Once the boys were home, I fell into a "routine," for lack of a better word, although there was nothing routine about it. When the boys were hungry, I fed them. If they were dirty, I changed them. And if they were tired, well, they slept and I cleaned or did laundry or research on how to be a better twin mother.
We came home on Monday and Larry left for work on Wednesday. I regretted having him stay at the hospital and use his time off. Even though we had doubled the occupancy of our house, it felt so empty when he left that morning.
I do not think enough women talk about the emotional difficulties encountered in the first few months postpartum. Instead, you only hear about how wonderful motherhood is, and how there is an instant, unbreakable bond the minute a child is born. Well, either that isn't always the case, or I am truly the only woman in the world who is missing this treasured motherhood gene, as I feared I was in those first few weeks and months after my boys' birth.
I loved my boys from the start, but it was a love that grew while they were in my womb and it was incomplete once they were born. It was innate to care for them and protect them without question or complaint. I could not ignore their cries in the same way that I could not stop breathing. But our bonding experience was flawed. I loved them because I was supposed to.
I think there are three possible reasons for my initial detachment. The first involves their birth. Every woman has an ideal birth plan, and it can be downright heartbreaking when this birth plan goes awry. Before the twins were born, I read about women who were upset over their birthing circumstances and thought that these women were overly dramatic or too controlling. But I know now that botched birth plans create a very real phenomenon.
I really wanted a natural delivery but I was forced into a c-section because Ren was breech. I knew the dangers of a regular delivery, for both him and me, and thought I had come to terms with the impending c-section. But the actual birth was so sterile and impersonal. I did not see or feel my children being born, so it was almost like they weren't really mine. They just suddenly appeared without meeting any of my expectations of a birth.
I think that I suspected I would feel a bit disconnected because I was very specific about what I wanted after their birth. No one in our extended family was to see them until I had a chance to feed them and Larry and I had an hour or two to be alone with our new family. This bonding time was essential to the start of my motherhood, and I was so worried about this not happening that I even asked relatives to stay home until I called them. That didn't go over so well! But neither did my request. While I was still in surgery, my children were wheeled out into the hall to meet all of their relatives. I still tear up, months later, when I think that I was the last person to touch my babies that day. Like a mother robin whose nest has been handled by an invader, I rejected my children. Granted, I rejected them emotionally rather than abandoning them physically, but I rejected them just the same. I can't say if they smelled like the invaders or if there were a biological reason for my disappointment, but I can say that they did not feel like they belonged to me. Several people have said I must have had postpartum depression to have such thoughts, but I wasn't depressed. I just didn't feel any bond with my children.
I believe that severe sleep deprivation also contributed to my ability to love my babies in the way in which I wanted. In the first 6 weeks, I was getting 2 to 4 hours of sleep a day, but it was broken up into increments of 10 to 30 minutes. It took over 2 hours to feed both babies and 30 minutes to pump milk. By the time I cleaned bottles and pumping supplies, it was literally time to start feeding them again. The only emotions that exist in the extremely sleep-deprived are dark, isolating feelings; there is no room for love or joy. I had everything I could do just to continue to exist, and on top of it I was the lifeline for two infants. There was no time or energy to put into our relationship.
At about 8 weeks out, I stumbled onto the third reason for my detachment. I was reading "Mothering Multiples" and the author said "It is more difficult to fall in love with two persons at the same time." This comment and the brief paragraph in which I found it helped me to accept the way I was feeling. I had started to believe that there was something wrong with me, but this book explained that forming attachments with twins was much more difficult than with a single baby. Some women can take years to bond with their multiples! While I prayed it wouldn't take me so long, the book gave me the strength to endure the lack of emotion I was so lost without.
Luckily, it only took 10 weeks. One morning I went in their nursery to start the day, and Ren smiled at me. My heart flooded with love and pride and I picked him up and hugged him. The same thing happened when I got Gray out of his crib. It was instant and wonderful and everything I had always imagined, even if it was 10 weeks late. I think that I had to put time between me and the birth experience and get some adequate sleep before I could see things---even things as wonderful as love---more clearly.
Postpartum seems like such a dirty word, but it simply means "after birth." I guess because it's so often paired with that other word, "depression," that "postpartum" gets a bad rap. I think it's important to understand that what women experience after birth isn't always depression, nor is it always maternal bliss. It may be a sort of purgatory in between, while she sorts through the hormones and emotions that result from the most significant change in her life. Whatever she feels, it is okay.
We came home on Monday and Larry left for work on Wednesday. I regretted having him stay at the hospital and use his time off. Even though we had doubled the occupancy of our house, it felt so empty when he left that morning.
I do not think enough women talk about the emotional difficulties encountered in the first few months postpartum. Instead, you only hear about how wonderful motherhood is, and how there is an instant, unbreakable bond the minute a child is born. Well, either that isn't always the case, or I am truly the only woman in the world who is missing this treasured motherhood gene, as I feared I was in those first few weeks and months after my boys' birth.
I loved my boys from the start, but it was a love that grew while they were in my womb and it was incomplete once they were born. It was innate to care for them and protect them without question or complaint. I could not ignore their cries in the same way that I could not stop breathing. But our bonding experience was flawed. I loved them because I was supposed to.
I think there are three possible reasons for my initial detachment. The first involves their birth. Every woman has an ideal birth plan, and it can be downright heartbreaking when this birth plan goes awry. Before the twins were born, I read about women who were upset over their birthing circumstances and thought that these women were overly dramatic or too controlling. But I know now that botched birth plans create a very real phenomenon.
I really wanted a natural delivery but I was forced into a c-section because Ren was breech. I knew the dangers of a regular delivery, for both him and me, and thought I had come to terms with the impending c-section. But the actual birth was so sterile and impersonal. I did not see or feel my children being born, so it was almost like they weren't really mine. They just suddenly appeared without meeting any of my expectations of a birth.
I think that I suspected I would feel a bit disconnected because I was very specific about what I wanted after their birth. No one in our extended family was to see them until I had a chance to feed them and Larry and I had an hour or two to be alone with our new family. This bonding time was essential to the start of my motherhood, and I was so worried about this not happening that I even asked relatives to stay home until I called them. That didn't go over so well! But neither did my request. While I was still in surgery, my children were wheeled out into the hall to meet all of their relatives. I still tear up, months later, when I think that I was the last person to touch my babies that day. Like a mother robin whose nest has been handled by an invader, I rejected my children. Granted, I rejected them emotionally rather than abandoning them physically, but I rejected them just the same. I can't say if they smelled like the invaders or if there were a biological reason for my disappointment, but I can say that they did not feel like they belonged to me. Several people have said I must have had postpartum depression to have such thoughts, but I wasn't depressed. I just didn't feel any bond with my children.
I believe that severe sleep deprivation also contributed to my ability to love my babies in the way in which I wanted. In the first 6 weeks, I was getting 2 to 4 hours of sleep a day, but it was broken up into increments of 10 to 30 minutes. It took over 2 hours to feed both babies and 30 minutes to pump milk. By the time I cleaned bottles and pumping supplies, it was literally time to start feeding them again. The only emotions that exist in the extremely sleep-deprived are dark, isolating feelings; there is no room for love or joy. I had everything I could do just to continue to exist, and on top of it I was the lifeline for two infants. There was no time or energy to put into our relationship.
At about 8 weeks out, I stumbled onto the third reason for my detachment. I was reading "Mothering Multiples" and the author said "It is more difficult to fall in love with two persons at the same time." This comment and the brief paragraph in which I found it helped me to accept the way I was feeling. I had started to believe that there was something wrong with me, but this book explained that forming attachments with twins was much more difficult than with a single baby. Some women can take years to bond with their multiples! While I prayed it wouldn't take me so long, the book gave me the strength to endure the lack of emotion I was so lost without.
Luckily, it only took 10 weeks. One morning I went in their nursery to start the day, and Ren smiled at me. My heart flooded with love and pride and I picked him up and hugged him. The same thing happened when I got Gray out of his crib. It was instant and wonderful and everything I had always imagined, even if it was 10 weeks late. I think that I had to put time between me and the birth experience and get some adequate sleep before I could see things---even things as wonderful as love---more clearly.
Postpartum seems like such a dirty word, but it simply means "after birth." I guess because it's so often paired with that other word, "depression," that "postpartum" gets a bad rap. I think it's important to understand that what women experience after birth isn't always depression, nor is it always maternal bliss. It may be a sort of purgatory in between, while she sorts through the hormones and emotions that result from the most significant change in her life. Whatever she feels, it is okay.
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