This is my flow - CONTINUES

This Is My Flow: Continued

The Full Freezer and the Breaking Point

This Is My Flow: Continued

Now my freezer is full. I donate to the NICU every few months because I don’t want the milk to go bad. It’s wild to think that just one ounce of breastmilk can feed four babies—and I’ve got an entire freezer packed. Sometimes I’ll go drop off milk, hear one of those babies cry, and immediately start leaking. I have to rush home to feed baby boy because I don’t want to waste a single drop.

I know the time is coming when they’ll be done nursing, but I try to enjoy every bit of it while it lasts. When baby girl has a rough day, she still wants to nurse. It’s her security, and she still loves it. But they push each other off of me now—it can be a lot to handle. They’re home with me all the time, and they both want to be attached to me constantly.

Then it happened—I got sick with COVID. My babies had to go stay with my daughter, and they had to take bottles. I was so proud of myself for having a backup supply. But I also heartbroken. I was used to baby boy being on me constantly. I thought he was spoiled to me, and in a way, I was spoiled to him too. Not being able to feed him hit me hard. Not being able to be with any of them hurt. Not to mention, I was sooooo lonely.I wa s too sick to pump... and that’s when it started: It had been weeks of no skin-on-skin, no direct latching, and my milk began to decrease.

At one point, it all became overwhelming. I was fifty, with babies in the house, juggling bottles, diapers, nap schedules, and feedings. I was nursing both of them. She had discovered solid foods and started getting fuller more often. But he—he nursed all the time. He became my little velcro baby, always wanting to be close.

When we finalized his adoption, I shared everything with the judge. I explained that I had been nursing him exclusively since birth—and her for most of her life. It was an emotional moment. I wasn’t expecting what he said next. With tears in his eyes, the judge told us, "These are your God-given babies. And God gave them the best mom—one who’s gone above and beyond to ensure they have the best upbringing." I could barely hold back the tears. I was overwhelmed, grateful, and affirmed.

My baby boy loves to nurse, and my husband—God bless him—started helping me relieve more often. At night, after the baby falls asleep, I pump to ease the overflow. It still hurts sometimes, but we’ve found a rhythm. Baby girl doesn’t wake at night to nurse anymore, which gives me and my husband our own kind of playtime. I treasure that intimacy with him. It's a different kind of connection, one I didn’t expect to still enjoy at this age.

I’ve got two beautiful babies. No, I didn’t birth them—but that’s the upside. At 50, I’d hate to be pregnant again! I get to love and nurture without labor. And I get to have my husband’s affection without worrying about more babies.

He’s gotten more playful lately too—sometimes we’ll be outside, and he’ll get that look in his eye and suddenly want to latch on. It’s crazy and spontaneous, but fun. We laugh about it, but it’s our thing.

Life was finally settling into a groove. Baby girl was in daycare, I had gone back to work, and we had our routine down to a science. Then came baby boy—and somehow, he slid right into that schedule like he’d always been there. But it was still a lot: packing two babies up, dropping them off at daycare, working, coming home, doing it all again.

Then COVID hit.

I was terrified for them. Terrified for us. But I was also grateful. I was able to work from home, which meant I didn’t have to send them out into a world full of risk. With them being so small and vulnerable, it was a blessing in disguise. We hunkered down together. We bonded even more. We fed, we played, we cuddled. We survived.

Looking back now, I see just how strong we were. My flow—of milk, of love, of life—never stopped. Even when the world did.