Mr. Apron took the kids for their first carwash so I could take a nap without one ear tuned to their whimpers.  I think we’re doing pretty well as parents these days.  I’m still on maternity leave as they turn 3 months old, but I’ll be heading back to work soon.  We’ve somehow managed to reach this magical age where they take regular naps, which allows me to do regular people things, like shower, do laundry, and consume a meal using both of my hands.

I’m pretty proud of how far we’ve come, from our first clueless days where we didn’t know which way was up and the babies didn’t know day from night, to the magical, sanity-saving evening/nighttime routine we’ve hammered out.  We are the parents of twins.

Whenever I venture out into public, I know that it won’t only be the babies who get attention. I’ll be approached, lauded, and cooed over, merely for showing our faces.  Before they were born, I was uncompromisingly critical of my sister-in-law, who used any child-related excuse possible to cancel plans, or to dump her son at her parents’ house for free childcare.  “Babies are portable,” I lamented, as my nephew spent yet another night at his grandparents’ house so his parents could cavort to a wedding, a night out, or an entire week in Jamaica.

I’m still kind of critical, as her child is/was eminently more portable than ours.  Ours, born in the coldest days of an admittedly mild winter, require twice as much gear and bundling.  Ours require their mother to be near them every 2-3 hours to feed, while hers required only a bottle full of formula attached to an anonymous arm.  After he was born, he never needed her.

But my babies need me.  Breastfeeding is a complex choice, borne from the best intentions, but wrought with narcissism and inconvenience and controversy, all of which surprised me.  I hadn’t given it a second thought, intending only to provide my children with the best nutrition available.  However, it literally chains them to me.  In the beginning, when I was feeding them separately, I was attached to one or the other (and my couch) for a full 8 hours a day.  Now it’s down to about 4 hours, as I can feed them together.  At best, I gaze down longingly at their little faces, mouths agape, lips pursed as I provide manna for them.  They suckle eagerly, as they were born to do.  Now that we’re past the technical difficulties that plagued us in the first few weeks, it’s natural.  It’s a time when I have to stop racing around and devote myself to them.  Sure, sometimes I’ll watch TV, talk on the phone, or play games on my iPad while they nurse, but at best, it truly is a bonding experience.

At worst, I feel like a sow.  Now that my children are such expert eaters, I feel like I could just lie on the barnyard floor and let others bring them to me to snack at the milk fountains.  Plug them in for a recharge.

And as portable as the babies are, and as portable as their food is, their feeding is less so.  Books that promote breastfeeding may laud the ever-ready meal that’s always at the right temperature, always the right amount, never requires mixing, preparing, or washing-up of bottles.  There are laws in my state permitting me to feed my children anywhere I’m allowed to be.  Easy, right?  Just pack some diapers and go.  Yet it’s one thing to fight for laws allowing me to nurse; it’s another thing entirely to feel comfortable enough in Target, the convention center, my doctor’s office, or a public park to whip out my breasts and nourish my children.

With one kid, you whip out a breast, you curl up in an out-of-the-way corner, and you nurse on demand, when your kid wants it.  With two kids, I am showing enough flesh to earn my share of Mardi Gras beads.  If I’m at home, I can nurse them together, using a special pillow I’ve termed “The Lunch Counter” or the “Double Wide” nursing pillow.  In public, I haven’t mastered the art of tandem nursing, discretely or not.  So I have to feed one then the other, whether we want it or not.  I have to keep them on the same schedule, or I’m back to nursing 8 hours a day.  So a leisurely trip to the mall may result in my being parked on a bench in the food court for an entire hour feeding my children.  One may be screaming to eat for a half-hour while I try to give the first child as much as she wants.

Formula feeding may have its disadvantages, but you never worry about lifting up your shirt.  I know it’s PC to nurse, but it sure can be inconvenient with twins.  Three months down, nine to go.

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