Sometimes you're the tornado, and sometimes you're the trailer park.
Right now I feel like a big ole double-wide.
It's funny, but what I was fearing the most (getting the spinal block, as lame as that sounds) felt no worse than a bee sting, literally. And the rest of it since... well, more like being stung by a Mack Truck going 80 mph.
I don't want to complain, because damn am I thrilled to have given birth to healthy full-term twins. I am blessed to have my Mom here, I literally do not know what we'd do without her. I am thrilled at how well DH is handling everything, he is taking care of me and the boys and actually seems to be enjoying it. I am grateful that Bean is adjusting well to siblinghood so far. I know that could change at the drop of a hat, but any good day is still a good day. (Special thanks to my friend Sarah who suggested the twins "give" Bean a special gift when they came home from the hospital... he has spent hours upon hours playing with his Little Tykes b-ball hoop from the babies. Genius!) And thank goodness I was wrong about the gestational diabetes diet ruining yummy food for me for the rest of my life because of the guilt factor. I had absolutely no problem having cinnamon rolls for breakfast and then downing that cookie ice cream sandwich (and the remainder of DH's chocolate pudding with Oreos and whipped cream) after lunch.
But for the sake of honesty, I must say -- I am struggling. I don't remember the C-section recovery being this difficult last time, but maybe it was. I'm feeling a bit better today, but after this and the bedrest, I am just incredibly sick of not being physically able to do simple things. And I still have a ways to go.
The biggest challenge of caring for the twins from my perspective is nursing. Or lack thereof, at this point. I was thrilled to be able to breastfeed them right after the surgery, they both seemed to latch right on and go to town. But that went downhill... downhill... downhill... by last night, they were obviously suffering. Lost 12% and 13% of their body weight and still declining. Not enough filled diapers. They were too exhausted to even latch. We have been meeting with a lactation consultant for days, and today I agreed to make the plan to put them on formula (using a supplemental nursing system at the breast) meanwhile I pump and we work out our issues. (Any breastmilk I pump is substituted for the formula, naturally.) I am so pissed at myself for having the same problems this time as I did last time. It's hard not to feel like a failure, even though intellectually I know that's ridiculous.
The other thing I'm working through is the post-partum hormone let-down. It happened with Bean, too -- basically three weeks of crying. I think of it as my body just has to release these pregnancy hormones (maybe twice as many this time) and it happens to come through my eyes. Bean gets concerned when I cry, then he says something cute to cheer me up ("Mommy, look! Mister Fork and Mister Spoon are dancin'!") and I have to try not to cry even harder because of his pure sweetness. Maybe I should just lock myself in my room with "Everybody Hurts" by R.E.M. on repeat and see if I can get it all out in a couple of hours.
Last night, my Mom brought Bean downstairs in his jammies to say good night to me and DH, who were holding the babies in the family room. Bean looked just like a sweet angel in his white footie PJs. He happily bounded between us, giving us kisses and smiles. When he disappeared upstairs with my Mom again, eager to pick out a bedtime book, DH turned to me with tears in his eyes and said, "Sunny, we are so lucky. We are so lucky to have this family."
And everything considered, he's exactly right.
I'll get there. Eventually.