In the nesting period prior to the boys arriving Anna had created a well-oiled infant care factory, everything was within arms reach from the change table, creams, wipes, and nappies muelled back from the States by Anna’s father, we had in-exhaustible stock piles of everything imaginable. Anna would park up like a breeding sow while I passed her our sons, burped, changed, swaddled and settled them on a two hourly schedule. Feed, burp, sleep, shit, change, repeat. We were getting maybe 30-40 mins sleep in-between the grueling schedule. Anna’s mother moved in full time during the day with us, cooking, cleaning, forward momentum. Linear never lateral remember. This wasn’t exactly what I had planned for parenthood, I had anticipated spending time at cafes with my wife in active wear, myself in loafers, khakis and polo shirts, fuck I don’t know, whatever I thought it wasn’t this! A relentless punishing schedule of screaming infants and sleepless nights was the hand we were dealt and it started to take its toll. The boys had both colic and reflux, this meant all the time Anna would spend feeding them would be instantly wasted as the only meal option to them would turn and burn its way back up and out of their mouths. We were forever covered in the sweet sickly smell of breast milk vomit. We tried everything, and by everything, I mean, EVERY FUCKEN THING. Gripe water, losec, kumara mash and breast milk, dietary changes for Anna who at this stage was still suffering from hyperemesis, you can imagine how much fun it would be spewing while breast feeding twins at the same time and tearing your c section stitches. There was nothing in her tank other than love and it was beginning to look like that wasn’t enough.
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