of a womb and then birthed into the outside world.

Even after I found out that I was expecting twins I was steadfast in my decision to breastfeed. I trusted that my body would be able to produce enough milk to fill not one, but two bellies. I figured I would simply (ha!) need to do some power-pumping sessions in order to help boost my supply in the beginning and everything would flow smoothly. I scoffed at the bottles my husband looked at adding to our baby registry- we weren’t going to need those! and added two Boppy’s to the list.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Pixie and Bug were born in a hospital that prides itself on being “Baby Friendly” (ie: they promote breastfeeding) but our experience there was anything but. I had told my doctor numerous times about my plans to exclusively breastfeed (EBF), and upon being admitted to pre-op for our C-section made sure the nurses knew and paperwork indicated that I was planning to EBF, and that the girls were to have no formula, no sugar water, and no artificial nipples. I wanted to do skin-to-skin as soon as possible, and requested to see a lactation consultant right away. I had done my homework, I knew we had several strikes against us, but I was determined to make this work.

Pixie was taken to the NICU because of her low birth weight, and Bug was sent to the newborn nursery, something our hospital birthing instructor said no longer happened because the hospital was “Baby Friendly”. While I was in recovery RevEv stopped by to fill me in on the girls (God bless him, he got quite a workout that day!), where he said, ever so gently, “Just so you know, they gave them both bottles.” What!? I wanted to scream, but I held my tongue. It was alright, it was just one bottle, we could get back on track. They brought Bug to me just as I was being wheeled out of recovery and into our temporary room. I was given a breastpump, quickly shown where the buttons for speed and suction were located, and then left to figure out how to feed my sleepy baby. I finally got to see Pixie up in the NICU almost twelve hours after she had been born; she was so tiny, I was afraid to even attempt to latch her onto my breast. When the hospital lactation consultant stopped by to see me the next day she said that Bug had a tongue tie, that I had flat nipples, and that late pre-term infants were just sleepy nursers and there was nothing I could do about it. The nurses pressured me to give Bug formula rather than feed on demand. I tried to send the little bit of colostrum I had been able to express up to the NICU for Pixie and the nurse told me “no”. We were sent home with bottles and bottles of formula, a rental pump, and my milk hadn’t come in yet.

I tried so hard to make nursing work. I was trying to nurse, and pump, and give bottles round the clock. I kept thinking that if only I tried harder, this would work. I felt like my body had failed me and my babies by not producing enough milk, and there were many days when all three of us cried and cried and cried. Finally I called Mahala, the lactation center a few towns over. It was our saving grace.

A lactation consultant and LC-in-training came to our house that evening to help us. Both girls had latching issues, and I had a low milk supply. She asked me what my goals were, and we came up with a plan to try and get the girls breastfeeding like I wanted them to. I would nurse on demand, then finish with formula or expressed breastmilk, and then pump. Which was pretty much what I had already been doing, but it was affirming to be told that I had been doing the right thing. We tried a SNS (supplemental nursing system) but I could tell right away that that wasn’t going to work for us, and the LC fully supported my decision to not use it. We had several follow up visits both at home and in their office, and I began attending the monthly support group that was offered. A different LC noticed that Bug had some tension in her shoulders and suggested we see a chiropractor. The adjustments helped her to relax her jaw, open her mouth wider, and improved her latch immensely. Bug was 6 months old- 6 months!- by the time she was finally able to latch and have it not hurt me. Through nursing, pumping, and a cocktail of herbal galactogogues and medication I was able to increase my supply, although I never came anywhere close to providing enough milk to EBF either daughter.

We finally found a rhythm and relationship that worked for us. I got to the point where I pumped five times a day, giving the girls formula and expressed breastmilk in bottles, and then comfort nursed the girls on demand throughout the day and night. Even though I was not EBFing as I had wanted, I was thankful that we had stuck with it, that I was able to comfort them in a way that no one else could. I have wonderful memories of tandem nursing the girls, memories made all the more precious because of how hard I had to fight in order to make them.

At nine months Bug nipped me with her brand new teeth. I scolded her, and she never nursed again. I went through a modified cycle of grief. First I cried for days at what we had lost. Then, I was angry- at her. How could she just decide to stop after all we had been through!? We had finally made it, and she was just going to quit!?!?! I tried bargaining, I tried tricking her... three LC’s in the room using every trick and the book and none of us could get her to latch. All we succeeded in doing was upsetting her to the point of hysteria. Which is when I had to take a step back. The breastfeeding dyad between mother and child is a relationship, and I firmly believe in the importance of consent in any type of relationship. My daughter was clearly telling me NO, and I was not respecting her wishes. Being able to respect her NO helped me to find some peace in her sudden weaning. I was still nursing Pixie, who loved ‘milkies’, and I was still pumping, so both girls were still receiving the benefits of my milk. I became okay with Bug not nursing and we moved on.

Now the girls are almost 15 months old, and it is time for another change. It is time for me to give back the rental pump that has helped me to feed my girls. A lot of women hate pumping. I did too, in the beginning. But then there was a shift, and I came to value my pumping time. I was proud of the milk that I produced, and as I have weaned down my pumping sessions to just *gulp* one a day my heart has been a little sad to see the milk in the fridge dwindle. Pixie is still going strong, in fact, she’s teething right now so her favorite place to be is in my arms, drinking ‘milkies’. I’m hoping she and I can make it to two years, but if we don’t, I trust that I’ll find comfort in the memories of our time spent together in this way.

Welcome!

Hello readers! Let me introduce myself- I’m Amanda, and I am a babywearing, cloth diapering (sometimes), breastfeeding, pumping, two time graduate student, part-time pastor and pastor’s wife. But my greatest claim to fame is being the mama of my twin daughters, Auden and Amelia. Who from here on out will be affectionately referred to as the Pixie and the Bug!

This blog has been a long time coming- over a year ago two of my sisters encouraged me to start writing about my life and adventures with the Pixie and the Bug. But I have a confession- I’m a perfectionist. I wasted a wonderful, glorious, milestone-filled year waiting for The. Perfect. Time to start writing. And you know what? I never found it. First I thought I would launch this blog on the anniversary of the day I found out I was pregnant. When that didn’t happen, I thought I would try for the anniversary of the day my husband, the RevEv, and I found out we were expecting twins! But for whatever reason, that didn’t happen. Now here we are, over a year later, and I have had a day. It was far from perfect, but if I waited for the perfect day then nothing would ever happen. Because let’s face it- no day is perfect. But they are all memorable.

And so, dear reader, let me tell you about my day. I woke up and snuck downstairs to begin my morning pumping session (more on our breastfeeding journey later!) before the girls woke up, placing the RevEv on baby wake-up duty. I had to lead the weekly prayer circle at my church this morning so after changing diapers and getting the girls dressed I dashed off to work. When I returned home I loaded two very tired and cranky girls into The Van and headed to my alma mater for its summer music institute. Thankfully the girls took a nap in the car, but I had to wake them up when we arrived at the university so they were not in the best of moods upon entering the crowded building. At lunch time.

We found a table with some old friends who were eager to hold the girls but neither the Pixie nor the Bug were having it. They only wanted Mama. Which they expressed quite loudly, with loud protestations and big, fat tears. So I balanced them one on each knee while trying to simultaneously hold onto two bottles, tear up pieces of string cheese, and hold a conversation. Suddenly, my leg felt very, very hot. And wet. Bug’s diaper had flooded, again, all over my pants. “Oh God!” I exclaimed, but my conversation partner didn’t even notice- when you’re a pastor in a group of pastors God gets mentioned a lot- and I hastily excused ourselves and rushed up two flights of stairs to the chapel, the only space that lent itself to diaper changing.

It was around this time that Pixie underwent a full-blown separation anxiety attack and refuse to be put down without shrieking. Loudly. In a building with very tall ceilings and stone floors.

Things were looking up as we listened in on a musical rehearsal. The girls love music, and it wasn’t long before they were dancing around the front of the chapel, amusing the choir members. But then Bug figured out where the door was. You can see where this is going, right? Bug ran out the door- I ran after Bug- Pixie started crying because she was left behind. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

It was around that time I decided to call it a day and loaded everything up, wet shorts and all (did I mention Bug had been running around in her diaper and tank top because her shorts were soaked from the aforementioned diaper flood?) and escaped to The Van to go Home. I decided I deserved a special treat- the Starbucks kind. While waiting in the drive through I was reliving the events of the afternoon, all the little snafus that had occurred, and then I caught myself laughing. It was pretty ridiculous. And despite feeling hot and frazzled, I also felt incredibly blessed.

I was blessed with the opportunity to see friends that I haven’t seen in months, and in some cases, years. I was blessed to be part of such a loving community that embraces me and my daughters on our good days and not so good days. I was blessed because I had clean pants to change into when I got home, and a washing machine. Most importantly, I was blessed with these two remarkable little girls who fill my days with love and surprises.

Welcome, dear reader, into the crazy, often chaotic, far from perfect but still oh so wonderful life I get to share with the Pixie and the Bug. If you are family and friends that are trying to keep up with all of the adventures and changes these girls are experiencing, welcome. If you stumbled upon this page because you are a babywearing/cloth diapering/breastfeeding/pumping maybe even a pastor mama, welcome. If you are looking for something that will make you laugh, or cry, or maybe make you feel a little bit better or less alone in your own parenting journey, welcome.

Welcome, to The Pixie and the Bug!