Step by Step Parenting

Soon after I committed to exclusively pumping for my twins, I got on Amazon and ordered a pack of golden candles numbered 0 through 9. I set a goal to pump for the girls’ entire first year of life, and I knew that it was going to be hard work, so I decided to celebrate every month by lighting a candle and enjoying a little treat.

Days went by, and then weeks, and then months, and I was doing it — I was the sole food source for not one, but two babies! I pumped every three hours, 24/7, wherever I was, whether it was at school or in my car or in the courthouse bathroom or at the zoo. I dealt with nearly every awful pumping side effect you can think of (except for mastitis, thankfully) and at times, was so sore that I could only shower facing away from the shower head. But each month, I pulled it off, and each month, I earned that candle.

Well… until I didn’t.

Right around the five-month mark, things started to fall apart. My supply started to slowly decrease, to the point that we were having to dip into my freezer stash. Luckily, I had nearly 1,000 ounces of frozen breastmilk, so this bought me time to try to troubleshoot, but nothing I tried seemed to work. Looking back, I can’t help but shake my head over how stressed I was. Yes, my supply “decreased,” but it went from around 60 ounces per day to “only” 45-50 ounces. That is still a ton of freaking milk!!! But because I couldn’t produce enough to 100% feed both twins anymore, I felt like a failure.

I expected to cry the first time I gave the twins formula, but I didn’t. Instead, it was amazing. I didn’t have to worry about how I would pump and feed them at the same time, and I didn’t have to stress about whether they would get hungry when I was pumping and immobile. I felt untethered and free, so much so that I realized it was time to stop pumping entirely. I patted myself on the back for a job well done, and a week or so after the babies turned five months old, I packed up my pump for good.

I weaned slowly to try and avoid a complete hormonal crash, but I still struggled pretty badly as my body adjusted. Two weeks into weaning — just a week and a half ago — insomnia hit bad, which only exacerbated my depression. All of a sudden, it literally felt like I was fighting for my life. Once the sun went down, I was seeing and hearing things that weren’t there, and I was so anxious I was hardly sleeping. I was seriously questioning whether I was experiencing some sort of psychosis. My cycle was over a week late. I rapidly lost weight and had no appetite. Honestly, I was extremely scared.

For the next week or so, I worked hard to crawl out of that hole. If I needed to cry, I let myself cry. I tried my best to articulate my feelings to my husband, and not unleash my feelings on my husband. I distanced myself from high-maintenance relationships temporarily, gave myself permission to rot around in sweats and no makeup for over a week, did the bare minimum each day, and tried to make sure I was eating well, drinking enough water, and getting outside. Finally, after a long wait, the magnesium gummies I ordered to help me sleep arrived, and last night, I slept more than five consecutive hours for the first time in nearly two weeks. I slept over eight hours!!

Today, as you can imagine, I feel much, much, much better. I texted my husband tonight that this is the happiest I have felt in almost a month. I spent all evening laughing with my kids, cuddling my babies, and somehow managing to solo-parent the whole night with a smile on my face.

Towards the end of the night, I pulled out some cake that a friend dropped off yesterday. My daughter’s sixth birthday is Friday, so she asked if we could put a candle in her piece and sing to her. Obviously, I said yes, because who am I to deny her some extra birthday joy? I went over to the candle drawer (which is also the lighter drawer, the chip clip drawer, and the battery drawer) and pulled out the golden 6.

I couldn’t help but feel a pang in my heart as I unboxed the candle for the first time. I never made it to six months of exclusively pumping, so I never used it. But then I thought, Well, why not? Can’t I celebrate just… making it to six months?

I knew that one good day didn’t necessarily mean I was healed. Maybe the good night’s rest was a temporary fix. Maybe tomorrow I will cry over a text message again. Maybe in the months to come, I will deal with on-and-off depression. But at the end of today, I felt happy and content in a way I hadn’t in weeks.

So I put that candle in my piece of cake and I took a minute to pat myself on the back anyway. It might not have unfolded the way I initially planned in my head, but one way or another, I survived six months postpartum. Given how scary the past few weeks had been, I feel like I still earned my candle.