Aren't they small

The boys are massive fatties for preemies though obviously small for their age. I never realised how small they are until I started taking them out more.

This week I've bring trying to get out of the house with the boss every day.yesterday I went to a mommy and baby fitness class, which the boys hated so I left halfway through.what I noticed was that whilst the boys have grown and fattened up, they're still tiny compared to normal babies. Being twins isn't enough of a novelty factor but being tiny adds to it.

I'm looking forward to when they catch up with everyone else, but dreading saying goodbye to their tiny little newborn selves. It was the same with my baby sister. As ace as she is now, I miss her as a kid.she was so cool and funny and adorable. And as she'll never be like that again, it's like that little being is gone from my life forever. I know that's what it's going to be like with the boys, too.

Mum Guilt

I never knew this could be a thing but I have terrible mum guilt. All the time. I never realised that being a parent means that you never ever make the right decision because the other choice always turns out to be the right one.

The boys have terrible reflux at the moment. I have experienced the classic crying at two wailing babies unsure of how I can stop their crying. Something has to give.

So I decided that I am going to stop pumping and giving the boys breast milk, as pumping every three hours is killing me. Originally, the plan was to pump until the first of September, then it was when the boys reached twelve weeks, which should be this Sunday, and then when they were three months.

Over the last week I've gone backwards and forwards on this. 'The boys much prefer it to formula so I'll carry on' is punctuated with thoughts such 'I resent pumping when I could be going to bed'. 
Plus, I've been breastfeeding a bit, such is always smacking for five minutes and then gets support tedious and boring.

As it stands I'm pumping when I have time and watching my supply decrease. It makes me sad that imminently I will no longer be nourishing my children directly, something I have done for the last year, including when they were in utero.

As I said, mum guilt is super strong.

Breaking point

I finally broke yesterday and had my meltdown, though to be honest, it had started the day before when I cried in and off over two and a half hours. The Boy found me crying,  slumped over baby A, inconsolable to his words. I was in whimpering territory, moving swiftly info howling.

Feeling sorry for me, he took an emergency day off and we had a day out. Deciding on where to go alone was hard enough. We chose the new Whitney museum as it would be air conditioned, not too far and somewhere we'd not been in a while.

Whilst we essentially paid $45 to feed or children beside the cloakroom and a quick whip round one of the eight floors, I felt energized for having left the house. No mean feat considering I've essentially been tied to the apartment since the beginning of April.

I would be in floods of tears after waking up at three to feed the boys and finally putting them to bed at seven thirty am usually (multiple milk refills, two poos, two open air wees, one of which was in the bath, and a spewing session), but I'd had fresh air, a change of scenery and used my legs. I feel good tired for the moment.