Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Our Sugar-Free Halloween

As some of you probably know, my son is not able to process refined sugars.  That means anything that says, "Glucose", "Fructose", "Glucose/Fructose", "sugar", "organic cane sugar", "organic cane syrup", or any type of fake-sugar-sweetener are no-nos in this house.  At this point we've found he can manage to eat raw honey and minimal amounts of pure maple syrup.  So.  Where does that leave us for Halloween??  Do you think they're staying home?
Hell no.

We've got a plan.  A great plan.  It involves family members being given "special treats" for the kids ahead of time (we did that today), and when we show up at these pre-determined destination points, the kids will get the treats they're allowed to have.  At this point the oldest two are 4, so it's not such a huge deal if we don't spend countless hours hauling 400 lbs. of candy up and down every street in Stratford.  (We don't live in Stratford, but it's where we go for Halloween.)  Those houses were given a mixture of food snacks and other non-food items.

What items you ask?

Well, we have "Larabar".  It has peanuts, dates, and salt.  : )  And The Boy loves them.  (We don't actually have the "peanut butter cookie" flavor...here it's just called "peanut butter".

Lara Bar

Then there's good old fashioned raisins.  Ours are "President's Choice Organic".

Also, sugar-free apple sauce.  Of course, ours is in individual cups, not giant jars.  LOL

unsweetened apple sauce
And these (that are to DIE FOR!):

And at one stop, we've left them some "Sugar free brownies", which are actually black bean brownies.  The kids love them, and the only "sugar" in them is raw honey, which is fantastic.

Find the recipe HERE.

And finally, the last food item we've given to our "stops" is a baggie of "Cheesies" for the kids. I know that the baggies are kind of...not Halloweenie, but oh well. It's that or nothing.
Find more info here.

Other than those things, the kids are getting painting sets, glow sticks, stickers, crayons, pencils, and whatever other non-food items my in-laws give them.  All in all, I'm not concerned that they're going to be disappointed.  They all know that there will be no candy.  It's not fair if one of the twins can eat it, and the other can't.  And the little one isn't even two yet.  She does NOT need candy...not even a little.

So yeah, Halloween will happen here.  It'll still happen for us.  It'll just be a little different than it is for other kids.  And I don't feel like it will be in ANY way "worse"...under my breath I actually say it's going to be better.  All of that candy stresses me out anyway, even if a child isn't allergic.  That refined sugar isn't good for any of us, and there are much healthier options available.  Even if you have to do a little extra work to make it happen.

*I'm not being a Negative Nancy, just sayin'.

Anyway, to those going door to door, stay warm and stay safe.  And if you ARE getting "sugar candy" (as my son calls it now), eat a Mr.Big for me.  LOL

Friday, October 26, 2012

Breastfeeding FTW!!

Am I somewhat happy about the fact that my daughter is 23 months old (today), and still breastfeeding?
Not at all.

I'm freakin' ecstatic!  LOL!!  Seriously, I could dance.  I feel like we've won some kind of battle.  Little Daughter is now officially the child that has been breastfed the longest of all the kids.  Her brother was weaned at 22 months because I was pregnant with her, and it was a high-risk (no sex) pregnancy due to my history of preterm babies.

I know that for some of the moms out there, my 23 months is laughable.  For us, this is a milestone.

When she was born they scooped her up and had to take her to suction out her throat and nose with a tube-suction thing, but within a couple of minutes, she was returned to me.  Immediately I asked if someone could help me a bit, so I could breastfeed her.

The nurse (oh...she's a story for another day...) told me that it wasn't necessary.  I insisted.  She told me that she may not nurse much, but "I guess you're welcome to try."
She latched like a champ.  She knew what to do.  (Well, she knew how to do it well enough for me to be happy...for a while...let's not forget my Damaged Boobies.)  She proved the nurse wrong.

Wonderful, touching moments.  After the nightmare we lived through with the birth of our twins, and the months of tears trying to teach them how to breastfeed on my own, at home, this was a very very very welcome change!


Over the past 23 months, we have had our share of ups and downs.  More than a few times she's bitten me.  Badly.  (HERE is a story about that.)  But we kept on truckin'.  She deserves nothing but the very best, and because she is the last one, will never have to be pushed off the breast for any reason.  She will get to wean on her own time.

The truth about her is that she is certainly more...attached...to her boobie than our son ever was.  By 22 months he put up no real fuss when I told him that his bubbies were all gone.  He was only nursing before bed, really, so didn't care when it was gone.  Instead of falling asleep on the boob, he'd fall asleep laying on my chest, while I lay on the couch.  But Little Daughter is still on the boob about 15 times a day.  Or more!  I'm obviously more than a milk supply...I'm comfort.  Which is why I can't see this ending any time soon.  And that's okay with me.  Like I said before, she's our last child.  She'll get all the time she needs to stop on her own.

I don't really have much more to say other than we're going to celebrate.  I'm going to sit on the couch and give her the one thing she likes better than cake.  Bubbubs.  : )


Tuesday, October 16, 2012

I'm Not Perfect

I'll begin by adding the post that has inspired my blog post today, written by Single Dad Laughing.  (You can find his blog HERE, and his Facebook page HERE.)  *My comments are below his blog post.*

"As a warning, the following post was written in complete desperation. I have recently learned some very sobering truths from people that I love dearly. These truths have set in motion a quest within me to do whatever I can to make a change. Today is not geared at funny. Today is geared at something greater. Read it to the very end. I promise you will be affected in a way you have always needed to 
be. I spent more than twelve hours writing this post because its message is that important to me.

I wonder. Am I the only one aware that there is an infectious mental disease laying siege on us right now? There is a serious pandemic of “Perfection” spreading, and it needs to stop. Hear me out because this is something for which I am passionately and constantly hurting. It’s a sickness that I’ve been trying to put into words for years without much success. It’s a sickness that I have personally struggled with. It’s a sickness that at times has left me hiding in dark corners and hating myself.

And chances are it’s hit you too.

What is the disease called ”Perfection”? Perhaps a list of its real-life symptoms will help you better understand it. We live in communities where people feel unconquerable amounts of pressure to always appear perfectly happy, perfectly functional, and perfectly figured. “Perfection” is much different than perfectionism. The following examples of “Perfection” are all real examples that I have collected from experiences in my own life, from confidential sources, or from my circle of loved ones and friends. If you actually stop to think about some of these, you will cry as I did while writing it. If you don’t, maybe you’re infected with way too much of this ”Perfection” infection.

“Perfection” is a wife who feels trapped in a marriage to a lazy, angry, small man, but at soccer practice tells the other wives how wonderful her husband always is. “Perfection” keeps people from telling the truth, even to themselves. My husband is adorable. He called me a whore this week because I smiled at a stranger. When I started crying, he said he had a game to go watch. I love him so much.

“Perfection” is a husband who is belittled, unappreciated, and abused by his wife, yet works endlessly to make his marriage appear incredible to those around him. ”Perfection” really does keep people from being real about the truth. You would have laughed, guys. She said that I suck at my job and will never go anywhere in life. Then she insinuated that I was a fat, rotting pile of crap. Isn’t she the best?

“Perfection” is a daughter with an eating disorder that keeps it hidden for years because she doesn’t want to be the first among her family and friends to be imperfect. She would give anything to confront it, but she can’t because then the “Perfect” people would hate her as much as she hates herself for it.

“Perfection” is when a son has a forbidden addiction, and despises himself for it. “Perfection” makes us believe that nobody else could understand what it is like to be weak and fall prey to the pressures of the world.

“Perfection” is a man who loathes himself for feeling unwanted attraction toward other men.

“Perfection” is a couple drowning in debt, but who still agree to that cruise with their friends because the words “we don’t have the money” are impossible ones to push across their lips.

“Perfection” is a mom hating herself because she only sees that every other mom around her is the perfect mother, the perfect wife, and the perfect neighbor. I’d give anything to be Mrs. Jones. Today she ran 34 miles, cooked six complete meals, participated in a two-hour activity with each of her seven children, hosted a marriage class with her husband, and still had time to show up for Bunco. What this mom doesn’t know is that Mrs. Jones is also at home crying right now because the pressure to be “Perfect” never lets up.

“Perfection” is a dad hating himself because he can’t give the same thing to his kids that other dads do, and then hates himself further because he takes his self-loathing out on his kids behind closed doors. You know what would have been nice? If you were never born. Do you realize how much money I’d have right now? Now come give Daddy a hug because I can force you to give me validation.

“Perfection” is a child hating herself because the boys at school call her fat, and when she goes home she tells her mom that school was fine. Her mom never stops to question why her daughter doesn’t have any friends, because her mom doesn’t want to think that anything might be less than “Perfect”.

“Perfection” is a man feeling like a smaller man because his neighbor just pulled in with a new boat.

“Perfection” is a woman who is so overwhelmed that she thinks about killing herself daily. “Perfection” makes it so that she never will because of the things people will think if she does. How could I make my suicide look like an accident? If I kill myself, I don’t want anybody knowing that I ever had any problems. She never stops to look at why she wants to do it, because healing means admitting imperfection.

“Perfection” is a man who everybody heralds as perfect, and inside he is screaming to be seen as the faulty human being that he always has been. Because to no longer be “the perfect one”, that would be freeing.

“Perfection” is a woman having an affair because she’s too afraid to confront the imperfection in her marriage.

“Perfection” is a twelve-year-old boy killing himself because he is ashamed that he can’t stop masturbating.

Stop, and read that one again.

There is a twelve-year-old boy buried 20 miles from where I sit because the “Perfection” that has infected the people around him infected him to the point that he deemed his own life worthless. “Perfection” pushed him to take his own life over something most of us would consider negligible in the life of any teenage boy.

“Perfection” is my friend’s cousin swallowing hundreds of pills because she just got the news that she was pregnant, out of wedlock, and the shame was too much to bear. She was only attempting to cause a miscarriage. 24 hours later, she closed her eyes and never opened them again. She is dead because of the “Perfection” infecting those around her. We’d rather you die than shame this family. Thanks for taking care of that, honey. By the way, we’ll do the right thing and make ourselves out to be the victims now. We have to. We’re infected with “Perfection”.

I could go on. This is all a small sampling of the disease called “Perfection”. You have brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, extended family members, neighbors, friends, and children who are ALL these things, yet none of us will ever know. “Perfection” is a hideous monster with a really beautiful face. And chances are you’re infected. The good news is, there is a cure.

Be real.

Embrace that you have weakness. Because everybody does. Embrace that your body is not perfect. Because nobody’s is. Embrace that you have things you can’t control. We all have a list of them.

Here’s your wake-up call:

You aren’t the only one who feels worthless sometimes.

You aren’t the only one who took your frustrations out on your children today.

You aren’t the only one who isn’t making enough money to support your lifestyle.

You aren’t the only one who has questions and doubts about your religion.

You aren’t the only one who sometimes says things that really hurt other people.

You aren’t the only one who feels trapped in your marriage.

You aren’t the only one who gets down and hates yourself and you can’t figure out why.

You aren’t the only one that questions your sexual orientation.

You aren’t the only one who hates your body.

You aren’t the only one that can’t control yourself around food.

Your husband is not the only husband who’s addiction sends him online for his sexual fulfillment instead of to you.

Your wife is not the only wife that is mean and vindictive and makes you hate yourself.

Why didn’t somebody, anybody, put their arm around that 12-year old boy and let him know that they loved him and would always love him? What was he being told and taught that he would end his own life over something that almost no teenager can control? Maybe that beautiful and wonderful boy would still be alive if even one person had broken down the “Perfection” that completely controlled all those in his life from whom he desperately craved validation.

Why didn’t somebody, anybody, tell a beautiful pregnant girl that there was nothing so big in life that it couldn’t be made right. Maybe that incredible young woman would still be alive. Maybe her now one-year-old child would be learning to walk or say “Mommy” right now. Maybe.


The cure is so simple.

Be real.

Be bold about your weaknesses and you will change people’s lives. Be honest about who you actually are, and others will begin to be their actual selves around you. Once you cure yourself of the disease, others will come to you, asking if they can just “talk”. People are desperate to talk. Some of the most “perfect” people around you will tell you of some of the greatest struggles going on. Some of the most “perfect” people around you will break down in tears as they tell you how difficult life is for them. Turns out some of the most “perfect” people around us are human beings after all, and are dying to talk to another human being about it.

You’ll love them for it. And you’ll love yourself even more.

Let’s not forget this quote: “I went out to find a friend and could not find one there. I went out to be a friend, and friends were everywhere.” Somebody who is being a friend doesn’t spread “Perfection”. Somebody who is being a friend spreads “Real”. Then, and only then, can we all grow together.

I am not perfect, nor do I want anybody to think of me as such. Here’s my dose of real:

I once stole a box of money that was meant for a child with cancer. There was more than $150 inside. That was 12 years ago, and I still hate the person in me that did that.

I believe in God, but not religion. It took me 30 years to find the courage to say that. It took me 30 years to believe that I could be a good man and still believe that.

I once got so angry at my wife that I hit the wall. The dent is still there, haunting me every time I see it because I never thought that was something I would do.

I once sat in my bedroom crying uncontrollably because I felt like everybody thought I was fat and ugly. I was a full grown man.

There are some people I avoid bumping into in public because I feel like I’m not as good as them.

I judge people harshly who share the same features that I hate about myself.

Sometimes I’m sad. Sometimes I’m not funny. Sometimes I just want to be alone. Sometimes I stay at home on a weekend because I just don’t want to see the “Perfection” going on around me. Sometimes I want to drop-kick a perfect person’s head across the room.

“Perfection” infects every corner of society. It infects our schools. It infects neighborhoods. It infects our workplaces. This is not to say that there aren’t a lot of genuinely, happy people. I am one of those people. Most of the time. There is nothing more beautiful than a person finding true happiness in who they are and what they believe. No, this is not me trying to diminish the happiness in others. This is merely me pathetically attempting to put a face on a problem that I see everywhere but few people ever notice.

This is me, weeping as I write, asking the good people of the world to find somebody to put their arm around and be “real”. This is me, wishing that people would realize how beautiful they are, even with all of their imperfections. This is me, sad and desperate for the girls in this world to love themselves. This is me, a very imperfect man, trying to help others feel a little more perfect by asking you to act a little less perfect.

Will you help me spread “Real”? Tell us below just how perfect you aren’t. You never know who might be alive tomorrow because you were real today. You never know who needs to feel like they aren’t alone in their inability to be perfect. Even if you comment as an anonymous guest, please comment. Tell us what you struggle with. Tell a sad or dark secret. Get vulnerable. Get real. Let’s see if we can get 1,000 people showing the world that we’re not defined by perfection.- Dan Pearce Single Dad Laughing"

I am so very thankful that someone found the words to say what has needed to be said for, well...ever.
People really do live their lives trying to keep up the illusion of perfection.

The whole thing can be really disheartening for those of us who know our lives aren't always rainbows and butterflies.  It can make us think that we must be the only dumbass out there who can't seem to manage to clean the entire house, cook healthy and nutritious meals three times a day, have the dishes done, keep up on laundry, all while raising their perfectly angelic, clean, fully clothed, wonderful, never-argue-about-anything children on a daily basis.
(Oh, and I don't want to forget those other people that always seem to not only be able to have a shower every day, but to stand in the bathroom for however long doing their hair and makeup just so, and they always have clean clothes on...they don't seem to ever have the peanut butter hand prints or snot streaks on them I have...)

So I want to stand up and say, I am not perfect.  I wish I was.  Badly.  Almost desperately.  But I'm not.

Sometimes my house looks like a tornado went through it, but instead of the tornado lifting up the furniture and moving it, or destroying the frame of the house, it only picked up a hundred tiny toys, random socks and pants, and bits of small paper, and scattered them around the living room, kitchen, dining room, and in every bedroom.  (Must have been a small tornado, I guess.)

Sometimes I make my kids pasta with plain, jarred spaghetti sauce because I'm too tired to cook them a real balanced meal, because I spent the whole day trying to make my house look perfect.  I try to make things better by giving them peanut butter and apple slices for their bedtime snack.  But I still feel like I failed.  Worst mom ever.

Sometimes I yell.  Sometimes I see one of my kids running with scissors toward another one of the kids and my brain goes numb and I scream, "DON'T RUN WITH SCISSORS!!  NOOOOOO!!  STOP!!!!!"
Immediately the child will look at me with that look...the one that hurts more than those scissors would hurt if they were just suddenly stabbed into my chest.
Or when I'm trying to make supper between refereeing fights over princesses and super-guys, trying to unload the dishwasher, clear the table, and drying the little one off (she stands in the dog's water bowl, you see...), while my husband lays on the couch because he worked all day... Sometimes when I hear that high-pitched scream from Older Daughter, I snap.  Sometimes I yell that if they don't stop fighting and get along rightthissecond, I'm going to throw the two of them right in the tree, "and I'm not joking!"
The sudden quiet isn't as sweet as it seemed it would be...I know they stopped because I yelled.  And suddenly that silence that I thought I needed so badly is louder than the noise they were making.  It makes me feel like a piece of crap.

Sometimes I just want everything to go away...  I want to stop feeling like I'm doing such a horrible job of this.  I want things to be that perfect vision I have of how everyone else is doing it.  I just want to be good at this, and to not BE exhausted or overwhelmed, or angry that as hard as I try, it's NEVER PERFECT.

Sometimes I put my daughter in disposable diapers because I'm so tired that the thought of washing out the cloth diapers sitting in the bathroom makes me want to cry.

Sometimes when Little Daughter (previously referred to as Baby Piranha) screams for chips, I give them to her.  I don't WANT to give them to her, and I feel like I must be the worst mom on the planet for giving in...but I just want her to please stop crying for them.

On the good days I get a few rooms cleaned up, some laundry done, and make some pretty fantastic meals, all while the kids play nicely.  Some days I can get Little Daughter to eat veggies and dip in place of the chips she screams for.  Some days I can reach out and swipe those scissors as The Boy runs past me, and I don't need to yell at all.  Some days I am great at being good enough.  And I really think I need to embrace the notion of not being Mrs. Cleaver.  As hard as I try, as much time as I spend working toward perfection...I'm NEVER going to be perfect.  Ever.

I don't know if that fear of a seeing my child running with scissors is ever going to be something that is quiet enough inside of me to keep me from yelling like I'm on fire when I see it happening.  And I don't know if that's really even something I would WANT to happen (that's some dangerous shit!).  But it sure would be nice to step back and just learn to be okay with being imperfect.  I think it would just be so...freeing.

My mission is to be more forgiving of myself.  I have never expected perfection from anyone I've ever known, and preach "nobody is perfect", and "everyone makes mistakes", to my kids.  I think it's time I live it.

And that's not to say I'm ever going to stop striving for more...to be better...to know more.  But I'm going to stop expecting that one day I will be perfect.


How To Make Garlic Oil

Great for cooking and getting rid of an ear ache.  I make this for our kids too...it's also nice for The Boy, who has always had a chronic ear wax issue...prevent infection while moving that gunk out.  I have a jar of it on hand all the time, and use it for cooking as well.  (It's nice to have that garlic-infused oil for when I make cashew "cheese".)

Rather than writing it all out, I'll just copy and paste the jist of it with a link to more information, and what appears to be an awesome blog about natural home remedies.*Crush cloves of garlic (how ever much you want to make)
*Cover cloves with olive oil about 1 inch over the garlic
*Let this stand for about 3 days, shaking daily. Don't leave the garlic in the oil much longer than this.
*Strain the garlic from the oil with a coffee filter, cheesecloth or clean white cotton t-shirt.
*Store oil in a jar

Found at "Jill's Home Remedies", the link below is to the garlic oil post.


Imagine The Day...(Veganism post)

Taken from "Veganism" on Facebook:

"Imagine the day the extraterrestrials pay us a visit. Being more capable and advanced than ourselves, but not having any way of hearing or understanding our words, our feelings and our cries. 

They debate whether to consume us, experiment on us, or wrap us up and carry us home as playthings. Our options end. They decide in fulfilling their interests in food, research and entertainment. 

We’re fr
ightened and appalled. “Please, let us alone,” we beg. “Don’t split up our families to introduce us into your more advanced culture; don’t talk about how well you should care for us before using us up. Don’t try to mimic our natural habitat so we can live and reproduce when you display us".

Could we ourselves heed that plea? Most people will call it impossible, saying we must be realistic; they’ll say patterns of domination and subjugation, and hierarchical ideas about species, are too ingrained in human thinking to be undone. Whether they are right or not, most people thereby perpetuate the power structures humanity has constructed.

The first step to achieving change is conceiving it, and that’s what the Vegan philosophy has done. At its best, our movement inspires society to accept risk, to respect other beings even if that means accepting some level of danger, to ensure that we leave animals capable of living and moving freely in spaces to which they have naturally adapted, and to refuse to alienate them from those habitats.

As Vegans we are powerfully committed to serve down the authority and unjust force of breeding, manipulating, slaughtering and designating animals for the consumption of food and adornment. The idea of fueling ones body in order to survive with a food source that has suffered to death is as unethically misguided as it is unjustifiably unconscionable.

There is no reasonable argument under any sane and humanitarian philosophy and culture that vindicates the stigma of cruelty, suffering, death and feasting on the carcass. There is no grey area for killing, there is no middle ground under any circumstance for cruelty and there is a perversion aura to eat another living being.

Man is powerful and our impact is as forgiving and compassionate as is ruthless and deadly. We celebrate thankfulness for living and happiness by offering the flesh of an animal that has suffered, we justify killing one another in honor of our ideals and morals, we devastate our planet to realize technology and self-preservation.

Man is man's worst enemy and our foot print is getting bigger and bigger to one day, there will be no place left to leave ones foot print....."

Friday, October 12, 2012

Bottle Propping Isn't Safe.

You know those days when you see something and shake your head so hard you think it might just come right off and roll down the street??  I'm having one of those days.

See, I'm in some twin groups on Facebook.  It's not uncommon I read things about how these parents "had" to make their babies CIO because they are "only one person".  ("DON'T JUDGE ME!" is another common statement that seems to go hand in hand with these comments.)

AS a twin mom who never got much help from the start, the whole excuses thing irritates me BAD.

My husband worked 14 hour days from the time I got pregnant until our twins were just over 2 years old.  That means after travelling to and from work, when he was home he was sleeping, showering, or eating.  Never ever did he have more than 2 hours in that entire time, to bathe a baby/cook a meal/wash some clothes.  I managed to not only never "have" to make them CIO, I didn't even WANT to.  How can someone listen to their babies cry and not go to them??  And then to brag about it..."My twins were sleeping through the night at 6 weeks old.  CIO works and I'd do it again!"


My twins didn't EVER sleep through the night until they were 16 months old.  And by "sleeping through the night", I mean, "slept more than 5 hours in a row."

So here's the photo that really got my gears all ground up.  See those things??  "Milk Maid Baby Bottle Holder", they're called. 

Now, here's my thing;  I've HAD twins.  I had teeny tiny twins.  I had twins that needed to be fed every 3 hours, around the clock, for the first 6 months after they came home from the hospital.

Not ever did I need to prop a bottle.  Not ever.  You know why?  I'll tell ya.  I used my freakin' arms and hands.


I know!  Crazy, isn't it?!

When my twins came home from the NICU they were still too small and too weak to breastfeed successfully.  They came home almost 2 weeks before their due date...after 8 1/2 weeks in the hospital.  They'd gone from NG tube to a "Haberman Feeder", to a preemie "bottle"...  To me, it was a pleasure to hold their bottles.  It sure was better than watching those NG tubes being changed.  : (

Haberman bottle
Preemie bottle (provided by hospital.  I filled them with pumped breastmilk.)

I managed to hold two bottles at once until I had established my son on the boob, and then (after we figured that out) I would put him on my breast while I held the bottle for my daughter.  She would either be in the nook of my arm, or the nook of my knee (depending on how feisty they were that day!).

Bottle propping is dangerous, and it removes that physical contact that ALL babies deserve, crave, and NEED to thrive.

I'm not sitting on some kind of "high horse", or saying I'm better than anyone.  I'm saying that I followed my instincts, and then (many months later) found out that they were right.

This is what some organizations say about it:

"The most serious risk of propping a baby bottle is that your baby could choke and aspirate formula into his lungs. When you prop a bottle, your baby can't stop the constant flow of milk into his mouth, even when it's too fast or too much for him to swallow. Bottle propping also increases the risk that your baby will develop an ear infection. When you feed in a horizontal position, milk can flow into the Eustachian tube, where the fluid can become infected. Hold your baby's bottle at a 45-degree angle when feeding to reduce the risk of ear infections. Bottle propping can also lead to tooth decay because milk stays in contact with the teeth longer."

"Babies need lots of physical closeness to develop emotionally. Babies in orphanages where bottles are propped often and physical contact rarely occurs can develop higher-than-normal levels of cortisol, a hormone related to stress, a 2001 University of Minnesota study found. Lower-than-normal levels of oxytocin, associated with emotional development, and vasopressin, associated with social development, can also occur, according to a 2005 University of Illinois study. If you must feed your baby in an infant seat because you have twins or triplets, hold the bottle rather than propping it. Make sure you compensate with lots of cuddling between feedings."  (1)

"Do not prop bottles for a baby.  Propping means a young baby is given a bottle to drink by itself and the bottle is propped up (with a pillow, for example) so that it can flow into the baby’s mouth.
Propping a bottle can:
— cause choking and suffocation, 
— possibly cause ear infections and baby bottle tooth 
decay, and 
— deprive the baby of important cuddling and human 
contact." (2)

"It is very important that your baby develop good eating habits. Bottle propping is  discouraged because...Less Interaction with parents, Ear Infections, Choking/aspiration, Tooth Decay." (3)

"Propping a bottle is psychologically unwise and can be physically dangerous. Holding your baby during feeding is one of the best ways to establish close parent/child bonds." (4)

(There are a million links to show the exact same information over and over again, online.  I'll stop at four examples.)
I found that feeding time with my babies to be some of the only really calm, quiet moments in our hectic day.  I enjoyed having them close to me.  I was more than aware of just how very lucky I was to have brought them home with me in the first place.  And after spending 8 1/2 weeks being told when I was "allowed" to hold my own babies, once we got them home I was not willing to miss out on any opportunity to absorb every ounce of that contact with them.

It really is disheartening when I see moms so proudly propping bottles, even when they state that they had another person there that could have helped them...so each baby could have been held.  (But it was just inconvenient, and would "spoil" them.)

We all know that the floor does need to be swept.  I agree.  But that job will wait for you.  Dishes need to be done.  They wait too.  And supper can be made at any point in the day.  It doesn't have to be made at the exact same time they need to be fed.  A little bit of planning goes a long way!

I've found that the issue at hand may not even be that these twin moms force their little ones to CIO, or prop their bottles.  After some reflection on the whole subject, I think what really bothers me is that I am an attached parent, and these things just scream detachment*.  How could someone not WANT to hold their babies??  I know all too well that being a mom of twins isn't easy, and I'm not trying to throw stones.  I just know that it's totally possible to attachment parent twins.  Even when you're on your own.  Even on no sleep, with no help, and no prior experience.

I guess if there's one sliver lining here, it's that I now know without a doubt that after all this time I can still SEE the insanity of the internet, because it still bothers me.  THAT'S how I know I'm walking the right path.  (And how I know that my brain has not been completely corrupted!)

*If you want to read a perfect example of a "detached parent", check the link to a post on "Imperfect Parent".

(3) Stanton Territorial Health Authority:  http://www.stha.ca/files/services/123/Bottle%20Propping.pdf

(4)  National Network For The Child:  http://www.nncc.org/nutrition/guide.bottlefed.html