“There’s heart beat no.1 and there’s heart beat no.2.”
That’s how the sonographer broke the news to us at the 8
week dating scan. No lubricating our feelings first or checking whether or not
either of us had any heart conditions to be aware of. Just straight out with
it. My first daughter was 10 months old. We’d spent a year trying to conceive
her, becoming sexual dynamos in the process and when we had no luck were about
to resort to intervention before I finally fell pregnant on our last attempt. We
were away for our wedding anniversary and Manly lost the footy, so my husband
and in the end both of us got lucky.
This time I was still breastfeeding and although we weren’t
really trying for another baby, we weren’t trying to prevent it either thinking
we probably had plenty of time, if it even happened at all, but when I started
feeling absolutely dreadful and my daughter was starting to wean off the
breast, I became suspicious. A home pregnancy test came up positive and the GP confirmed
it and sent me in for a scan to date the pregnancy. I knew exactly how far
along I was. I’d had only one menstrual cycle and we had sex once. We thought
we had at least 12 months of pressure free humping to enjoy, but it wasn’t to
be.
At the scan I saw the two heart beats and the two sacs
before the sonographer even spoke, but for a moment I thought it was a split
screen; the same image twice. Nup. Twins.
To say we were shocked is a giant understatement. Happy,
ecstatic even. We weren’t sure we’d have one child let alone three. We laughed
and laughed. Too much. Uncontrollably, at the scan….completely flummoxed and
…. freaking terrified. We spent that
night in complete silence, each in our own thoughts, wondering how the hell
this happened and the million things we would have to change to accommodate
twins. I threw up a lot.
At the 20 week scan we found out we were having two more girls.
At least we wouldn’t have to buy lots of new things like clothes. Not that we
ever really gender branded our daughter, but others did, giving us lots of pink
things, feminine things, supposedly. We also found out that one of the twins
had a cleft lip. The sonographer kept saying that it was only superficial, but
we wouldn’t know the exact extent until she was born. Just one more thing to
worry about. It turned out fine, it is superficial and will only need a day
surgery procedure.
The pregnancy went really well mostly. I didn’t have the
high blood pressure I had with my first and I was under the care of a private
obstetrician. I was a lot sicker in the first trimester, I threw up every day
and more than once; had a very short period of the blissful second trimester
and then the third trimester crept in and the discomfort really started.
Although they insisted I have regular scanning because the babies were
measuring small, it felt like I was carrying two baby elephants in my belly. I
felt heavy and sore and out of breath most of the time. I couldn’t sleep, it
hurt to roll over, I got tired walking and my abdomen, hips, back and knees
ached. All the while the babies kept measuring just under the required size on
their charts; charts developed in the 1950s that only accounted for a singleton
pregnancy. I did what they told me, but took it all at face value, knowing that
twins had to measure a little smaller to fit inside me. Most of the medical
professionals agreed with me off the record. My obstetrician was incredibly
reassuring and just urged me to rest as much as possible. I took her advice on
with gusto and it served me well. I was able to enjoy the last weeks of my
pregnancy in relative comfort and got them to 37 weeks. They were tiny compared
to my first, but were good weights and grew quickly.
The birth was very straight forward. A scheduled caesarean.
I knew what to expect sort of, having had one with my first, although with her
I laboured for 11 hours and only had the epidural in the last few. I got to 5cms
dilation and the baby started to show distress so we all agreed on surgery.
This time it was planned. The ob advised against waiting beyond 37 weeks. By
that stage I was eager to get them out too.
On the table everything went smoothly. Like with my first,
they took them out all bloody and slimy and showed me and after a quick check, letting
my husband cut their cords and wrapping them they gave them to me, laying them
across my neck and chest so that I could study and kiss their little faces and
hands and heads and meet them intimately. With all three girls they are the
moments immediately after birth that I’ll never forget. I will treasure that
elation forever. Soon after the twins came out though, I started to feel the
procedure. I’d had a spinal not an epidural, which comes on sooner and lasts a
shorter time and I found out later from the ob that my uterus wasn’t
contracting and so it was taking her longer to finish up. As soon as I told
them I was feeling the pain, they placed a mask over my face and knocked me
out. The ob finished the job with impeccable expertise and I woke up in ICU.
After a day or so I was transferred to the delivery ward and the babies were
released to me by the paediatrician and we were transferred to the maternity
ward to ‘room in’ for our six day recovery. This period too is one I remember
as blissful, with both births. To me, that hospital room became my cottage
sanctuary. I barely left the room and just got to know my babies and developed
my rituals and routines to start to get them to thrive whilst healing myself.
With the twins I had the luxury of a private suite with my own bathroom, which
definitely sped up my recovery in terms of how confident I was to nurture my
body and its hygiene and functions back to health. In short, I was able to work
on pooing without being disturbed; that’s all they want you to do after a
caesarean, they want you to poo. I guess to make sure everything is working and
back to where it should be and just as well because I was sure my bowels were
somewhere near my throat after that pregnancy.
I loved having my own
bathroom, but even at the public hospital with my first, I found this time of
rooming in with my baby to be absolutely exquisite. I enjoyed every minute. Ok
I was off my face on pain relief drugs both times, but it was just me and the
babies. I was being fed well and checked
on and fussed over, especially with the twins and I stayed in bed all day; although
I did force myself to have a shower and change my clothes every morning. That
is one thing I have continued and which has helped me to maintain my sanity.
With both births I made sure that despite having to care for newborns, I had a
shower every morning. Then I had a blank and not so sweaty slate to begin the
day. It was a really healthy ritual to adopt and when it is threatened by an
unruly baby, I knuckle down and get what I need to done to make that shower
happen.
I went home with the twins after six days, heavily
medicated. I was cruising; so happy to be home with my oldest daughter who I’d
missed terribly and her two new baby sisters. My husband was off work for a few
weeks, it was over the xmas period and suddenly we were a family of five.
Together we established some patterns, an extension of the rhythm I’d developed
in hospital and everything seemed to fall into place. With two adults caring
for three children, one of whom was rather independent and comfortable in her
routine, we found that things were going really smoothly. We mostly dealt with
one baby each. I directed my husband, he was my extra set of hands. We had
this.
Then my husband went back to work and I’ll never forget that
first day completely on my own with three children under two. To my surprise, I
coped. It was a good day. Bit rough around the edges at times, but I’d survived
and was confident I would be ok. As time went on though, things started to slip
from my grasp. The medication ran out. I went from being heavily sedated and
pain free to depending on over the counter stuff that didn’t even touch the
sides. I was eating them like lollies with little to no effect. The surgery
scar and my uterus ached, especially with each feed which was happening every
two hours now. In hospital I was on a schedule. You can do that with newborns,
but as they get bigger and start to demand feed, it starts to get more
frequent. Soon I was exhausted and I found it really hard to keep up with them
all during the day. The oldest one still needed my attention and her routine
observed and the babies were on a constant feed, change, settle pattern. I
needed to eat and drink often and I was in pain. I was a little sleep deprived,
but was resting during the elder’s nap. It was tiring and hard, but I was still
pushing through. My parents visited regularly so I wasn’t always coping on my
own. They were an extra two sets of hands and evened up the ratio; one adult
per child. It was always harder to go back to doing it by myself.
Then the breastfeeding issues started. Suddenly I was having
excruciating pain. It coincided with me trying to cut down on analgesics. My surgery
pain was dissipating, but my nipples and breasts were killing me. I’d had
absolutely no issues breastfeeding my first. I tried to understand what was
happening and put it down to having to feed two babies so frequently. With my first I gave her one breast at a time
until she became expert and then offered her two. She was content and fulfilled
and slept well in the day, feeding every three or four hours. These guys got a
boob each and became accustomed to snacking. By the time I fed both, changed
and settled them, they were almost due for another feed. There was no time to
recover from feeding injuries either. If they latched poorly and my nipples
cracked, tough luck, I had to feed them again in two hours and there was no
giving one side a break. It became a vicious cycle. I’d feed them and they’d
latch badly, my nipples would be sore and cracked so I’d take them off early.
They’d wake up sooner as they quickly digested the milk they drank and caused
more damage at the next feed, especially if I made them wait too long and
aggravated them with my hesitancy; it made them suck poorly and aggressively. I
used balms and ice and gel pads. I tried different positions, but nothing
worked. I was reluctant to pump, formula was out of the question if I wanted to
stick with the breastfeeding, I bought shields, but couldn’t work out how to use
them. I was a complete mess. The lead up to every breastfeed was riddled with
anxiety and the aftermath was utter shock.
I rang the hospital, but by this stage the babies were over
six weeks old and the hospital couldn’t help me. I saw the nurses at the baby
clinic, but in their haste to support me ended up dismissing my issues telling
me that as long as they put on weight and pooed and peed, there was no issue.
But there was an issue; a big one. While the babies thrived because I was
pushing through the pain to feed them, I
was in agony and my emotional health was deteriorating. Finally I read up about
vasospasm and someone suggested breast warmers and I called in a private lactation
consultant. She confirmed the diagnosis and after wearing the warmers for one
day the pain was completely gone. It was the magic solution I thought didn’t
exist. They still don’t latch as well as they should, but we’re working on
that. I can’t believe I was using the gel pads OUT OF THE FRIDGE instead of
warming my breasts. I was actually contributing to the narrowing of the vessels in
my breasts - insane!
So everything is now starting to align. As they get bigger,
they are more settled and we as parents are more confident, especially me when
I’m by myself with all three. I’ve even been out on my own a few times,
although I do feel like a bit of a circus freak. There is genuine fascination
with twins and people literally stop you to see them and talk to you about
them. It’s mostly very sweet and polite and people are really sensitive about
the cleft too; they don’t mention it, but I do. I’m not ashamed. She’s
beautiful. In fact I’m a bit in love with it and will miss her mangled bubble
blowing grin when it’s gone.
The twins are now 3 months old and are still on a very tight
feed, change, play and settle schedule during the day, but are mostly sleeping
through the night, waking once sometimes for a feed. I know this will change
with teething and illness and the dreaded move into the big girl’s room. I
can’t imagine how I’m going to get them all to sleep in the same room.
The hardest thing I find is that I only have two hands and
after sort of attachment parenting my first, I’ve had to let these babies cry a
bit more, simply because I can’t get to them in time or pick both of them up at
the same time and soothe them. I grieve the cuddles, the baby wearing, the
sitting on the couch for ages playing with one baby, the feeding and rocking a
baby to blissful sleep, one on one. There’s not a lot of time for that and it’s
physically impossible. Like I said to my ob when she told me she imagined it
was like triage; it’s actually like spinning plates. You pick up the baby that
is crying the hardest, calm her, put her down and pick up the other one should
she need you too. You use your feet and your teeth when you need to; to rock
bassinets, to hold onto bibs or nappies, to pick stuff up off the floor. You
push doors closed with your chin, nudge things with your elbow and bum and you
move a lot; constant activity. All. The. Time.
I have swinging rocker chairs and high chairs and play cots and mats and
toys and music boxes, but babies want their mum to pick them up and cuddle them
and gaze into their eyes exclusively and tell them they’re safe and you can
only do that one child at a time. So in this house, one or two children at a
given time are sometimes screaming in distress and a mother is physiologically
programmed to respond to a crying baby, it triggers an emergency response in
your brain and until you learn to interpret the cry and you develop over time
the ability to stay calm and respond rationally, you go into extreme panic mode
when that baby starts screaming. It is evolution, it’s how the baby survives.
Sometimes I see them all competing. One baby will start to
whine and she gets my attention. The other baby will eye ball me and start to
call out, so I go to her. The other baby cries a little harder, I soothe her.
The other escalates. Before too long the bigger one joins in because if the
babies get mum’s attention by screaming she figures she should do it too and
it’s a symphony. So I shout with them, I sing loudly or just match their tone
and volume like a mad woman. I try to reason, to bargain WITH INFANTS, “Please
wait, I’ve only got two hands, I’ll be with you in a minute. If you just be
patient, I won’t be long. It’s alright sweet heart, I’m right here. Hang on a
minute….for Pete’s sake just wait…oh far
out just WAIT…. JUST WAIT….I’M COMING.” I try to resist escalating and cursing
myself.
When it’s bad, it’s pretty dismal. That few weeks when I was
in constant pain and finding my feet, frustrated that the breastfeeding was
failing, confused about finding a solution, feeling completely isolated and
alone, being screamed at constantly by irrational newborns and a completely
unreasonable toddler nearly broke me. However, when it’s good, it’s bliss.
Three beautiful smiling faces, all content and settled beaming up at me, gazing
at each other. The prospect of these three girls growing into women side by
side fills me with sheer joy, the scale of which I never envisaged I’d
experience.
I’ve only got two hands and three babes. I can’t hold them
physically all at once, even though I’ve tried and we ended up in an awkward
heap on the bed. I can certainly hold them all though; in my eyes and with my gaze, in my mind and thoughts, in my heart with all my being.
