Milk Run, Sniffer dogs

I've been up since 5 and this isn't an aberration of sorts. I have a new found internal alarm clock that sends me out of bed, wide-eyed and ready to roll. That's when the boobs are full and need some instant relief. This morning was no different, although I was trying to ignore it and push it till 6 am so that I could get a little bit more time in bed before the household cacophany began- that's usually about 6. Unfortunately, Evan was grunting and trying to get himself burped outside and that, I guess, is a sound a mother cannot ignore- her child in pseudo difficulty and protesting, even though it's just how he is.

Anyway, the long and the short of it is that I'm up. And the expressing's done but I'm too wide awake to go back to bed. The inate competitiveness in me is annoyed by the fact that the volume of breast milk isn't a record breaking high. I think I expect everyday to yield even more milk than the day before. And when it doesn't, I have varying degrees of annoyance. Some days I'm just like "ok, I'm tired, screw it, if there isn't enough, there's always formula", other days I'm like "oh crap! Why isn't there more milk??" and other days it's like the end of the world as I know it. The levels of neurosis I guess depends on how generally angsty I am that day or that night.

It's an upward battle though, trying to keep to growing younglings satiated as well as express enough so that my nipples can have a 4-5 hour breather away from the barracuda-ness. I have been consoled with the fact that even with twins, I have enough to put away in the freezer that I need to find a new home for 2 tubs of Ben and Jerry's. But like I say, that competitive streak in me, having no one to compete with is in competition with me of night's past.

To make matters worse, the barracudas demand more everyday. Jordan can feed for an hour and often needs the second breast, otherwise she screams bloody murder till her tummy is round and full to the point of overflowing and sometimes, it does overflow, onto mummy's top, her own clothes, the couch, her bed etc. And even then, she's constantly rooting for more. To the point that I, her own mother, have difficulty carrying her. She sniffs me out. She knows that I am her fountain of sustenance and will protest if she were in the vicinity of it and not be granted access to it.

Meanwhile, Evan, while not being as aggressive, has learnt to throw hissy fits that would make his big sister proud. He's developed the Food. Now. NOW. NOW NOW NOW cry. He too, is my little Snoopy dog, like at Melbourne airport where they sniff out food that's hidden in bags. These two little sniffer dogs can pick up the scent even through a bra, a t-shirt and even a sarong sling. There's no tricking them. And all this, usually after they've been properly fed and burped.

So, I'm constantly trying to keep up. Keeping up with one is not a problem. The combined effort of trying to keep up with two somewhat schizophrenic feeding schedules and expressing is enough to drive any new mom round the bend. Thankfully, I have enough help to stave off that headlong plummet into hormonally induced semi-psychosis, Brooke Shields style. Now, when the help leaves, that will be the real test. My current fantasy is to be able to keep her on full time payroll. Unfortunately, I don't have an apartment that could go en-bloc for a disgustingly obscene amount of money so it's going to stay a fantasy even though at this point, I'd be willing to give an arm and a leg to keep her on as my children's nanny.

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