BABYWEARING WEDNESDAY

The Butt Pat

The comment I hear most often from people who don't wear their babies is that they tried, but the baby hated being in a carrier. Usually, they say that baby hated facing in, and they had a sling or other carrier that didn't facilitate out-facing. So they resorted to the Baby Bjorn or gave up babywearing altogether.

I truly believe that all babies like being worn. I also believe that there are good and bad times to wear a baby. Not all babies like being worn in all situations. Some get bored, some are sensitive to certain pressure points, and others do like to face out. If you decide to only buy one baby carrier and you spend all your money on a ring sling but baby prefers to face out, you might be left with a carrier you get very little use out of. That's why being able to try out a carrier before you buy it--even rent it for a week--can make or break your babywearing situation.

I think the keys to making babywearing succeed for both you and your baby are:

• patience
• finding the right time to wear/practice wearing baby
• finding the right position in which to wear baby
• preventing boredom
• butt pats

Patience when babywearing
Both of my kids loved being worn. That's not to say that they didn't cry in the carrier sometimes, though. Baby T would sleep for hours in my Gypsy Mama Bali Baby Stretch wrap, and then wake up screaming his head off. I would pretty much have to get him out of there immediately. And Little M goes on crying sprees where the only thing that does calm him is being worn in a wrap or ring sling. Now, when I first put him in there, he may cry for five to ten minutes. But with a little bouncing and some butt pats, he completely calms down. We'll talk more about the butt pats in a little bit.

You also need to remember that babies cry and get cranky whether they are being worn or not. Sometimes it takes you 20 minutes to settle baby down no matter what you try. So if baby is screaming in the carrier, it doesn't mean she doesn't like it. She's a baby. She might cry. You can try out different timing/positions, but baby might just need to cry for a few minutes. It's not necessarily our job as mothers to stop our babies from crying--sometimes they just need a release, or to communicate--but we can hold them to our hearts and give them love while they are crying, even if we can't stop it. I know listening to baby cry can be downright maddening (and saddening), and I can see it causing a lot of people to quit babywearing. Hearing a baby sob for just one minute feels like 100 minutes. The suggestions below might help troubleshoot the process, though.

Find the right time to wear baby
Baby is not always in the mood to be worn. Getting to know your baby is the best thing you can do to ensure babywearing success. If your baby is crankiest when he's tired, trying out the carrier for the first time when he's rubbing his eyes and yawning may not be ideal. If your baby doesn't like being restricted when wide awake and alert, then don't try babywearing when you would be better off playing with baby on the floor. My babies are both cranky when they're tired, but both needed to be held and rocked to sleep. They also were calmed by swaddling. The feeling of the baby carrier pressed against their backs and their chests pressed against mine soothed them right to sleep.

In fact, Little M could not stay awake in the carrier until recently. When he was awake, he would get a little cranky in it, so I mainly used it for naps. Now he's getting a little better at relaxing in the carrier in a state of curious alertness when he's not sleeping. With Baby T, I used the carrier to get him off his feet and "force" him to relax even when he wanted to play. And by "force," I mean gently urge. Let me explain: Baby T was/is a very energetic kid. He pretty much never stops moving. When he was about a year old, he wouldn't stop moving even when he was tired. And that would make him overstimulated and cranky. So wearing him gave him a chance to get off his feet and relax but still be able to watch everything around him.

Find the right position in which to wear baby
Some babies don't like having their heads covered. Others don't like their legs constricted. Some like their legs dangling, and others love being curled up in the froggy position. Some love snuggling against mom's chest, while others prefer looking out at the world. Some babies are more hot-natured and get warm in a baby wrap or baby carrier.

It's important to try out different positions to find out what works best for your baby. This also involves really getting to know your baby. Baby may like to watch the world, but an out-facing position can be scary and overstimulating. At the same time, baby may get bored if stuck in a front wrap cross carry position on your chest, with limited view to the sides. Knowing different variations and ways to use your baby carrier, or even trying out a different type of carrier, may be all you and baby need to have a great babywearing relationship.

Prevent Boredom
My babies get cranky when they're bored. Little M can only look at the same thing for about 20 minutes before telling me he needs a different outlook. This happens whether he's on the floor, in the jumperoo, in the bouncy chair, or in a baby carrier. Sometimes, watching me clean the kitchen from the wrap bores him. It would bore me too. When we're out and about, going in and out of different stores seeing all kinds of people, or walking in the park, he's in a much better mood, whether he's in the carrier or not.

Butt Pats
When my babies are cranky, there is one thing that always calms them down: bouncing on the exercise ball with a little butt pat added in. I can jump up and down, bounce on the couch, or do calf raises, but it's not the miracle calm that bouncing on the ball is.

A lot of people suggest going out and taking a walk if baby is cranky in a carrier, because the natural swaying motion of mom's walk is soothing to the baby. I say bounce and pat instead.

And here is a little demonstration that puts together all of the above suggestions:

(Now, before anyone says anything about stomach sleeping and Little M all wrapped up while napping, please know I am keeping my eye on him. He is not unattended.)

He was hanging out in the jumperoo while I cooked and cleaned a little. He started getting cranky, and I knew it was time for a nap, so I put him in the Maya Wrap. I can't really cook with him in there, so I decided to work on this blog post--sitting on the exercise ball, bouncing, and regularly typing one-handed so I could pat his butt. Well, he passed out. Then, since the Maya Wrap is great for the easy transfer, I just slipped out of it and set him in the cosleeper. Voila. Sleeping baby and no more crank.

TWO KIDS UNDER TWO

It's harder than I thought

They say your life changes dramatically when you have a baby. They say you don't even know what you're in for until it happens to you. But when I had Baby T, things didn't change that much. I was a homebody anyway. It wasn't like I had to give up gourmet restaurant meals and late nights at the bar. Our idea of a perfect meal was grilling out in our backyard, and I hadn't stayed up past 1 AM since college (before the night I had Baby T, that is). The sleep thing was hard. I do like my sleep, so waking up every 20 minutes with Baby T and going to work the next day was miserable.

But I was happy. In the first three months, I would pack Baby T in the car with some blankets and diapers and head out--to friends' houses, the park, wherever. I remember a friend commenting on how much I was out in the early days. She said she had laid on her couch for the first eight weeks watching bad daytime TV. If I hadn't gotten out of the house, I would have gone crazy. Even though I normally love staying home, there was something about seeing my friends with kids that made me sane. And there was something about proving to the world that I wasn't afraid of living my life even though I had a kid.

Another friend who had her second baby around the same time I had Baby T would call me up, completely overwhelmed, and describe how she hadn't showered in days. She would tell me I was welcome to come over her house, even if it was just to cry. Cry? I thought. I was fine. I showered every day, exercised, and had time to make breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Have an other one? Sure. No sweat.

Flash forward 20 months. Cry all day? Check. Shower only once a week? Check.

Everyone told me how hard it was to have a baby. But no one had told me how hard it was to have two. I mean, people had joked about it. But so many people have two--and three, four, and five--kids, that I figured it couldn't be that bad. Especially if having one baby was so easy. Hell, if the Octomom could do it, I could too.

But the first few weeks at home with both kids was chaos, physically and emotionally. One one hand, all I wanted to do was sit and snuggle with my new Little M. But I felt so guilty for giving love to another baby. On top of it, Baby T was sick the first week, so he was a miserable wreck. In a way, that made it easier, because he didn't move around much. I was able to sit on the couch and nurse both kids.

I cried every day. I knew a lot of women who had had post partum depression with their second child. Now I knew why. I was afraid that I would fall into depression too, because I was so emotional. Everything was harder. When I had had Baby T, I had written down everything he did: every poop, pee, nursing, wakeup, and cry. With two kids under two, though, I could barely even feed Little M, much less record those feelings. I felt a lot of guilt. For both of my kids. I couldn't give Little M the same undivided attention I had given to his big brother, and I couldn't give Baby T the same undivided attention he had once had. Nursing sessions with Little M were cut short when Baby T threw a tantrum, and Baby T wouldn't let the poor kid sleep.

There were days that I struggled, wondering if I could really do this, wondering why people had more than one child, and feeling inadequate because women with less education, money, resources, and support did it all the time. I wish that someone had prepared me a little better. Not that it would have stopped me from having a second child, but because I would have been more prepared. But maybe it's just something you have to experience to believe. I probably would have waved away helpful advice from people telling me how overwhelmed I would be. I mean, I did fine with one baby--how hard could one more be?

You live and learn, I guess.

Luckily, the learning curve was pretty quick. I hate change, but after I fight the initial impetus, I ride the wave pretty easily. My pregnancy hormones must have regulated after two weeks, because the crying jags ended. It wasn't that having two kids got any easier, but the guilt went away. That made it easier to deal with Baby T when he threw a tantrum and Little M when he woke up crying and I couldn't get to him right away because I was bathing Baby T. Once my emotions were in check, I was able to figure it out. We have some little routines that we've established, and I wouldn't be able do it without wearing Little M in a baby carrier for the majority of the day.

And for so long, I kept saying it was so hard because they were so close in age. But then I would talk to a friend who had kids spaced four or five years apart, and she would say how hard it was because the older child now had to be driven to school and extracurricular activities, which left the baby crying in the backseat of the car while mom drove errands.

It is hard for everyone. I'm not a wuss. But I just wish someone would have sat me down and been honest with me about how difficult it was. Then I wouldn't have felt so crazy.

PRIORITIES

Right now, I'm sitting in my living room on an exercise ball with Little M in the Didymos wrap on my chest. When I look to my left, I see a cookbook, a folder with my tax info, a used cloth napkin, and Baby T's dirty fork and knife on the kitchen table; a stack of mail and some crayons on the buffet behind the couch; a semi-balled up newspaper page that Baby T was playing with on the couch, next to my camera; some info from my credit card on the floor next to me because it fell but I don't want to disturb Little M by picking it up; a water glass that I'm currently drinking out of next to a glass, empty except for the melting ice mixing with the iced coffee from earlier. When I look to my right, I see a toy dump truck on the floor, a cloth diaper cover on the side table that needs to be put away, and Little M's pants on the floor that I took off when I changed him. There are cloth diapers in the washing machine that I have to move to the dryer, but Little M always wakes up when I bend over to switch the laundry, so it's staying for now. I'm not even going to tell you what I see if I turn around, and I consider my house relatively clean.

I've gotten a few things done today. I took this cute picture, which is why the camera is still on the couch:

I spent the morning writing for a couple of crowdsourcing companies that I work for. I had two tabs open and would work on one task while the task for the other company, in another tab, was uploading or downloading. I managed to work a path through the home office to get to the computer to email my CPA. Then I tripped on the cord from the computer as I left the room, knocking the laptop onto the shredder and making a bit of a mess.

I am in a constant state of overwhelming chaos. I can't control the clutter and I always have 20 things on my to-do list. If I even bother to write it down. And if I don't lose it in the black hole that is my purse.

I have tried to corral this chaos. I signed up for FlyLady dot com about a month ago. I shined my sink. I put away my dishes. Every day, all day. It's a constant cycle. That's about as far as I could get, and I had to put aside some of my money-making work just to do that.

This is what is on my to-do list:

• try to make $30-$50 a day on crowdsourcing websites
• work on a freelance writing job I already have
• work on a couple of book chapters for the Natural Parents Network's cloth diapering book contest
• go to couponing websites to see if there are any good grocery deals this week or next
• do some meal planning for the week
• prepare a course outline for childbirth education classes
• work on a watercolor portrait painting I was commissioned to do
• create and launch a website for my portraits
• sew some slings
• sew some soakers
• meet with a friend about teaching babywearing classes
• organize and price items for yard sale this weekend
• put together the boys' Easter baskets
• start a breast milk stash for Little M; I keep planning to pump after he goes to bed, but have so much to do I forget
• exercise 10-15 minutes every day (not much, but it's a realistic start)
• take down our tornado shelter from Saturday:

And that is only the big stuff. It doesn't include switching the laundry, washing my OWN underwear, taking a shower, or figuring out what to do about Little M's Easter basket, because I completely forgot about him.

Oh yeah. And writing this blog post wasn't on my list, either.

This is my problem. I have a lot to do and don't know when to prioritize. It's all important, and sometimes it's hard to predict what should take precedence. Especially because when I work on those crowdsourcing websites doing writing and editing work, I just never know when there will be good work and when there won't. If there's a lot of high-paying work, I tend to focus on that and push everything else aside for a day when there is less work. That makes it hard to plan.

On top of it all, I have going back to work looming over my head. I have a month and a half left. At least during my loaded days, I have time to play with the kids, clean the house (at least a little) and get some necessary computer stuff done. And I feel busy now; if I go back to work, I won't even be able to do the little stuff. And I'll still want to do the big stuff.

I know moms do it all the time, but my question is: HOW [the F do you do it]? Big T has been sick and hasn't been sleeping, so I let him sleep in this morning while I got Baby T's lunch ready and took him to daycare. I did manage to have him clean up his toys before we left (i.e., he watched as I cleaned up his toys, meanwhile taking out 5 books from his bookshelf and throwing them on the floor). I also did clean the kitchen before I left so I wouldn't come home to a sticky mess.

But the last time I looked at the clock, it was 8:30, and I was thinking, "Cool. We'll totally get to day care before 9." And I got in the car at 8:56. It takes 20 minutes to get to day care. I was still in a white tank top with no bra on because Little M had been in the wrap all morning, and I hadn't combed my hair, brushed my teeth, or put on deoderant. At least I had the good sense to put my contacts in as soon as I woke up, before my day started.

So back to my question: If/when I go back to work, how am I going to do it without showing up completely disheveled, with a see-through shirt and no bra on? Am I honestly expected to also shower, put on makeup, and put together a business-casual outfit that's free of spitup, drool, or poo? The thought makes me want to vomit.

I can somewhat manage my days when I have the flexibility to build my own schedule. But there is no way I can get to work by 9. There is just no freaking way.

How do moms do it? Where do I start? Can I really put quality time into my two kids, work, and my extracurricular activities?

I guess this is just a big old whinefest. I don't really expect answers. Pleeeeeuuz don't tell me to go to FlyLady dot com, because that just takes way too much time. But if you feel like sending a vote of confidence, a million dollars, or a maid my way, I won't complain.

MASON'S BIRTH STORY (PART 2)

Tuesday morning I woke up feeling fine and called Pamela. She thought I should go into the office to test whether the fluid was amniotic fluid. And I can't even remember in what order I did things. At some point, I dropped Baby T off with my neighbor, who took him every Tuesday anyway, and explained to her that I thought my water had broken and maybe today was the day. At some point I also rushed into the office to see one of the other midwives who was meeting me between births at the hospital.

She checked me. It was amniotic fluid for sure. A slow leak. She called Pamela. They wanted me to come to the hospital at 4 PM for an induction if contractions didn't start on their own before that. But they would probably start on their own. I was 5 cm dilated. I was ready to go. I didn't feel a thing.

I cried. Induction was my worst nightmare. At least my body was halfway ready for this birth. I wasn't starting from scratch. But I really, really, really didn't want to be induced.

I stopped by work and told them my maternity leave was starting. They looked at me like I was crazy and kept asking me why I wasn't at home or at the hospital. "Because I'm not in labor," I would respond (over and over again). It got a little annoying. But now I was afraid I would start having contractions while I was driving, so I did go home.

It turns out I had nothing to worry about. No contractions yet. At home, I did everything I could to get things going. I pumped. I took homeopathics. I played Wii. Four o'clock came and still nothing. I called Pamela. I had hesitated to take the final, horrifying step--the castor oil. But finally it came to that. The last resort. I gulped it down in some root beer and chased it with a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup (midwife's orders--a foolproof recipe).

Still nothing.

Seriously? Big T and I talked all day about why things couldn't just go normally. Why wasn't this baby wanting to come out? How hilarious is it that in movies, when a woman's water breaks, all hell breaks loose and, panicked, they can't get to the hospital in time? The farce of it all.

Of course I have to do things a little abnormally. So when the castor oil brought on no contractions--not even intestinal cramping--I knew I had to go. I was a little sad and a little excited. I was glad that the car ride was comfortable and I wasn't on my hands and knees in the backseat, writhing in pain with every bump. But I still didn't want to be induced. It was about 8 PM on Tuesday night. I had gone to the hospital with Baby T at just about this time on a Tuesday night as well.

At the hospital, Big T asked if I wanted him to drop me off. "Uh, no... just park. I can walk. I feel fine." We got up to labor and delivery and I hesitantly told the nurse that I was there for an induction. We were shown to our room. We waited for Pamela to arrive. I was nervous, but still felt fine.

When Pamela arrived, the routine began. The IV drip, the monitor... I was hooked up. They pressed the button and the pitocin began. It was kind of nice, at first. Pamela and I chatted. We hadn't seen each other in a while and were able to catch up with each other. Every half hour or so, the pitocin was increased. I was given a telemetry unit so I could walk around. Big T and I walked. We did the loop around the labor and delivery floor about 10 times. It was boring. I was bored. I really didn't feel anything.

I did lunges. I squatted. I bounced on the exercise ball. I stood up a lot. I figured gravity would help. Still nothing. Around 11 PM, I was starting to get tired. Since I wasn't feeling any contractions yet, I told everyone that I wanted to take a nap and get ready. I fell asleep.

Around midnight, I woke up. BAM!! A contraction so strong I had to vocalize through it. Just like that. It hit me like a ton of bricks. I had forgotten what this felt like. This was so much more intense than with Baby T. With Baby T, I wanted silence. This time, I had to moan through every single contraction. It was the only way I could get through them.

I immediately got the shakes. This had happened with Baby T, too. I couldn't help but keep comparing the two births. I was shaking so hard I was afraid I would bite my tongue. It was uncontrollable and it freaked me out more than anything else. Then Big T put his hand on my head and the shaking stopped. It was like instant calm. It was all I wanted. I spent the next half hour standing next to the bed. Big T had to be touching me the whole time or I would shake. He kept me sane. Between contractions, I would bend over and put my head down on the bed. But during contractions, I had to be upright. It hurt too much for my torso to be bent.

During the next half hour, things were even more intense, and I was getting tired. I sat on the rocking chair to rest. By this time, the contractions were coming on top of one another. I would moan through until the peak, expecting it to subside, and it would just peak and peak and peak. I remember saying (moaning) something like, "Why is it not stopping?"

And my body started to heave. I never felt the urge to push with Baby T, so I really didn't know what it felt like. This time, it felt like I was about to vomit, but in the wrong direction. My stomach was heaving uncontrollably, like giant vomitous hiccups. It was insane.

It was about that time that I figured I should take my pants off. I had never changed out of the clothes I came in. And I figured if a baby was going to come out, I probably shouldn't have my pants on. It was hard to get out of them since the contractions weren't giving me a chance to rest, but I had help. I got up on the bed in a semi-sitting position. I was exhausted. I really hoped this feeling was a pushing feeling, because I couldn't stay up all night. I'm no party animal anymore.

Pamela encouraged me and told me I was doing great. Big T told me I was doing great, the whole time keeping his hand on my forehead. Things were getting more intense. I was definitely yelling profanities. (What's new?) During one strong push, I felt the baby drop, water gushed out, and I felt an intense burning in my cervix. This was happening. My body was doing it!

A blur of profanity as he crowned. There was a lot of motherf*cker going on. I held back for a moment. Then I pushed the baby out at about 1:30 AM.




I remember thinking that it was over so quickly, and I was relieved that I wouldn't have to be up all night. I remember asking if he was breathing, because he wasn't crying. I remember Big T saying, "He looks like a Mason." And I agreed. And I held Little M to my chest and kissed his head. I noticed that he didn't have as much hair as Baby T, and it was lighter. His umbilical cord was thick, and there was a loose knot in it.



Pamela and Little M



They had to take him to the warmer for a minute or two because his temperature dropped, but he came back to me and found my breast. He nursed for a long, long time. My baby was here, and I was in love again.

MASON'S BIRTH STORY (PART 1)

It's been two and a half months since Baby M reluctantly entered the world, and the adrenaline and awe are fading, replaced by day to day life, routines, discoveries, and small miracles. It's time I put Little M's story in writing.

This pregnancy was different than the first. With Baby T, I didn't even feel pregnant until 36 weeks. With Little M, I felt my hips falling out of alignment at 8 weeks--before I even knew I was pregnant. It was still a great pregnancy. I was plenty tired and nauseated during the first trimester, don't get me wrong, but things really improved after that. I had a lot of energy. I didn't gain as much weight this time. I loved being pregnant.

I really do love carrying a baby in my belly. The big, tight belly is a nice change from the usual flabby lump. Feeling baby flutter and kick at my ribs, trying to grab the little pointy alien protrusions sticking out of my belly and guessing what part of him it is, anxiously awaiting the next movement... I love it. My hair gets thick, my skin feels great. Other than all the itchy stretch marks of course.

During the last month or so, I started to get a little nostalgic. I was so excited to meet Little M but I really liked having him inside of me. And I really didn't know what life would be like after he came out. I had NO IDEA. But that's a story for another time.

I also was so curious about how this birth would go down. I was going to work until the end, but with Baby T, I luckily got out of work early the day I went into labor. I was already home. This time, what if I went into labor at work? Would I know it was time? Or would I have pre-labor contractions for a few days first, making me go home for false alarms, only to come back the next day?

On Friday, January 14th, I was having some major braxton hicks. I was uncomfortable sitting in my chair at work. It felt better when I stood up, but sitting was majorly uncomfortable. I got annoyed that people say braxton hicks are painless. Mine weren't. People suggested that maybe they weren't just braxton hicks. But I blew them off. I had been having them a lot more during this pregnancy. I really didn't have them at all with my first. But I figured they were definitely not prodromal labor contractions. And I didn't feel any pressure or feel as though the baby had dropped. Which doesn't necessarily mean anything, but I was sure that nothing was going to happen until after my due date.

I didn't expect him to come until after my due date, so on January 17th, I wasn't even thinking about his birth. I was sitting on the couch, watching whatever I watch on Monday nights, and around 10 PM, I got up to get water and go to bed. And felt three short gushes. I couldn't hold them in. I ran to the bathroom without saying a word to Big T.

I knew I didn't wet my pants. It's pretty obvious when you piss yourself. I didn't piss myself. But I was pretty sure it wasn't me going into labor, either. I mean, my water didn't break on its own at all with Baby T. I just didn't expect it to break this time, either. I was never good at statistics and probability in math class. Apparently.

So I came out, told Big T, "I think my water might have just broken?" Yes, that's right. I asked him. As if he would know. I said, "I'm not sure what to do?" Which was a lie. I mean, I know about this stuff. I'm educated in birth. I knew exactly what to do. But I couldn't really belive it was amniotic fluid.

So I called Pamela, my midwife. I don't think she believed it either. She said what I knew: if it was amniotic fluid, I would probably start having contractions. She told me to go to bed, get some rest, don't get too overexcited or stay up all night, and call her in the morning. If not sooner. Whoa. I was kind of freaking out inside. But I pretended like it was all cool. Got in bed. I usually pass out as soon as my head hits the pillow. But I couldn't stop the adrenaline.

My baby was coming! Probably tonight. Ok, relax, relax. Was that a contraction? Nope, nothing at all. Not even a twinge.

And the fear. Could I really do this again? Baby T's birth was a breeze. Or was I completely forgetting the pain? What if this birth was a million times more painful? Could I handle it? Could I stay up all night again? That was the worst part of Baby T's birth--feeling so tired from staying awake all night, feeling too tired to move and stand and push. The pain wasn't the worst part. But what if the pain was the worst part of this birth?

Eventually I went to sleep. I don't even think I woke up to pee. I certainly didn't wake up to any contractions. There were none.

(...to be continued...)

WEAR YOUR BABY

Using a wrap, baby carrier, or sling

Wear a baby, you ask? What exactly does that entail? Although it may conjure up some odd images in your mind, it just means carrying your baby in a carrier: a sling, wrap, or soft structured carrier.

Your baby may not be a calm, smiling, cooing picture of perfection 24 hours a day. If your baby is anything like most babies, he or she will love snuggling with mom and dad and be much more fussy when lying alone. In the first few weeks, relaxing on the couch with baby in arms is better than anything. But eventually the house needs cleaning, groceries must be bought, and mama needs to be out and about. You’ll get used to doing chores one-handed, but it’s twice as fast (and you drop less stuff) when you have both hands free.

Does baby really need to be held all the time? If your baby is like mine, the answer is a clear yes. I could sit on the couch and rock my babies to sleep, then try to set them down, but inevitably, they would wake within 20 minutes. Repeat, repeat, repeat. I couldn’t get anything done. And they would get cranky from having no real naps all day.

When I wear my babies, they may sleep for three hours straight. When they wake between sleep cycles, they are warm and cozy and soothed back to sleep by my heartbeat or a quick pat on the back. So many people say their babies only nap in their arms. So they're stuck on the couch. Unless they put baby in a carrier so they can go about their day. When baby sleeps in your arms, he is much more likely to wake at every little noise or movement. You cringe if you so much as sneeze. But when baby sleeps in a carrier, listening to your heartbeat and feeling your warmth, you can feel free to move around, talk, turn on lights... baby sleeps much more deeply and won't wake as easily.

Baby T is constantly in motion and wants to look at everything, even when he is exhausted. He won’t stop and rest on his own. But putting him on my back in a baby carrier gives him the rest he needs and still lets him interact with the world. When there is too much stimulus, your baby or toddler will feel safe in a carrier.

Now that I have two kids in diapers, I can’t imagine not having baby carriers at my disposal. If I couldn’t wear Little M while playing with Baby T or putting him to bed, Little M would cry all the time. And soothing a hysterical baby after the fact is much harder than keeping him calm in the first place. Plus, if I had to spend extra time calming hysterical Little M, Baby T would become hysterical in the meantime. Fun stuff. I would not be able to handle two children without being able to wear one of them.

I have walked through Costco nursing Little M in a wrap. I freelance, and I have held phone meetings with baby napping on my chest. I have worn my baby on my chest and my cranky toddler on my back. I love having my babies near while I live my life. And with babywearing, I can have babies and live my life. And my life is much easier.

And yes, that's Little M sleeping on my chest as I write this.

The Tandem Nursing Rollercoaster

All is well--and busy--since bringing home Baby M. My birth story is still to come. Right now, I feel like I need to talk about the first month of tandem nursing before I forget the heartache and the challenges. That's right, because it's become something that is pretty normal at this point. We're smooth sailing. But if you asked me how it was a month ago, I would have burst into tears.

I gave birth to Baby M at 1:30 AM on January 19. Introducing him to the family was a whirlwind. We were in the hospital for a day and a half, and Baby T visited us a few times in the hospital. He was interested in the baby, but more interested in the toys that magically appeared when the baby came. When we got home Thursday afternoon, we were busy. My in-laws helped out by distracting Baby T for a few days.

And even though Baby T had been nursing up until I gave birth, he didn't ask to nurse when I brought Baby M home. I could even nurse Baby M in front of him and he didn't seem to notice. I thought he had weaned. And even though the thought of Baby T weaning had torn me apart a few days earlier, I was relieved. Having two kids is exponentially more stressful than dealing with just one. Not having to deal with a whiny 20-month old asking to nurse was fine with me. I was a little disappointed that I wouldn't get to tandem nurse, but I was so overwhelmed already. I didn't need to add another thing to my plate by trying to figure out tandem nursing.

And then Aunt K came over to visit Saturday night. Baby T was so distracted that I didn't think twice and pulled down my shirt to nurse Baby M. And at that instant, all hell broke loose. At least in Baby T's mind. He looked over at me, and the look on his face broke my heart. He realized I was nursing Baby M, and he freaked out. "Mommy milk! Mommy milk!" He wasn't yelling. He was bawling. He wasn't whiny or mad, he was just upset. I had never seen him so truly sad.

I still can't get Baby T's face at that moment out of my mind. So I racked my brain for what to do. Baby T was bawling and testing the limits of a temper tantrum. Big T was in the kitchen cooking dinner. I gave Aunt K a look of defeat, sighed, and pulled down the other side of my shirt to nurse Baby T. He instantly calmed down. And watching him watch Baby M, stroke his hair, and hold his hand was like nothing I'd ever seen. It was pure innocence and love.

But it felt unnatural. My boobs were being pulled in two directions, and I was uncomfortable with this much hanging out. Aunt K wasn't phased. She's used to me. But I knew this was something I would never do in public. I didn't know if I wanted to do it at all.

So the next few days, we would wake up, I would nurse Baby M in bed before seeing Baby T, and then I would go out and say good morning to Baby T, and he would ask to nurse. So I decided that would be our "rule": I would nurse Baby T in the morning, and then any time he asked to nurse for the rest of the day, I would tell him, "But you already had mommy's milk this morning. We're not going to have any more today."

You can guess just how well that went down.

That's not exactly the kind of logic a 20-month old works with. And I felt so guilty. I cried every day. I felt like I suddenly took this wonderful comfort away from my first baby. Not only did I take it away, I gave it to someone else. Right in front of him. But at the same time, I resented Baby T for still wanting to nurse. He felt like a giant. His head looked as big as mine, and he was heavy. His legs were too long, and his sneakers kicking my sides weren't cute anymore. And that resentment made me feel guilty.

I talked to Big T about it. I felt like I had to make ONE decision and stick with it. If there was going to be some kind of nursing "rule," I needed to be consistent with it. And at this point, Baby T was begging to nurse all day, every day, and I was getting upset limiting him. Big T made a good point. He said, "Baby T is still a baby. Why don't you let him nurse whenever he asks, but just don't nurse the two babies together." That sounded like a good idea. That way, Baby T knew I still loved him and wasn't suddenly keeping this very important form of comfort from him, but I wouldn't have to deal with him whining to nurse in public when I was nursing Baby M. Because that was a big fear of mine all of a sudden: If I nursed them at the same time at home, what if Baby T begged to tandem nurse in public?

Big T also reminded me that I didn't have to make a decision right now. We had just brought Baby M home. Things were going to take a while to settle down. Baby T was transitioning from being the only adored child in the house to having to share everything with someone else. We would figure this out. But a lot of the forums (like on Kellymom.com) and the book Adventures in Tandem Nursing made it seem like everyone limits the older nursling in some way. I wasn't sure why. Or if I should. Or what the reasoning was behind limiting. So I wasn't sure what to do.

Also, none of the forums or books (book, really--Adventures in Tandem Nursing is pretty much the only one out there) talked about what an emotional roller coaster tandem nursing could be. I was completely unprepared for the way Baby T felt when he saw me nursing Baby M. Maybe it's just something that can't be explained until you experience it yourself.

Nursing Baby T whenever he asked made me feel much better. My guilt was dissipating, and he seemed much more satisfied and content. There were a few other advantages, too:

1. Baby M had a lazy latch, and even though I told the nurses at the hospital that I didn't need Lansinoh (Geez, I was still nursing my toddler, for pete's sake. I was a pro!) my right nipple was insanely sore and I cringed every time Baby M latched on. I didn't want to nurse Baby M on that side as much, but I didn't want to cause problems with my supply, and I felt like I was getting a plugged duct on that side. Baby T to the rescue. Baby T's latch didn't hurt me, and he helped relieve the pressure on that side, moving the milk and preventing a plugged duct. Nursing only Baby T on that side helped the nipple heal within a week.

2. Engorgement: In the mornings, when I would be leaking everywhere, drowning Baby M, who couldn't handle all the milk, and my boobs would be killing me from the pressure, Baby T would nurse and the engorgement was instantly relieved. This was amazing. My boobs felt so much more normal this time around than the first time, when they were insanely huge for an insanely long period of time. Now they get emptied regularly. And I don't have to pull out the pump. It was a huge relief.

3. Baby T was sick the first week I had Baby M home. Horribly, whiningly, screamingly, pathetically sick. He ran a super high fever and would either snuggle against me, completely lethargic, or scream for hours. Nursing helped calm him. It also helped me feel better about having a sick kid around my newborn. I felt like it was the best thing I could do to help the sickness pass more quickly. I even read that some research suggests that if you are nursing more than one child, the sick child's nursing creates antibodies for that specific sickness in your milk more quickly than if you were not nursing that child and just had the antibodies build up by simply being around the child. And those antibodies helped Baby M NOT get sick.

4. Baby T is a picky eater. Since he is nursing quite a bit and my milk is back, I feel more comfortable when he doesn't eat much dinner.

So--ok--this tandem nursing thing was getting smoother. And trying not to nurse them at the same time didn't last very long. It was just easier to nurse them together. If I was nursing Baby M and Baby T wanted to nurse, he would tug on Baby M and say, "No, Mason!" or "Tieren's milk, Mason!" And these were the only times that Baby T ever tried to hit Baby M. The rest of the time, Baby T was so sweet with Baby M and never showed any aggression toward him. So I nursed them together.

I was still nervous about having to tell Baby T that I couldn't nurse them together in public, though. One of my friends made a good suggestion: that I talk to Baby T about it (duh). Although Baby T isn't quite two years old yet, he's a bright kid. He gets stuff. So I've been talking to him over and over about how nice it is to have mommy's milk when we're at home and only at home. I bring it up in the car, when we're at home nursing, and when he asks to nurse when we're out and about. And if he asks to nurse when we're out of the house, and I explain this to him, he still gets whiny, but he's manageable. He knows.

Which brings me to another issue: he is definitely nursing more for comfort than for nourishment (although I do feel like he's had a growth spurt lately). Something else he does (which was cute before but now drives me crazy) is demand that we hold him. He'll walk at our feet with his arms up, yelling, "Hold you! Hold you!" Lately, I notice that when he gets tired or overwhelmed, he'll just whine, "Mommy's milk! Hold you!" but not really be paying attention to what he's saying. It's like he's used to asking for those things as a security blanket, but he doesn't always want them. Sometimes, he asks for "mommy's milk! Leche bottle!" And when he does that, I know he just wants the comfort of something familiar. And his sippy cup works in those situations.

I don't really know where I'm going with this. I guess he always nurses for comfort. He nurses first thing in the morning (again, it's so predictable...it's more a routine than a need or desire). And he asks to nurse when he sees me nurse Baby M, but sometimes he distracts himself with a toy, and other times he nurses quickly and then goes off to do something else. But what I found is that if I let him nurse, he is in a much better mood afterward. Instead of dealing with a tantrum, I get a moment of peace while I nurse the boys, and then I get a moment of independent play from Baby T, which is definitely not the norm.

And seeing your toddler hold your baby's hand while they are both snuggling with their mama is the sweetest thing I've ever seen.