How We Roll with Twins: Feeding

When I found out I was having twins, I desperately wished someone would tell me exactly how they handled having two babies at once.  I would walk up to total strangers if they had kids who looked to be the same age and upon confirming that they had in fact survived baby-dom with twins, I hit them with a barrage of questions that could put even the longest tax form to shame.

Me, looking for all the answers.

With the exception of a few wonderful friends (both old and new), I mostly received vague bits of wisdom in answer to all my queries.

“You’ll be fine; it’s exactly like having one baby except there are two.”

“It gets so much easier once they are older.”

And my personal favorite:

“We found a night nurse to be invaluable.” [Chris’ comment on that?  “Umm, isn’t that what you’ll be doing?”]

Of course, now that I’ve been through the first few months of motherhood with twins, I realize it is not just possible, but quite likely, that we mothers of twins forget exactly what it’s like at the beginning.  So for anyone who is interested or is expecting twins and desperately needs to know, here is how we fed our twin boys.  Exactly.

Breastfeeding

Before I had the boys, I always pictures myself nursing them.  I breastfed both of my girls exclusively for the first 9 or 10 months and loved it.  I loved the bonding time, and more than that I loved not needing to worry about cleaning/heating bottles or measuring formula in the middle of the night.  I was hopeful that I would find a way to nurse both boys at the same time, as I knew the time it would take to nurse them separately would border on impossible.

Once I actually had the twins in my arms, it became apparent that I would need to nurse each baby separately, at least to start with.  Ryan seemed to take to nursing pretty quickly, but Joel had a very difficult time latching.  By the end of our hospital stay, I had gotten both boys to latch at the same time exactly once, and that was with the help of 6 pillows, two blankets, and a lactation consultant.

When we came home from the hospital, I diligently tried to nurse each baby every three hours.  After 24 hours home, neither baby had had a wet or dirty diaper, but both appeared to have a healthy set of lungs which they used simultaneously to alert us of their displeasure.  We ended up giving each boy one of those ready made 2 oz formula samples, which they sucked down like they hadn’t had a proper meal in days (perhaps they hadn’t).

After several visits with a lactation specialist, a lot of frustration and an enormous amount of shame and guilt, I stopped my failed attempts at nursing.  This was not an easy thing for me to do, and it didn’t help that the ‘literature’ the hospital sent us home with bordered on propaganda with its formula and bottle shaming.  In the end, I threw out every piece of paper that made me feel like a contender for worst parent in the world if I couldn’t breastfeed exclusively, and kept the few pages which offered practical information on storing pumped breastmilk and how many ounces a day a newborn should be eating.  I decided that what was best for my babies was whatever kept my family the most sane, which for us, was bottle-feeding.

**I should note that I know several mothers of twins who successfully breastfed, which is spectacular!  But this is not the right place to come for information on how that works.

Bottle-feeding

The trickiest part about bottle-feeding was figuring out how to feed both boys at once.  Following the most oft given advice on twins: feed one, feed both, sleep one, sleep both, we wanted to make sure the boys ate at the same time.  For the first few weeks, Chris and I were both present at every feeding, each feeding one boy.

But alas, Chris couldn’t stay home from work forever.  And even if he could have, both of us getting up at night for every feeding was taking its toll.  We found that the easiest way for one of us to feed both boys was to sit on the floor (or bed or couch) and lay the boys on their backs on either side of us.  We always put their heads on burp cloths in case one or both babies forgot how to swallow mid bottle and was secretly just drooling all the milk down the side of his face.  I won’t name any names.  Joel.

An early technique.

It’s not a perfect system: the boys are pretty much flat on their backs but for the minor incline caused by my rear end sinking further into the mattress than theirs.  I’m not sure what the effects of flat-on-your-back-eating are, but it’s something we are willing to risk.  It’s worth it to preserve the schedule.

Yup, I just said schedule.  I know a lot of moms prefer to feed their babies on demand.  That’s wonderful.  Your babies are eating!  I also know a lot of moms prefer to feed on a schedule.  That’s wonderful.  Your babies are eating!

For me, putting the boys on a four hour feeding schedule was the key to my sanity.  Because the girls have school and extra curriculars that we need to work around, I decided to nudge the boys toward a 7, 11, 3, 7 feeding schedule.  The times are not set in stone, but on a typical day, the boys eat within a half hour of those times.  They have been on this schedule since they were about 5 weeks old.

And I love the predictability.  Love.  It.  I love knowing exactly when I will need to have bottles ready, and when I will need to find a place to feed the boys.  Because it is rather difficult to feed them both at the same time when we are out of the house, I usually plan to be home during those times or with a friend who can feed one baby. 

The schedule also ensures that the boys are not hungry and desperate for a bottle during a time when I can’t feed them (i.e. if I’m walking Allie to/from school or getting Coco on or off the bus).

Finally, I’ve found that for us, the 4 hour feeding schedule works really well with the boys’ naps.  More on sleep later.

Currently, Ryan and Joel are almost 4 months old, and they take about 6 ounces per feeding during the day, plus a 4 ounce bottle at night.  Depending on when they wake at night, I sometimes split their morning feeding in order to preserve the 7, 11, 3, 7 schedule.  For instance, if they wake at 5 am, they might have 4 oz then, and another 4 oz closer to 8 so that they’ll be okay until 11 am.

Pumping

Let’s not sugar coat this.  Pumping sucks.  Ha!  In more ways than one.  It evilly combines all the disadvantages of bottle feeding without any of the advantages of breastfeeding.  [Obviously with one exception: your baby is getting breastmilk, which is amazing!]

When you are pumping, you still have to deal with washing and heating bottles, and you also have to deal with finding a discreet place when you are out in public.  Not only do you have to find the time to feed your baby, you have to find the time to pump.  Which means waking up in the morning before the baby does, using baby’s nap times for pumping instead of sleeping or getting things done, and can still result in being hooked up to a pump whilst your baby, or in my case babies, scream in their cribs.

I pumped for three months with the boys and was able to provide breastmilk for about half of their diet.  So I just chose my favorite boy and gave it all to him.  Kidding, kidding!  They each got breastmilk about every other bottle.

It was wonderful providing the benefits of breastmilk to the boys, and it was worth it to give up every moment of potential free time to do it…until it wasn’t.  I gave up pumping because I wanted to sleep until the babies woke up in the morning.  I wanted to be able to watch a show at night with Chris without the ‘psh psh psh psh’ of the pump as background noise.  I wanted to take the kids to the zoo all day without worrying about finding a place to pump.  I wanted to spend more time playing with the boys.  I wanted to have time to sit around and drink coke and read.  I mean, exercise.  The disadvantages of pumping began to outweigh the benefits of feeding the boys breastmilk, and for me, it was time to stop.

Bottom line?  If you are happy pumping, that’s awesome, keep going!  Your baby is eating!  If you are not happy pumping and you want to give your baby formula, that’s awesome.  Your baby is eating!

This blog post is entirely too long—get to the point.

In short, my advice on feeding twins is this:
 1.  Feed them at the same time.
 2.  Use a 4 hour feeding schedule.  (A lot of twins start their lives in the NICU and are on a 4 hour feeding schedule from birth anyway!)
3.   I’m not going to lie.  That night nurse would have been nice.

These boys are fed formula on a schedule.  Do you see how they suffer!?!

The First Two Months

Countless girls want to have twins when they grow up.  I lost track of the number of women who see my boys in their double stroller and say, “Aww, I always thought it would be fun to have twins!”

Twins are so easy.

And it is fun.  Double the smiles.  Double the cuddles.  Double those sweet little expressions they make when they are sleeping.  The myriad of Halloween costumes that are now available:  Batman and Robin, Thing 1 and Thing 2, peas and carrots.  Whatever suits your fancy.  So.  Much.  Fun.

Yay!  Fun!

 But also, I am beginning to suspect, having twins is a lot like doing a triathlon.  For 18 years.  Granted, I don’t run unless something is chasing me and I don’t like to put my face in the water, but I do like to bike.  Also, I have twins, so bear with me on the analogy for a moment.

Because when you have twins you are always exhausted, rarely stop moving, and often wonder whether you are going to make it.  You don’t have time to eat.  Or pee.  And you desperately need a shower but have come to grips with the fact that it’s just not going to happen as often as it should.

Now that the boys are two months old, I have just enough perspective and almost enough sleep to look back on our first weeks and make some semi-rational observations about our life with twins thus far.

I think the hardest thing about having twins is that there are two of them.  Just when you get one baby changed, dressed and down the stairs, you realize there is another one waiting none too patiently in his crib for the same.  Every time you pick up one sweet baby and start to cuddle him, you are leaving his sweet brother lying forlornly next to you on the bed/couch/floor/bouncer not being cuddled.  And every time you watch your little boy drift into peaceful, limp armed, smiling-with-his-dimple sleep, there is a good chance your other little boy is staring at you wide eyed from the confinement of his baby-burrito wondering loudly why he can no longer move his arms.  And when you go out?  (If you go out)  There are still two babies.  Plus two pumpkin seats, two blankies, two binkies, two bottles, and 8 diapers. 

Always two.

For the first few weeks, I felt constantly outnumbered and overwhelmed.  I spent much of those first days home crying.  I cried because I was tired and hormonal, but also because I didn’t know how we were going to do it.  How was I going to spend quality time with each of our four kids?  How would I keep everybody fed and clothed and clean?  I literally thought I would never leave the house again.  I vaguely remember saying exactly that:  I was sitting on the bed surrounded by babies, ugly-crying with red eyes and a runny nose.  Between sobs I told Chris, “I am *sniff* never *sniff* going to be able to *sniff* go anywhere *sniff* again.  Ever. *sob*”

But then those first days and weeks passed.  Our truly amazing friends brought us food and diapers and took our daughters to do fun things.  My mom came, helped for a week, and took the girls back to Washington with her for vacation.  Chris’ mom and dad watched the boys one evening so we could go out.  Our amazing friends brought more amazing food.  Our house did not explode and nobody, that I know of, felt unloved or under-cared for.  We survived. 

While Chris and I are still bleary eyed and dreaming (figuratively of course) of longer stretches of sleep, the boys are thriving.  They are healthy, happy, and (I don’t meant to brag) pretty darn adorable.  They enjoy chewing on their fists, smiling, cooing, tummy time, and having their sisters’ faces three inches from their own at almost every waking moment.  We couldn’t be happier with our ‘little’ family of six.

The boys enjoying their sisters and vice versa.

But if having twins is like doing a triathlon, having twins plus two overzealous girls is like running a marathon.  In a tornado.  With glitter.  More on that later.

Tilt your head to the right to see two thriving boys.

This may not be our first rodeo, but it kind of feels like it is…

Chris and I did not take the decision to have a third child lightly.  We went back and forth a lot.  The girls are getting so much easier in so many ways.  They get themselves up on the weekends and make their own breakfasts, so we can sleep in.  We don’t have to worry about diapers, bottles or being home in time for naps.  When we run errands, I take only my small wallet.  When we go somewhere overnight, we no longer need a semi-truck to cart around various baby paraphernalia.

We questioned whether we wanted to ‘start all over’ with the baby stage.  In the end, we decided it would be worth it.  I’ve spoken to multiple people who wish they had another child.  I have yet to meet a parent who said, “Oh man, I wish we hadn’t had that third one!”

Besides, we figured this baby would be a breeze compared to the first two.  With Allison, we had just one baby at home, and life was relatively simple.  Of course, we were first time parents and had no idea that life was relatively simple.  I was overwhelmed by nap schedules (or lack there of) and diapers and nursing.  When Nicole came a long, we pretty much had the whole baby thing worked out but were unprepared to add the toddler into the mix.

My thought was that our third child would be so much younger than Allie and Nicole that it would basically be like having one baby again but with the advantage of knowing how easy we had it.  Good thinking, right?

Except I think this is what happened:  Karma and Fate were somewhere out there hanging out, and they witnessed my cocky can-do-girls-and-maybe-even-a-boy attitude.  One nudged the other with his elbow and said, “Heh, heh.  Dude, you know what would be funny?”

**********************

Our first ultrasound with this pregnancy was back in December when we were 8 weeks along.  My doctor said we would try to see the heart beat, and make sure it was just one baby.  You can imagine my relief when I saw our baby’s head, belly, and arm and leg stubs and a nice strong heart beat.  The doctor moved the wand around a little more and confirmed, “Just the one baby in there!”

One peanut.

I went on my merry way, pleased and reassured that at least thus far, we had a healthy baby.  The next months passed in a blur of all the usual activity of a family of four combined with morning sickness, afternoon sickness, evening sickness, and some heart burn thrown in for good measure. 

I was absolutely exhausted—more so, it seemed, than I had ever been when pregnant with either of the girls.  Even my borderline neurotic tendencies with the house started to slide as a result.  I left beds unmade (particularly mine—what was the point when I knew I’d be back for a nap within hours), dishes undone, and toys scattered all over the house.  I’d be asleep by 9:00 at the latest, despite having taken a nap.

When the exhaustion and morning sickness failed to abate well into the 2nd trimester, it did occur to me that something else might be going on.  I thought I may be anemic, but I also knew that pregnancies vary greatly and mine might be of the particularly rough variety.

Then I started to get big.  I mean really big.  The kind of big where putting on your own shoes in the morning can seem a bit daunting.  I hadn’t actually gained more than a pound or two, but my belly already looked like it did around 36 weeks with Allison.

20 Weeks.  Thar She Blows.

It was around this time that I started my extensive google research on ‘hidden twins’ and  mothers whose early ultrasounds only showed one baby, but the 20 week ultrasound showed twins.  My internet history is absolutely full of various sites regarding this rare phenomenon.

I won’t claim that I had some sort of mother’s intuition or anything about having twins; it was more wishful thinking that there was a reasonable explanation to why I looked like I was about to give birth only 20 weeks into the pregnancy.  The only other theory I came up with was that I was carrying a goat, whose gestational period is about 5 months.  Not surprisingly, I preferred the twin theory.

The night before our twenty week ultra sound I had a hard time sleeping.  I couldn’t wait to find out if we were having a boy or a girl, and I woke up early, worried whether everything was okay.

After we got the girls off to school, Chris and I headed over to the hospital.  We checked in at the fetal monitoring center and waited to be called.  I couldn’t stop smiling when they finally called us, and we were taken back to the ultrasound room.

Our technician squirted gel on my tummy, placed the wand on top, and an image popped up on the tv mounted in the corner of the room.  She moved the wand around pretty quickly at first, but we could clearly see two separate circles on the screen.

Chris told me later that it was at this point that he suspected there might be two babies.  I didn’t speculate as I have always been horrible at reading ultrasounds.  When Allie was a baby, I finally just lied and said I could see her little legs and arms, when in reality I had no clue what I was looking at.

The technician asked if this was our first ultrasound.  I replied, “No, we had one at 8 weeks.”

“Well, I’m seeing two babies,” she said.

Two peanuts.

I looked at Chris.  He looked back at me.  I smiled.  He smiled back, albeit slowly.  I was actually wondering if I was in the middle of a very realistic dream that had spawned from all of my hidden twin research.  I was considering pinching him to find out, but he didn’t know that.

I asked the technician if she saw two heart beats, and she replied that yes she could.  She also could see two heads, two bodies, and a whole tangle of arms and legs.  Then I said, “No way.  I can’t believe it.  This is crazy,” about twenty-six times.

But the weird thing was, despite my assertions to the contrary, I could believe it.  I think I was truly more shocked that both babies were boys than that there were two of them.

While the ultra sound technician took measurements on Baby A (11 oz) and Baby B (10 oz and a major mover and shaker), I asked Chris if he was surprised.  “Well, I thought I might be seeing two babies when she first turned it on,” he said.  Then he added, “And I thought you were looking big.  Really big.”

I tried not to take offense, as I had certainly noticed the same thing, but I still felt compelled to defend myself.  “There are a lot of women bigger than this at 20 weeks!”  [I have no idea whether that’s true]

“Really?!?!” he answered, disbelievingly.  That’s when I pinched him [in my mind].

We spent the next 45 minutes or so watching our little boys move around and stretch their tiny arms while the technician got the images she needed.  She said that the boys were lying feet to head, so that Baby B was breech.  She could only see one placenta, and said it looked like the boys each had their own sacs.  We will be unable to determine if they are identical until after they are born and have DNA testing.

After she was finished, a doctor also came in to take a look.  He asked us to meet him in his office afterward.  It turns out that being pregnant with multiples automatically puts you in the high risk category, and there are varying degrees of high risk within that.

Because the boys share a placenta, there is a risk of Twin Twin Transfusion Syndrome (TTFS).  About one in five pregnancies with shared placentas will have this syndrome, where one baby gets too little blood and the other gets too much.  The doctor reassured us that it doesn’t look like the boys are having that problem now, but we will need to be seen for another ultrasound in a couple of weeks to make sure this is still the case.

The only other abnormality that could be spotted at this time was that both boys have just one umbilical artery.  Most babies have two, but the second is a redundancy [like having two kidneys, the doctor explained].  As long as the ones they have continue to function properly, this will not be a problem.

About two hours after we arrived at the hospital, we were finally able to schedule our next couple of ultra sounds and head out.  The rest of the day was spent in a blur of telling friends and family the big news.  An alarming number of you took some convincing that we were in fact telling the truth, but why would we lie about something like that?!  [Ok.  It kind of sounds like something I would do.]

We’ll Cross Our Fingers for a Boy!!

People I meet often figure out that I am expecting.  Sometimes they guess by the belly, sometimes it’s my pea-green complexion curtesy of my old friend, morning sickness, and sometimes it just comes up in conversation somehow.

After the kind congratulatory remarks, the questions begin:  When are you due?  How are you feeling?  Is this your first?  Do you know if you are having a boy or a girl?

I know some women get irritated by the questions of strangers and barely contain their tempers while trying to find a nice way of saying, “none of your business,” but I am not one of them.  I spend the majority of my days with two busy girlies and a husband who is working forty hours a week and taking two classes toward his master’s degree.  Quite frankly, I’m thrilled when someone takes the time to ask me a question other than, “What’s for dinner?”

What I do find a bit alarming is that after these strangers find out I have two daughters, they almost invariably say some form of “We’ll cross our fingers for you that this one’s a boy!”

This never fails to stump me.  Because I know girls.  I know how to change their diapers and which brands of leggings are least likely to get holes in them.  I know the names and cutie marks of all the main my little ponies and how to get those rubber polly pocket dresses on the little plastic plastic princesses without ripping them.  I learned to french braid and to make lady bug and ice cream charms using nothing but a rainbow loom and rubber bands.  I can put tights on a two year old, for pete’s sake.  I love little girls, and I’d be thrilled to have one more.

It’s not that I’m opposed to having a boy.  I have a lot of friends with sons, and their kids are great.  They can be just as kind, compassionate and funny as their female counterparts.  And I’ve heard boys can be just as messy, wild, and stubborn too.

The only thing that makes me a tad nervous is the way that Chris laughs and says, “I just want to see you try to raise a boy, heh heh heh,” and his mother’s advice nine years ago “to watch your good pans—boys will take them and use them to change the oil in their cars.”

But the point is that we are not hoping for a girl or a boy, just a healthy baby.  Because the sex doesn’t matter.  Newborns are terrifying regardless of gender.  They are red and wrinkled and they can’t hold their own relatively large heads up.  You have to teach them to eat and sleep and keep them warm, but not too warm.  You have to count their wet diapers and figure out why they are crying and how to make them stop.  You get to hold them and snuggle them and tell them that they will grow up to be kind, considerate, and loved.  And that’s really quite enough to be getting on with.

So terrifying.

So terrifying too.

We have our twenty week ultrasound on Wednesday, and as long as baby cooperates, we’ll get to find out if we are expecting a boy or a girl.  But please, don’t cross your fingers that it’s a boy (or a girl).  Just cross your fingers that it’s healthy.  And that it will sleep through the night at a very early age.  And perhaps that it gets Chris’ hand-eye coordination.



Let me know your guesses!
My Guess:  Girl
Allison:  Boy
Nicole:  Girl