the ladies man

I will soon resume my posting of the 3-Day walk. But while I give myself (and my cousin Margaret) a little time to recover emotionally - let me take a quick moment to discuss my little firecracker.

This is Henry.

Adorable, out of this world, my surprise baby that still takes my breath away every single time I look at him, Henry.

Henry is almost 29-months old and he isn't at all happy about my decision that it is time to wean. It certainly hasn't been easy for either of us. I have absolutely denied my child when he approaches me with his gorgeous blue eyes and Amazon-long lashes. When he sweetly asks, "Nurse Mama? Nurse?" and I tell him no, he'll pout and then, tears will splash down his sweet baby cheeks. After a while he'll recover, and then he'll climb on to my lap and like a bad date, he'll slowly slip his hand inside my shirt and grope around for what was once the sole source of his nourishment, while snickering "Heh, Heh, Heh!"

This morning, when I denied him for the 10th straight day, he sounded very much like his five-year-old siblings who are trying to bargain for additional time on the computer. In his charming little toddler voice he said, "PWEASE MAMA! PWEASE! I NEED FIVE MOH MIN-NUTS!"

I almost caved and gave him five moh min-nuts. But instead, he got a nice sippy cup of orange juice and a big kiss on his chubby cheek. Because something about negotiating the duration of a breastfeeding session with a child, makes me believe they are old enough to stop.

But I give him a lot of credit for trying.

He will go far in life with those blue eyes and that kind of perseverance.

the henster meister

For a long time now, I've been wanting to write about Henry - his sleep habits, what's happening with weaning and how the little guy is adjusting to life here at the homestead.


Seeing as Henry is wide awake at this late hour and I don't want to clean up from the day and cause a ruckus (that's as good of an excuse as any why to skip scrubbing toilets), I figure now is a good time to jot down some thoughts on our little firecracker.

Since I've been traveling so much over the past sixteen weeks and Henry has not been with me for a large portion of that time - and I'm extremely unwilling to haul along and use a pump - my supply is just about gone. One might think that means weaning is complete, but that's not quite the case.

Gravity is a cruel thing. Especially after birthing four babies and nursing all of them, including one of them until he is 27 months old. So sorry in advance for the TMI, but my chest looks like two sadly deflated balloons. But that does not stop Henry, in the least, from thinking that my chest region is the most glorious thing ever. "Nurse, Mama? NURSE?" he'll ask me at random times throughout the day. Whenever I scoop him up and hold him in the crook of my arm, he'll gently put his hands on my face and ask again, "Nurse?"

If I oblige him, or if he happens to spot me climbing out of the shower, he'll throw his arms over his head and with a huge smile yell, "YAY HENRY!!" But if I deny him, he'll bury his head and sob. With big, rolling tears.

Sadly for my son, more and more he's been hearing the words, "Sorry little guy." I'm not telling him this because my supply is all but gone and he is 27-months old (!!), but rather because he needs to eat and sleep and I can see a direct trend between how well he eats and sleeps and how frequently he nurses. And when I'm around? There's nothing more he'd rather do.

Whenever I'm out of town, I get a daily report from Charlie. He'll tell me things like, "Henry ate a 12-inch pizza for dinner and then promptly fell asleep for the next 14 hours."

So weaning is definitely underway. Most days I'll nurse once. But no more than twice. And sometimes, not at all. I could probably stop altogether, and some would probably suggest that I do stop altogether, but quite honestly, there are times when I love being able to scoop him up and pacify him for a while. I fully realize that there is nothing nutritive about this process. But since I'm not ready to be done yet - we're not.

Henry does still have a pacifier, which I've intentionally lost on more than one occasion, and then promptly found again - because the importance of peace and quiet can not be overstated. Henry has dubbed his pacifier "Bucky" which he'll ask for by name. Charlie, in turn, has dubbed me, "Mommy Bucky" because up until recently, it appeared that I was evolving in to a living pacifier.

Every night, he's been going to sleep between 7 and 8 and since I've stopped nursing him first thing in the morning, he is now sleeping until 6:30 or 7 AM. He had been waking up between 5 and 5:30 and I would nurse him in our bed. But some mornings he'd wake up earlier. And gosh, you know, after several months of this, I was ready to SNAP. So I cut out that early morning session - he screamed for a few days, I contemplated locking him in the garage - and now, he sleeps for around 11-12 hours at night like a champ. (Except tonight.)

Another advantage of cutting back on the nursing is that he naps better, too.

What had been a 45-minute catnap during the mid-day is now at least a 2-hour nap in the afternoon. The key is getting him to nap around 1:00 PM, so that he is awake by 3:00 PM. Today, we didn't get him down until almost 2:30 and we should have woken him up by no later than 4:00. But I got distracted coloring with the kids and making spaghetti sauce for dinner and only realized that Henry was still asleep when we were loading up to go to church at 5:45 PM.

Hence the reason he is still awake at 11:00 PM.

(WTG, MOM!)

Of course I could probably get him right to sleep if I just brought him out and nursed him now, which I just may do because I can already see tomorrow is shaping up to be a rough day. But instead, I'm sipping my wine - updating my blog - and hoping that he'll doze off soon.

Is it terribly cruel that I'm only nursing when it is convenient for me?

(Probably so. Don't answer that.)

Worthy to note is that our five-year-olds are fully aware of the nursing ritual. Carolyn for the most part, has an endless supply of patience with her little brother, and has sweetly told me that when she grows up, she will have milk in her chest so that they can nurse Henry for me. While I really do appreciate her gesture, I'm optimistic he'll be fully weaned by then and I doubt my daughter will feel the same willingness to help in 25 years.

William on the other hand, tends to get quite annoyed with our youngest. Especially when Henry ambushes his toy and clothing supply that he has segregated in various boxes in his closet. Sometimes, I'll hear William's frustrated voice telling his little brother to STOP TOUCHING HIS STUFF! When Henry does not immediately cooperate, William will ask, "Hey Henry? You wanna nurse?" because he knows that there is no faster way to dispose of his little brother than to pass him off on me and my deflated balloons.

Inevitably, whenever William makes this suggestion, Henry will cheer, "YAY HENRY!" and come running - which effectively, leaves William alone. And while I'd like to get upset that my son is offering up something he has no right to offer up, I'm actually very impressed (and extremely appreciative) that he doesn't resort to physical violence.

Unlike his sister, Elizabeth, who when Henry got in to her princess dolls last week, tried stuffing him in to a box for the poor children (aka: Salvation Army).

On the upside, she did throw his Bucky in with him...

good times

I'm going to scatter throughout this post some pictures that I took during our Fourth of July celebration last week. Because these photos are presented in no particular order, I'll just interject here that we started the day off with a Pancake Breakfast at our local firehouse.

Then we went to a parade on Coronado Island. Then we went to the beach where a nearly-horizontal Charlie pushed a stroller loaded with three children across 1,000 feet of sand while people stopped to stare. And me, being the supportive wife that I am, laughed and took pictures while holding the baby and a beach umbrella (no, I wasn't entirely empty handed).

Then we went out for lunch. Then we came home and baked Henry's birthday cake and prepared for a party with friends. Then we went to a party with friends at a local park where there was a lot of eating and drinking and merriment and parachuters that held American flags while they fell from the sky.

There were lots of fireworks. And there were lots of children who stayed up four hours past their bedtime chasing beach balls through pitch black fields with a plastic bat. We had an awesome day. And no surprise, the kids slept in until 9:00 AM on Sunday. Which before children, really was no big deal. But post-children, is the equivalent of sleeping in until 2:00 PM.

Now, for the four men that read my blog, please look away.

There's nothing more here for you to read.

Ladies, as I've mentioned, I haven't yet weaned Henry.

I'll write more about that later, but for the purpose of this post, I think it's just important to note that I am a nursing mother. And up until a few months ago, I had been reaping one of the "monthly benefits" that many breastfeeding mothers enjoy.

But once I stopped reaping that particular benefit, I gradually noticed a change in my demeanor.

For approximately 24 days out of the month, I was happy and had an optimism about life. But for three or four days, leading up to the commencement of the event, I would dissolve in to something that was unrecognizable.

I would become weepy, irrational, overly reflective, and distressed to the point of panic.

It made no sense to me.

This had never happened before.

What was going on?

Although this might come as a shock, I had never once considered that my behavior was in any way related to hormonal fluctuations. I have always thought that women who attributed their crabbiness, food cravings and dermatological variances to "the time of the month" were full of bologna.

My general opinion was that PMS had morphed in to the biggest "Why-I-Can-Act-Like-A-Psycho-And-Get-Away-With-It" scape goat, ever.

But recently, because I couldn't understand what was happening with my own self, I started jotting some notes in my calendar. And today, sweet beejezhus, I see a definitive trend.

HELP! I AM FALLING OFF THE BALANCE BEAM OF LIFE!

This post.

And this post.

And this post.

And this post?

And this one!

There's a pattern. I am one of those women. And until I can get this resolved, either through acupuncture, meditation, weaning, diet, or perhaps a three-day medically induced coma ... I plan to take a break from blogging about my life for a few days each month. Maybe I'll just post pictures and tips on how to BOOHOO, why am I crying?! remove sand from toes at the beach (baby powder). Because really, there's no need to warn all of you that OH GOD the sky is falling.

I'm hopeful that someone out there is thanking me for this post.

So, you're very welcome.

Now please send over some hot fudge.

my little sweet tooth

I baked a batch of chocolate chip cookies this past week. In the process of doing so, I pulled out all of the various ingredients that I would need.

Noticing that I was running low on chocolate chips, I ran to our outside refrigerator to get a new 72-oz Costco-sized bag. As I was walking back to the kitchen, I could hear one of our small children's chairs being pushed across the tile floor. I was thinking to myself that one of the children saw that I was about to begin baking and wanted to pull up a chair to help.

But then I rounded the corner and was quite surprised to see that my baby had pushed the chair up to the counter and was standing on it.

High on his tippy toes, he was peering in to the almost empty bag of chocolate chips.


This baby. This little angel in my life, woke the entire house up with his cries last night at 11:30. He was up again at 1:30 and 3:15 and when I didn't pick him up, but instead gave him a sip of water - his pacifier - and told him "HUSH! GO BACK TO SLEEP!" he woke everyone up again at 4:00 AM screaming, "Mama! MAMA!! MAMAAMAMAMA!!! APPWLES!!!"

Charlie and I were completely exhausted today. As we were exhausted yesterday. And Friday. And every day last week, last month and last year.

Just as we will be exhausted tomorrow.

Our exhaustion doesn't have to do with training for a marathon. Or raising triplets. Or even working. While laying in bed at 4:30 this morning, we were animatedly discussing how and when we will ever get this child to sleep through the night in our small and almost completely doorless house. We discussed moving Henry's crib in to William's room (with a door) and moving William in with the girls. And then, we'll just close the door and give everyone a set of earplugs.

But I spoke with my sister-in-law today who has a little boy a few weeks older than Henry. A baby that she is also still nursing, in a house that is even smaller than ours. She told me that she just moved my nephew in to her bedroom so that when he wakes, she can scoop him up before he disturbs my brother and three-year-old twin nephews.

I really cannot stand to hear my baby cry, especially since I know that I have the ability to make him perfectly content. I have exactly what it is that he wants and needs and I know that it really won't be that much longer, relatively speaking, that he will need me in the capacity that he needs me, right now.

So ... I've decided that I am either going to move him in to our room, or put a bag of chocolate chips in to his crib. Thus far, it's the only thing that quiets him down like appwles.

how you like them apples?

I'm almost entirely convinced the reason I cannot get Henry to nap more than an hour during the day, and sleep no more than five hours consecutively at night, has everything to do with the fact that I nursed him exclusively the first twelve months six months of his life.

(And probably a little bit to do with the fact that he shares a room with his sisters that has no door and is located immediately off the kitchen.)

All along, I've been certain that Henry would wean himself at 10-months like his brother did. Or most definitely by 17-months like his sisters did.

Because ... because ... that's what babies do.

But it's been so different with Henry. All along, it's been different. He's never had a regimented schedule like the triplets did. Sure, I could have put him on a regimented schedule, but then - our entire lives would have revolved around one child's sleeping routine, which is tough when you have four children.

So at night when he would cry, I would scoop him up because I didn't want him to wake up the rest of the family and besides - they grow up so, so fast and really how much trouble is it to let him sleep next to me and nurse? Or catch a snooze on the couch while listening to his dad play guitar?

Or sleep while laying across my lap while I respond to work e-mail?


Or pay the bills?

To date, I remain convinced that he will wean himself when he is ready. Or before he turns two two and a half. Yet here we are, edging deeper and deeper in to toddler territory, and my child shows no sign of slowing down.


I've offered him food. I've offered him drink. I sit him down with a bowl of Cheerios and he tosses them across the table, tries to climb under my shirt while pointing at my chest and yelling "APPWLES!!!"


That's what he calls them.


APPLES. Like the fruit.

Which I suppose is better than William who walked in while I was getting dressed the other day and after taking a moment to size me up, declared "Mom, I really like those squishy things."

Personal boundaries? Privacy? What's that?!

I haven't seen either since I've become a mother.

an amazing trip trick: breastfeeding olympiad (and a rant)

Did I ever mention that on one of the eight cross-country plane trips we took before our triplets turned two years old, I once tandem nursed two babies and then, rotated in the third, during take-off while wedged next to a business man in coach class?

It's true.

The babies were crying because it was around nap time, they were hungry, the change in cabin pressure was hurting their little ears and traveling cross-country in a full plane can be a real drag. Although I did have Podee Bottles with me, I have always believed that nothing calms a fussy baby down like bringing them to the breast.

So, that's what I did.

Right there in coach.

While seated next to a man dressed in his fancy pinstriped business suit.

He was a good sport about it, although he definitely gave me a shocked look and exclaimed "I've never seen anything like this in my entire life!"

And I replied, "I doubt you ever will again. Bud, this is your lucky day!"

When I tell people that story, they probably imagine that I'm sitting half naked in my small coach seat, with two babies voraciously suckling. In truth, I have always tried to be a very discreet nurser. I don't pull the girls out for all the world to see. But, I'm not - nor ever (never?) have been - nervous or embarrassed to feed my babies wherever and whenever necessary.

Why should I be ashamed?

Isn't nursing a baby the very reason I sprouted this ... equipment ... on my chest?

Breastfeeding our triplets was one experience. I've already written about that, here. Nursing a singleton is totally different and more convenient than I expected. I'm always on the go with our children. We visit various parks, the YMCA, the Zoo, church, SeaWorld, restaurants, the grocery store and Target at least once a week. And during those outings, you can almost always find my little baby Henry, strapped in to the Bjorn and contentedly nursing. I like to think of myself as employing "Mother Nature's Podee Bottles."

Although I could have invested in a hooter hider, or some other type of modest nursing cover-up or blanket clip, I don't like to fuss with too much gear. Besides, I find that whenever I drape something, like a blanket, over Henry's head, he breaks out in a profuse sweat.

Therefore, I just wear clothes that allow me to nurse my baby so that he is comfortable and I am inconspicuous. The top part of my "uniform" consists of a stretchy tank top camisole with built in bra. My absolute favorite camisoles are those made by North Face. I have one in every color and three in black.


I'll wear a camisole as my first layer and a comfortable shirt as a second.


When I need to nurse, I just pull up my shirt and pull down the camisole, exposing the tiniest amount of skin (aka: nipple) for the baby.


And this is the million dollar view that I receive.


I made the decision to nurse Henry because I've always wanted to exclusively breastfeed a baby. I believe that "Breast is Best" although formula does a fine job growing up a baby, too - and because it takes longer to digest, will probably insure that the baby sleeps through the night at an earlier age. Even though Henry is a whopping 20 pounds at almost 5 months, he still has yet to sleep through the night ... unlike our triplets who at the same age, were sleeping 12 hours when they were on a regimented schedule that involved formula supplementation.

The lack of sleep that accompanies nursing, might be considered a downside for some people. But, the fact that my infant son has been a little vacuum sucking all of my pregnancy fat out of me, more than offsets any disturbance to my slumber.

Aside from that, I love that I can pull Henry in close and feed him whenever he needs to be fed. I love that I can nurse him at night in bed, while I lightly doze. I love that I can feed him on the go and don't ever have to worry about preparing or cleaning bottles. There is something primal and awesome about pulling a baby in close and have them receive nutrition from your body. I can't put in to words, but it is the most beautiful bonding I've ever experienced.

I'm not much of an activist, probably because not much riles me up. Then again, I'm largely oblivious to what is going on in the world. But last night, I came across a blog that has really ruffled my maternal feathers.

Breastfeeding is a natural and beautiful thing.

So, I'm at a complete loss why this video montage showing images of mother's breastfeeding their babies was banned from FaceBook. It wasn't flagged as inappropriate, like so many videos are based on questionable content. It was BANNED. From FaceBook.

And, MySpace.

And, YouTube.

This is not a video depicting scantily clad women performing some perverted sexual act, like so many videos on these websites, are. It's a video of women feeding their babies. Which, I think ... might be something that women have done for as long as women have existed? Please do correct me if I'm wrong ... but I don't think Similac was around in Biblical times.

Maybe Enfamil?

Or, Nestle Good Start?

I supplemented our triplets with formula. I do not think it is a bad thing. I've written before that it is not as important what you feed your baby as how you feed your baby. But, I am really infuriated with the public demonization of women who choose to feed their baby the way nature intended.

I want to expound on the many advantages of breastfeeding. Of course the most obvious are that it is good for baby and for mom. And those breast pads that are so useful for a lactating mother to stop the artesian gush in the early months have a plethora of uses.

Here are just a few...

Tam o'shanter!!


OY VEY!! A yarmulke!!


More absorbent than Bounty and more environmentally friendly, too!


Can't find an oven mit? Reach for a BP!


You've heard of the Pee-Pee Teepee? A breast pad works just as well, if not better!


A coaster, maybe?


A bib, perhaps?

Use two as ear muffs to keep a youngster warm or muffle a mother yelling at her three-year old to leave their poopy diaper on!!

Once I can figure out how to affix one to my car antenna, I'm going to hoist one high. Because I think a breast pad fluttering in the breeze, would also make a great flag to draw awareness to the censorship and negative stigma that surrounds breastfeeding mothers and their babies.

I'm not quite sure how breastfeeding a baby in public is on par with masturbating in an Apple Bees restaurant, but it was that idiotic statement made by the boob Bill Maher, that made me realize I may not be much of an activist, but I am a die-hard lactivist.

And I am proud.

*Did anyone notice the five rings in the first picture? I had to point that out to Charlie. Get it?? It's a breastfeeding OLYMPIAD.*

Breastfeeding Basics

Unless you have nipples of steel - breastfeeding hurts like $&*#@*&$%^&# in the beginning. No one ever told me that, so I learned the hard way.

Some other things I learned were that the herbal supplements Fenugreek and Lecithin are important to help boost your supply and thin your milk which may prevent clogged ducts.

The prescription Reglan will further boost your supply, if you had a low supply to begin with - or - if you need enough milk to nourish a small community.

Until you "toughen" up - lanolin is great for cracked nipples and gel pads can make any clothing (except a wool bra) that comes in to contact with your chest more tolerable.

Cabbage leaves (although not something I've ever tried) are purportedly a wonderful aid for engorged breasts.

A hands-free pump bra is a must have if you intend to pump - and a great conversation piece at boring dinner parties.

If you suspect that you have mastitis - a fast diagnosis and treatment with an antibiotic (i.e. Keflex), is critical.

This concludes my breastfeeding public announcement. If you want to hear more about my personal experience ... read on.

***********************

For a long time, I've been wanting to write about my experience nursing our triplets.

In case you are wondering - no - I didn't put them all "back on the boob" even though the thought had crossed my delirious mind after our sixth straight month of sickness. But even I'm not that crazy to attempt re-lactating for our 2-year old triplets when I'm 6-months pregnant.

Crazy enough to think and write about it ... definitely not crazy enough to do it.

Instead, I wanted to write about my decision to breastfeed our triplets and how I accomplished this seemingly monumental task.

Within two days of our babies being born, I was visited by a team of lactation consultants in the hospital. They arrived in my room with a hospital grade pump, an instruction manual and an assortment of goodies that were intended to make my nursing experience that much more enjoyable. The assortment of supplies they provided me included gel pads, nipple cream, and a coupon for $5.00 off a hands-free pumping bra.

What they forgot to put in that goodie bag was a bullet to bite. Because in all honesty, I think that a bullet in my goodie bag would have provided an excellent segue for how - in the beginning - breastfeeding a baby, might be the most excruciatingly painful thing you've ever experienced.

In your entire life.

Yes, even more painful than seeing and hearing Sanjaya and knowing that he'll still be around ... next week.

My lactation consultants - bona fide cheerleaders who waved flanges instead of pompoms - emphasized the importance of sitting down with my feet up as much as possible - and that any time I sat down to nurse or pump - I should have a big glass of water to sip on.

They showed me how massaging the breast and nipple prior to pumping or having your baby latch on will help with "let down". They told me that warm compresses can also help to facilitate let down and they stressed that although I might not recover much milk in the beginning ... it was critical that I begin pumping immediately, and continue every three hours, round-the-clock.

They suggested that I start taking the herbal supplement Fenugreek, three tablets with every meal, and they also suggested that I keep a nursing journal - so that I could keep tabs on how my milk supply was increasing with time.

Before they left, they told me that not all breastmilk is created the same. My breastmilk, was perfectly formulated for our babies at that exact point in their lives. I learned that with time, my breastmilk composition would change to fit the nutritional needs of our children. So, when our babies were full-term, my milk would have a different chemistry and fat base to satisfy their needs, than it would when they were 31-week preemies.

Never once did they warn me that hooking a manual pump up to my naked chest - or putting a hungry baby to breast - would be anything like unleashing a ravenous tiger on fat vulnerable prey.

Oblivious to what I was in for - and anxious to get started - I hooked myself up to the pump and sat on my hospital bed, fully expecting to see the little 2-oz bottles that they provided me with, instantly fill up with milk.

Instead, after a solid 20-minutes and nothing to show for my efforts, I decided that maybe I hadn't massaged enough or maybe the pump wasn't set at an intense enough level.

So, I massaged more and pumped more.

And more.

And more.

Still, nothing.

Even though I did everything that the lactation consultants told me to do - I still had not produced a single drop of breastmilk after two days and a grueling amount of time hooked up to the torture equipment I had set on "high".

By this point, our babies were still receiving donated breast milk - I was feeling like a complete failure that I couldn't produce the milk that was needed for their survival - and my nipples had almost completely chafed off my chest.

Although there was nothing I could have done to control our babies from being born 9 weeks prematurely, I felt like I could control (or at least try to control) my body's ability to produce breastmilk - which according to the lactation consultants, was the most important thing I could provide for them. So I kept on pumping, despite the agony.

And finally - colostrum appeared. Although at first sight, I thought it was the liquefaction of my breasts from all the pressure they'd been subjected to over the past week.

Within a week from the appearance of colostrum, I was producing approximately 8 ounces of milk a day. This continued to go up with time, and because our babies had not yet mastered the suck, swallow, breathe reflex - I was able to record the volume of milk I was producing.

After a few more days, the lactation consultants put me on a prescription for Reglan, in addition to the Fenugreek I had been taking. Incidentally, Reglan was the same prescription that our newborn girls were on for reflux - but in my case - it was intended to help boost my breast milk supply even more. As was the oatmeal, beer and large volumes of Mother's Milk Tea I was devouring. Later, I also added Lecithin to my diet, which was another herbal supplement used to thin breastmilk and help prevent clogged ducts. (I didn't learn about this until after my second bout of mastitis.)

Within a few more days, my supply had increased to approximately 20 ounces a day ... and continued to go up, topping out at approximately 70 ounces per day. Considering our babies were consuming more and more with each feeding - I was just barely able to keep up with their intake. However, I was told that my milk supply would go up even more, when I finally transitioned the baby to breast - because apparently - a baby does a better job extracting milk than the best pump on the market.

After everything that my nipples had been through with a hospital grade pump - that seemed unbelievable to me.

Unfortunately, just as I was preparing to put our babies "to breast", I broke out from head to toe in hives. At first my doctors thought that perhaps I was having a relapse of HELLP Syndrome, but it was soon discovered that in my quest to be a milk machine ... I had overdosed on Fenugreek. During an exam, one of my perinatologists caught a glimpse of my barren chest and told me that it looked like someone had slammed my boobs in a car door. Much to my dismay, I was given strict instructions to eliminate Fenugreek from my diet and cut back on my marathon pumping sessions.

When I was finally able to attempt nursing, the reality of my experience was not at all what I had envisioned. It certainly wasn't like any of the movies I had seen where a newborn hungrily latches on and the mother smiles contentedly.

Instead, I sat with my compulsory Boppy Pillow (which I never liked) and my premature newborn who was 1/2 the size of my engorged breast. With one hand on the baby's head - I tried to use my other hand to maneuver a nipple in to my baby's tiny mouth.

All told, out of 100+ nursing sessions I attempted - I was able to sucessfully have a baby latch on twice. And both times, the baby promptly turned blue - setting off numerous alarms - and I was convinced that my boobs would ultimately be responsible for the demise of my child.

So, I gave up on nursing and continued to pump. For several months, I continued to pump. Despite two cases of mastitis, cracked nipples, and an overwhelming desire to sink my breast pump to the bottom of the ocean.

One day, after the babies had been home for two months, Charlie and I went out shopping. While we were at the store - Carolyn reminded us that we were rapidly approaching feeding time. We quickly made our way back to the car and when I opened our cooler and realized that all of the bottles were ice cold - I panicked.

Because it would take at least 15 minutes to warm up the bottles and 30 minutes to drive home, I decided that I had two options: 1) Give our babies cold milk ... or 2) attempt nursing. After Carolyn spit her cold milk at me and continued to wail - I had no choice but try Option 2.

In the backseat of our van, I gingerly brought her up to my chest and as I wracked my brain trying to remember how to maneuver the nipple in to her delicate mouth - I was absolutely shocked that she latched on with such ferocity I fell backwards in the seat. What was even more shocking was that my once tiny baby, had developed such a strong reflex, she could have easily sucked the chrome off a bumper.

Was it possible that my baby was actually nursing? Was it possible that she was getting all of the nutrition she needed - directly from me - and without a bottle?? How would I know if she'd had enough to eat - I certainly couldn't gauge how many ounces she had consumed?!

Despite my worries, after 10 minutes, she stopped nursing - let out a big burp - and promptly fell asleep with a drunken smile across her precious little face.

I felt totally vindicated. I could DO this!!!

Because I was anxious to rid myself of the pump, I instantly made the decision that I would try nursing two babies during each feeding session. The third baby, who I would rotate through, would receive extracted breastmilk and a formula supplement, from a bottle.

The advantages to this new feeding approach were tremendous and I could see my life transforming before my eyes.

I would be saving a huge amount of time ... no more pumping and THEN feeding!

No more flanges, bottles and nipples to wash!!

With my spare time - I could maybe start a scrapbook. Or, clean the house. Or take a nap!!!

Best of all - I would be bonding with my babies!!!!

Yet after less than 24 hours, I thought for sure I was dying. The pain of anything (including gel pads) touching my nipples was absolutely excruciating and water spray from the shower was pure torture, despite smothering myself beforehand in Lansinoh lanolin.

When I placed an emergency call to La Leche League, I was informed that although breastfeeding might be "uncomfortable" it most definitely should not be painful. After telling a consultant that whenever a baby latched on, I had to bite a cloth diaper to prevent from screaming - and my toes would curl up underneath my feet - the woman on the other end of the line told me that I was obviously doing something wrong.

For days, I tried to figure out what I could do better.

I spoke with girlfriends, sisters - my mother. I called the Lactation Consultants at the hospital. Everyone that I spoke to would tell me that although breastfeeding might be a tad bit uncomfortable - they didn't remember it feeling like someone was trying to cut their nipples off with a pair of rusty scissors.

Which made me question what my problem was. I mean really, how in the world has humanity survived thousands of years if breastfeeding was such a brutality??

It made no sense.

But then again - in the history of humanity - how many women (except wet nurses) attempted to breastfeed more than one baby at a time??

In the midst of this chaos - I contemplated throwing in the towel. I didn't want to keep up with the pumping and I certainly didn't want to subject myself to the torture of nursing. All three of our babies had been successfully supplemented with Similac Isomil, due to William's lactose intolerance, and I knew that they would grow in to healthy, happy babies just fine on a formula diet. But I was stubborn.

After a week of nursing hell, William spit up blood all over my shirt. At first I was terrified that he was bleeding internally ... but then Elizabeth and Carolyn spit up blood all over Charlie's shirt. I did a self inspection and couldn't see that I was bleeding - so placed a frantic call to our pediatrician. When I told him what was happening, he assured me that the blood was most likely coming from me. He also warned that I'd probably come down with another case of mastitis in the next few days because bacteria from the babies' mouths would cause an infection.

It turns out, I had cracked nipples and although the blood wasn't immediately visible - when our children latched on with their little mouths that are infact, the best damn pumps available, they were sucking so hard they drew blood.

My children drew blood.

FROM ME.

Sure enough, the very next day - I woke up with the tell-tale symptoms of mastitis. Since this was my third case, I called my doctor - informed him of my diagnosis - and dashed off to pick up my prescription of Keflex. The pharmacist - having seen me several times over the past month - shook his head and asked "Why do you keep it up?"

I responded, "Because - I know that it's got to get better. It sure as heck can't get any worse." With my sincerest thanks to all the powers that be, eventually, another week or two later - it did get better.

It got to the point that I wouldn't break out in a cold sweat and stuff cloth diapers in my mouth whenever I brought a baby up to my chest ... my toes wouldn't involuntarily curl up underneath my feet ... and I stopped looking at the clock with pure dread as feeding time drew near. Amazingly, I soon would learn to feed two babies at once and found great satisfaction in knowing I, alone, could calm a fussy baby down in a matter of seconds.

With time, I stopped pumping all together and I reduced my nursing from every feeding ... to only three feedings a day. I would nurse all three first thing in the morning - one at lunch - and all three just before bed. As I reduced the volume of breastmilk they were receiving, I increased the amount of formula they were consuming.

Although I know women who exclusively breastfed their triplets ... this was not something I wanted to do. I did not want to be "tied" to the breastpump after every nursing session - which would be necessary to help keep my supply high enough for three babies. I also craved the freedom to get out and do things during the day, without having to lug a pump along with me. Bottles, particularly Podee bottles were my saving grace at these times.

I also know a lot of women who exclusively formula fed their babies. Some feel guilt about this decision, some do not. In my opinion (borrowed directly from my mother), it's not as important what you feed your child - as how you feed your child.

You can nurse your baby with love - just as you can bottle feed them with love.

If you are a stress case because you want every meal to be breastmilk - and you are up round-the-clock with a fussy newborn, that may not be the best solution. Sometimes women do not produce a sufficient amount of milk - sometimes they have issues with a baby successfully latching on - sometimes a baby is allergic to their mother's milk - or sometimes the pain, frustration and exhaustion is so great they decide to stop.

I was doggedly determined to breastfeed. But because of the challenges I faced, I can easily see how women beat themselves up when they feel like they are not able to accomplish this task which should be second nature. Despite my overwhelming desire to breastfeed, I didn't nurse exclusively because I firmly believe that formula is not a bad thing.

I'm pleased that I stuck it out, but I nursed when I wanted to nurse - not necessarily when the babies needed to eat. If I had nursed them whenever they needed to eat - I would have been glued to the couch for the first 6-months of their lives. In the end, I feel like breastfeeding our triplets helped me to quickly lose the 100-pounds I packed on during my pregnancy and it also gave our babies a much needed boost to their fragile immune systems. More than that - I will always have fond memories of snuggling with a baby in the early morning - or just before bed - and holding their little bodies close.

Even though William weaned himself after approximately 11 months, I continued to nurse Carolyn and Elizabeth two times a day until they were 16-months old. I suspect if I hadn't decided it was time, our girls would have happily nursed until they went off to Kindergarten.

And well, that might be a little awkward.