I would post up an update like about how Fatty Mattie is going to be released from the NICU anyday now. They don’t tell you anything exact. One minute the twins are bunking together the next day they want you to bring in a car seat to do a car seat test where they test their stamina on sitting upright for an hour. Of course the way I drive the test should be a lot more rigorous. I’ll have to remember to pop that in the suggestion box. Anyway, I would post an update very much like this except that some horrible movie that will give me nightmares called Hostel is on cable while I wait for pumping time to creep up on me again.
I’m supposed to wake up in the middle of the night to pump. Well, if I really loved my daughters and wanted to keep the meager milk train flowing as much as possible I’d never let more than five hours pass by even at night. As it is I pump every 2 to 2.5 hours during daylight but the nighttime is just too much to bear. I only do it if I can’t sleep for some reason.
So just to let you know, full disclosure, I got into it with a nurse at the NICU. All of them except this one is the nicest person on the planet. But seriously, I have to take an extra clonnie to deal with her “expertise” and forty or fifty years of experience which gives her a condescending attitude. I asked her if I could pick up my baby (this was 15 minutes before their feeding) and she said “No.” So I said why and she said “We talked about this mommy” in a tone usually directed at first graders who maybe should’ve repeated kindergarten. Anyway, she went on to tell me that if I didn’t care about my babies getting their rest so they can grow I could take them for a walk around the hospital grounds for all she cares. It’s up to me their my babies.
I told her I didn’t like her tone. And we had a talk during which I cried. But I’m no wuss and I didn’t put up with her jaded shit.
Time to pump.