Things to remember: 13 weeks

Duckling:

• Giggles
• Loves his giraffe blankie; rubs it on his face and smiles so sweetly
• Somehow abraded his baby toe on the right side, looks really sore, doctor unconcerned
• Can move a distance of two to three feet in his sleep, in the direction of his feet, and it only takes him five or six hours
• Has beautiful chipmunk cheeks
• Has a bald spot on the back of his head
• Poos every two days
• Sleeps from 10 pm to 6 am (most of the time)
• Smiles when he sees me
• Breastfeeds a lot, bottlefeeds a little, has a break, then finishes his bottle 20 minutes later
• Smiles huge while bottlefeeding, usually means he has to burp
• Started fussing in the stroller, so that I carry him in the Moby wrap and push Pin in the stroller
• Likes me to sing to him. Itsy Bitsy Spider is a favourite
• Weighs 14 lb 10 oz

Pin:

• Coos and 'talks' to us
• Spits up lots of milk while burping: Burp + barf = 'burf'
• Rotates in his sleep, sometimes 90 degrees in the night
• Poos twice a day
• Has a bald spot on the back of his head
• Has a big happy smile, so beautiful
• Can curl his toes so tightly that the tips touch the bottom of his foot
• Breastfeeds a little, bottlefeeds until he's full
• Goes to sleep in the stroller
• Sleeps from 10 pm to 6 am, most of the time
• Likes his tummy tickled
• Likes me to sing to him. Itsy Bitsy Spider is a favourite
• Weighs 14 lb 5 oz
• Tries to nurse through my clothes when I hold him across my chest, even though he's not hungry. Makes a big drooly spot on my breast
• Holds milk in his mouth which drools out when he smiles

Moving with babies

We recently (one week ago) moved to a new house in a new city, with three cats, two babies, and a shitload of stuff that we definitely should have thrown away five years ago.

We bought the house in February, before the babies were born, and it was a somewhat hasty decision in that there wasn't a lot available in the town where we wanted to live, so I looked at three, got S to look at the best of the bunch, and we bought it. I was hugely pregnant and exhausted, and perhaps not as picky or analytical as I would have been at any other time of my life. Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled with our new town and I like the house well enough, it's just that it's smaller than I thought and I'm having a hard time fitting all our stuff in, especially the kitchen. I can't figure out why. The house is larger, we have more storage, and on paper we should be able to fit all our crap I mean treasured possessions in with no trouble. Not the case, sadly. I keep finding odd things, like the shelves in the kitchen cupboards are fairly close together, so things like olive oil and pepper mills don't fit.

We hired a contractor to do some renovations before we moved in. There was a gap of two months from purchase to move, which should have been ample time for what we wanted done but as always, things did not go as planned and there are still a number of things to be done, adding to the chaos. I moved in with the cats and the babies on Saturday, with S and the contents of our house to follow on Tuesday. We are now living in a pile of boxes and chaos, with very little time to organize ourselves because Duckling and Pin are my main focus and I spend a lot of time looking after them. We've had three days of peace because of the long weekend, but the workmen are back tomorrow and the noise and dust start again. I'm dreading it.

A good thing about moving with three-month-old babies is that they don't seem to notice that they are in a new place. They have me, they have their dad, they still sleep wherever I put them down, and they seem quite happy with life in general. The cats are not so easy going, and were traumatized for a few days but now are entertaining themselves by leaping in the piles of packing paper and finding new places to hide and sleep. They are also getting along much better than before; they don't pick on each other and there are no midnight cat fights to contend with.

Once we get unpacked I think we will have a great life here, in our new beautiful community. It's smaller than our previous city, but has so much to do that I don't think we'll miss our old place at all.

If only we could find the cutlery.

She should have her own reality show

When Duckling and Pin were five days old, we went back to the hospital for an appointment with a lactation consultant. Breastfeeding is really hard, and breastfeeding twins is even harder, especially when you have no idea what you are doing. I had been home for two days, and was breastfeeding the boys on demand.

Duckling had been diagnosed with jaundice a couple of days after birth, but was deemed well enough to go home. I had been advised to supplement with formula to help with the jaundice, but was determined to breastfeed as much as possible. Pin had raised bilirubin levels, but not as high as Duckling, and was never officially diagnosed with jaundice.

The night before the appointment with the lactation consultant, Duckling refused a feed, and in fact did not really wake up properly. I put him in my nightgown for some kangaroo care, and he took the next feed so I wasn't too worried.

When we got to the appointment, I described Duckling's behaviour and they were immediately concerned. They checked his diaper and saw dark orange urine, and did a test to check his bilirubin, which was even more elevated. He hadn't gained any weight since discharge, and all in all looked like a sick baby. I was shocked. I had no idea he was not doing well, and in fact thought I was doing so well by breastfeeding him. I didn't know that he was sucking but not really eating, and didn't know how to tell the difference.

Enter the nurse practitioner from the NICU. She crackled with energy, took a history, and tried immediately to create a rapport with me by telling me that she too had fertility issues. She then told me that he was dehydrated because I wasn't feeding him properly. She made me feel like a terrible mother, that I had made him sick by not taking appropriate care of him, which sent me over the edge into hysteria. She called for blood tests, she called for bili-lights, she did everything except yell 'stat' at the nurses. She got things accomplished, but with the end result of further overwhelming an already overwhelmed, post-surgery, new mom of twins. I didn't stop crying for hours. Duckling was admitted for jaundice, which meant Pin and I stayed too. We had a private room and the isolette for Duckling, and a cot for Pin. S had to go home and get my things, and there we were, back in the hospital two days after leaving.

I guess I had been instructed on what to look for to let me know if the babies were not doing well, but I have no recollection of this. I didn't know to check, or even how to check, that they were swallowing and not just sucking, and I didn't know that they weren't latched on properly. I knew to check for wet diapers, but didn't know the difference between 'kind of wet' and 'soaked'. I truly thought I was doing a fabulous job. The whole experience left me doubting my abilities to feed my boys myself, and I have never had the confidence to stop supplementing with formula, with the end result that I was never able to produce enough milk for both babies. I'm still breastfeeding them both, but I follow it immediately with bottles of formula. I have so much guilt about this, I can't even describe it. I resent using formula, and I detest all the washing, sterilizing and filling of bottles. I don't like anybody else (except S) to give bottles to the boys, because I still believe it is my job to feed them.

I know that nurse practitioner was doing a great job at ensuring my baby got the care he needed, but I wish I could tell her just how terrible she made me feel.

Groundhog Day

Life with twins is certainly busy, but nothing ever seems to get done. Usually S works from home and can help me, but the days when he is in the office are hectic:

Between 4 and 5 am: Pin and Duckling wake up together and cry. Pick up whichever one is hollering the loudest. Put bottle in hot water to warm and start breastfeeding. When he is done breastfeeding, start bottle feeding. Keep talking to the other one to try and stop him from crying (never works). Change the one you have just finished feeding and put him back in his swaddle and into the crib. Hope he falls asleep.

5:45 am: Repeat above with other baby. S brings me a cup of tea and sometimes breakfast, if I am hungry that early. Kiss S goodbye and envy the fact that he can leave the house and go to work and GO OUT FOR LUNCH WITH HIS COLLEAGUES

6:30 am: Go back to sleep and drool heavily onto the pillow. Wake up in a soggy patch to crying babies.

9:30 am: Pick up whichever one is hollering the loudest. Put bottle in hot water to warm and start breastfeeding. When he is done breastfeeding, start bottle feeding. Keep talking to the other one to try and stop him from crying. Change the one you have just finished feeding and put him beside you on the the bed to play for a little while. They are happy and smiling this time of day.

10:15 am: Repeat above with other baby. Swaddle first baby and put him down for his nap and hope he doesn't cry.

11:00 am: Play with second baby, swaddle, and put him down for his nap.

11: 15 am: If both boys are sleeping, eat, shower, and wash bottles from night before. Otherwise try and soothe whoever is crying. Try and remember to change into clean pyjamas, otherwise just wear ones with spit up all down the front.

1:00-2:30 pm: Feed the boys, change and play.

2:30-5:00 pm: Throw in a load of laundry. Put away laundry from two days prior. Think about supper. Slouch about the house aimlessly doing chores and paying attention to three needy cats. Think about supper some more. Eat a bowl of cereal and make more tea. Realize that you haven't boiled water for more bottles, and put the kettle on so that it will cool by the time you need to make bottles.

5:00-6:30 pm: Feed, change and play with boys.

6:30-10:30 pm: Boys intermittently eat and fuss for four hours, and one of them is always needing to be picked up. S comes home around 8:30, and immediately picks up whoever I am not holding and keeps him company until the final bedtime feeding. Throw together a feeble supper, or reheat leftovers. Realize the boys haven't been bathed in two or three days and vow to do it tomorrow.

10:30-11:30 pm: Make bottles and put in fridge. Assemble bottles and freezer packs in a cooler, and fill a thermos with hot water for night-time feedings. Make a cup of tea, fill large water glass and place on nightstand.

11:30 pm: Get in bed, read, fall asleep. Wait for boys to wake up and start the process all over again.

June Cleaver, eat your heart out.

Mother's Day at the Museum

For Mother's Day, after a delicious omelet breakfast in bed, two pink gerber daisies from the boys and a lovely new coffee mug, S decided that we should go to the museum. This entailed the usual packing for the millenium because there is no pick up and go when you have infant twins. We need to bring food (my boobs and some bottles for back up), a way to heat the bottles (my boobs are always warm), diapers, change of clothing, change pad, wipes, bibs, blankets (thick and thin), large stroller, hats and extra socks because you never know when a sock will disappear into the molecules.

Once they were fed and changed into their new two-piece pyjama outfits, one yellow and one blue, with matching socks, we loaded them into the car along with the aforementioned paraphernalia and started the drive. Five minutes into the drive S realized that he didn't have his wallet, that in fact he had no idea where it could be, and worked himself into a frenzy of oh my god my wallet is lost. We turned around, drove back to the house, found the wallet in approximately 2.5 seconds and started out for the museum. Crisis averted.

Pin started crying immediately upon arrival. We headed to the cafeteria to get drinks and feed the boys, both of whom were in slow-mo and took approximately forever to to eat. Eventually, both were fed and changed and we headed up into the museum proper to begin the enjoyment. First stop, the Wedgwood exhibit. I managed to admire one objet d'art when Pin started crying again. I walked at breakneck speed in circles through the exhibit, hoping the motion would soothe him while whizzing past gorgeous pottery. I whirled through the exhibit over and over, admiring on the fly, but Pin was not to be distracted. I finally pulled him out of the stroller and carried him upon which he immediately fell asleep. I put him back in the stroller and resumed my frenzied circle of the exhibit, but he started crying again and this time S carried him until he fell asleep. This was repeated through the Art Deco exhibit, the European collection and the Bat Cave. Duckling remained asleep through the entire visit, but he managed to do a huge poop; the smell emanating from his side of the stroller was powerful enough to peel paint and I'm surprised we weren't asked to leave before we damaged any of the exhibits. Not wanting to tackle it on one of those rickety fold down changing platforms in the washroom, we decided to pack it in and take them home.

Babies change your life in ways you can't even imagine

Adventures in cloth diapering

When I first got pregnant we went to one of those baby product shows, with row after row of stroller companies, baby music classes, glitzy cribs, slick sales people exhorting us to 'buy now'! Buy now or risk NEVER finding this must-have product ever again and failing as a parent and your kids will be dumb and poorly nourished and face it, NOT CUTE ENOUGH.

I happily resisted everything until we got to the cloth diaper display. They were cute, and colourful, and so darn ecological, economical, and clearly the right thing to do that I was immediately hooked. I talked to the women running the booth for ages, hearing about their personal experiences with cloth diapering, and learning about the different kinds. A lot of thought and a few e-mail exchanges later, I decided to invest in some newborn and small Bummi diaper covers and prefold inserts.

The newborns were a writeoff. The babies' legs were so skinny that I couldn't cinch the diapers tight enough to stop leaks without squashing their little bellies (or so it seemed to me). By the time their legs were fat enough to fit the diapers the newborn size was too small, so I tried the small, which seemed huge but still closed around the legs ok. However, I couldn't stop them from either being wet around the leg gusset or downright leaking, no matter how I folded the insert or fastened the tabs. After one spectacularly poopy diaper episode, that squished out both the leg openings and up the back, I gave up. I feel terrible about using disposables for enviromental reasons, but twins are so time consuming and generate so much laundry on the best of days that I just couldn't hack it.

Bummies kicked my ass.

Things to remember: 10 weeks

A list of things to remember about my babies, at almost 10 weeks of age.

Duckling:

• Poos huge messy green diaper-escaping smelly poops, that often get on his feet and up his back
• Smiles so big while he's eating so that he can't suck
• Has a hydrocele around his right testicle
• Coos and gurgles
• Sometimes bleats like a goat
• Makes a 'yup yup yup' sound while eating
• Has a fat little belly, a double chin, huge cheeks and dimples on his knuckles deep enough to hold water
• Nurses with great determination, latches on and bites down and gulps
• Flares his nostrils and breathes hard when he's about to wake up
• Has redder skin than his brother
• Drools and makes spit bubbles
• Nicknamed Bubbles

Pin:

• Has smaller, yellow, thicker poos, easy to clean up and not too smelly
• Has an inguinal hernia on his left side
• Is in a terrific smiley mood after his breakfast
• Is easily distracted while nursing, lets go and has to be coaxed back on the breast
• Has very pale skin that marbles red when he is cool
• Makes a chirping noise in his sleep like a smoke detector that is running low on batteries
• Cries loudly and furiously when he is hungry and when his diaper is taken off
• Likes his bath as long as he is not hungry
• Makes a 'hoooo' sound when yawning
• Nicknamed Loudy
• Has fat thighs
• Can move himself down the bed in his sleep by throwing his legs up and down
• Has a bald spot on the back of his head

Another trip to the ER

S was changing Pin a couple of days ago and noticed a huge lump just above and to the left of his penis. He immediately called me to have a look, and I took one look and was on the phone to the paediatrician within minutes. She was unavailable, but her fabulous assistant was able to contact her on her cell and run the problem by her. She made a preliminary diagnosis of hernia and advised us to go to the emergency department at our local children's hospital to have it checked out.

Unlike the last time, we didn't panic. We fed both the boys, packed their diaper bag with more food and diapers, and calmly proceeded to the children's hospital and parked in the lot. We proceeded to triage, lined up at the appropriate computer without being prompted, and this time were registered immediately. We were seen by triage within 5 minutes and told to wait in the waiting room for assessment. We saw the intake nurse about 10 minutes after that, and after the usual questions, weight, temperature and preliminary examination were issued with a hospital bracelet and told to wait for our turn. And wait we did. I know Pin was low on the triage scale, not being in any pain, or bleeding, or showing any sign of discomfort at all, but we had to wait 7 hours to see a doctor. SEVEN HOURS.

We ran out of food. We ran out of diapers. We definitely ran out of patience. I started haunting the triage nurse, asking her how many people were ahead of us, and could she get us some formula. I breastfed them as much as possible, but not having the greatest milk supply this was not a solution to two hungry crying babies. S went out to try and buy some more formula, but apparently downtown Toronto is not the baby-friendly mecca you would imagine it to be, and there was no formula to be found.

Just as I was once again bugging the nurse to find us some formula, we were called in to see the doctor. They took one look, diagnosed a hernia (uh huh) and referred us to the general surgery clinic because an inguinal (groin) hernia can become 'stuck' and needs to be surgically repaired as soon as possible. By 'as soon as possible' I mean that the general surgery clinic will call us within 2 weeks with an initial consult appointment, and schedule us for surgery after that.

In the meantime, every time we change his diaper we have to push the hernia back into his stomach, to make sure it isn't stuck. It makes a little popping sensation when it goes back in, and sometimes we can feel liquid moving through the intestine as we push on it. It gives both of us the willies to do it but we do it faithfully because we are so scared of it getting stuck. If it's stuck, part of his bowel will not get oxygen and will start to decay, causing Pin to become ill and have pain and to need emergency surgery. I feel so sick that he has to have surgery; the thought of my sweet little boy having general anaesthetic and postsurgical pain and possible complications is nauseating. At the same time, I want him to have the surgery as soon as possible so that it doesn't get trapped and start to decay.

Cutting the Cords

Guest post by my husband, S

The first 2 months with the twins, and perhaps a week prior to their arrival, has been a whirlwind. I feel like Tony Shaloub's character, Fred Kwan, in Galaxy Quest on traveling through space in a pod — "That was a hell of a thing." And yet somewhere inside me, Sam Rockwell's Guy Fleegman character also comes bubbling up: "AAAAARRRRRGGGAAAAGGGGHHHAHHHHH".

It's hard to keep a clear memory of what happened in those exciting, hyper-stimulated days and nights in February and beyond. I recall the wonderful experience my wife and I had during labour, an experience that forever changed my life. I greatly love, admire and respect S, and this bond grew deep and inward in ways I cannot describe during the 16 hours of labour.

The caesarean delivery that lay at the end of this experience was as shocking as the labour had been affirming. Nothing can prepare you for the war zone chaos of an OR during a caesarean delivery of twins. Two teams of doctors, nurses, anaesthetists, and interns are required; one team for each baby. I cannot imagine the melee of birthing triplets or more.

I held up pretty well, at least at the beginning. The crowd was getting to me, and the mask was making me feel claustrophobic, but I was doing ok. The experience immediately struck me as a surreal one. I guess I was expecting it to be surreal, but until it happened, it was hard to quantify it. This was Dali surrealism: melting clocks and human faces morphing into spaniels.

And then a couple of high pitched squeaks.

Duckling emerged from behind a doctor as he carried him to an attending nurse. He did not look real at all. I was expecting him to be a slimy and reddish, but I was surprised by his large size and his purple/whitish silver colour. He was quickly wiped down and weighed, then thrust under a heat lamp like a burger and fries, ready to be picked up by the waitress. As Pin caught my peripheral vision, I recall a nurse asking me if I wanted to cut the cord for Duckling. I leapt at the chance, compelled out of a sense that this act gave me a bona fide reason to contribute to the OR staff chaos.

The umbilical cord was tough, like cutting through thick, wet leather. The memory of it stays with me, but at the time it did not feel like this magical, bonding moment that I had hoped it would be. Yet, somehow, I know that this moment will indeed endure.