A Pregnancy Story

When I found out that my second pregnancy was twins, I panicked a little. I had already been having contractions and bleeding very early on and my doctor even seemed to be trying to prepare me psychologically for a miscarriage. I was madly in love with my children from the moment I knew of their existence, so as you can imagine, I was desperate and willing to do anything that might help them live. With my past history of anorexia and the high risk of miscarriage or premature birth, I knew that nutrition was of extreme importance. I immediately went to a nutritionist. I kept a chart on my refrigerator and marked off the required protein, carb and fat grams as I consumed them. I used the chart to make the grocery list. When I was alone in the house, I used to talk to my babies and tell them what they were getting as I ate. I told them all about protein and amino acids and that the most fabulous little bodies EVER were being constructed just for them. I told them lots of things about the very good health I knew they would have. I told them to absorb the most excellent nutrition I was eating especially for them. Grow and develop, little babies, you are fabulous!

I explained (yes - out loud) to my uterus that these two were my beloved babies and should not be evicted. I begged, pleaded and bargained with this particular organ of mine. When it began to grow deaf, I took to the bed. My poor, brave uterus held out as long as it possibly could. I kept my promise and refused to allow it to be assaulted by a surgeon's knife. I still thank my uterus for its vital cooperation in this particular feat. The twins were indeed quite premature, but I didn't lose them. They were large for their gestational age, too, even though I was not diabetic. That was very helpful for them. They were both fully developed and one of them was even born with teeth in her mouth! We were very, very lucky. Healthy, precious little babies - two of them! I'm so freakin' lucky... (And they're both on the honor roll at school again. They rock!)

When I was discharged from the hospital and my preemies had to stay, I went home and I ate from the new 'breastfeeding for two' nutrition chart. I went to the hospital everyday with the milk I pumped because I didn't think the fake stuff from the hospital was good enough for my babies. I knew their bodies would recognize that the milk was from the mother who loves them and fed them before - the mother who missed them and dreamed of them at night. I just knew -so I ate, I drank extra water, I still took the prenatal vitamins and I pumped lots of milk. They were fed through nasal tubes that went up their tiny noses and into their stomachs because they were too little to suck properly. The nurses warmed my milk to body temperature and put it into little beaker-looking things that dripped into the tubes and down to their stomachs while I touched them or held them.

One day when I was on my way to my car to go to the hospital, I heard the beeping sound of a truck backing up. It was very similar to the sound I heard in the nursery whenever there was a pause in the breathing or the heart rhythm of any of the babies who were in there. I had a panic attack and it set off all kinds of crap. I asked the dirtball to drive me to the hospital. He refused, so I took my milk packed in ice, and I took the friggin' bus. Nothing was going to keep my babies from being fed from their mother who loves them. They were fed. They grew quickly and were in good health. They were released from the neonatal intensive care unit and transferred to the regular nursery way ahead of schedule. They were released from the regular nursery way ahead of schedule, too (on Saint Paddy's Day). They came home so their mother who loves them could cuddle them up and feed them anytime they wanted.

I want to be fed the way I fed my developing babies. I want that for me.