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This last week I have been consumed about nursing the twins which is the hardest job I have ever done.  My milk supply seems to be low to me but in reality is probably fine.  The pump has decided not to like me.  Just in case, I have started taking some fenugreek to see if I can up my milk production.  My days consist of pumping and nursing and pumping and nursing on a constant loop.  Sometimes I love it and sometimes I don’t, especially when one twin is shrieking for milk and I just can’t get to her in that exact moment because the other twin needs my full attention. Nursing has been beautiful and cumbersome and stressful and rewarding and inconvenient and very convenient.

This post isn’t about the benefits or inconveniences of nursing.  There are many of those plus a plethora of other opinions, studies, etc.  Like everything else concerning motherhood, do what works best for you. Since nursing has consumed me lately, I thought I would step back and revisit the time when I was nursing my firstborn.

Three years ago I was very fortunate that nursing came easily to Aiven and me. He suckled right away within minutes of being born. One of the things that no one mentioned in all of the potential issues with nursing was the possibility of having a baby who wanted to nurse all the time. Aiven was all about nursing, all of the time. He barely napped. I would be stuck in my big, fluffy nursing chair for hours upon hours as he nursed heavily for two-hour stretches. He would fall asleep on me for maybe — if I was lucky — an hour, then wake up to nurse again. By the time my husband would come home from work, my legs were stiff, walking was difficult, and my bladder was near bursting. It was extremely challenging but I was also very lucky to have enough milk, a supportive husband, and no mastitis or other nipple discomfort. Between feedings and the occasional nap, I would also pump milk. That pumped milk was my savior. It allowed a brief respite from nursing. Alex would use the pumped milk to put Aiven to sleep every night. If I had nursed Aiven to sleep, it would have been an ordeal. He would have fallen asleep on me and woken up if we tried to move him. The pumped milk allowed Alex to bond with Aiven and also give me a bit of a break.

I nursed so much that we developed our own language. It seemed like a huge oversight that a baby could cry a cry and poop poop but not be boobed boob. Therefore, Alex and I started to use boob as a verb. As in, “Time to boob Aiven to sleep!” or “Can you boob him while I shower?” I think it became official when we used it in a Scrabble game! “BOOBED” 36 points, triple word score, Boo Ya

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