Parenting can be one of the most challenging yet rewarding experiences, but nothing could prepare me for the chaos that unfolded when my granddaughter, Lily, came into the world. With my background in raising four children and step-parenting four more, I thought I had the parenting handbook down. But when Lily started crying uncontrollably, all my past experience seemed irrelevant.
Just moments before, everything was perfect. I was preparing dinner while my one-year-old grandson, Max, was happily playing in the living room. Suddenly, Lily’s cries erupted, triggering Max’s own tears. Now, I had two babies wailing in unison while dinner simmered away and the cartoons on TV failed to provide any distraction.
When my daughter, Sarah, was 21, I welcomed my youngest daughter, and less than a year later, Lily was born. Having a grandchild so soon after my own child has its perks; I never feel guilty splurging on clothes and toys, knowing they’ll eventually be passed down. We even have the same pediatrician and attend the same mommy group, and our little ones sport matching car seats.
However, one significant difference stood out: none of my children experienced colic. So when Sarah sought my advice, I had none to offer. She consulted doctors, pharmacists, and fellow parents. She tried all the remedies: gripe water, tummy time, swaddlers, white noise machines—the list was endless. One evening, I received a tearful call from her. Overwhelmed and exhausted, she revealed she hadn’t showered in days and had barely slept because Lily only napped for twenty minutes at a time. They both needed help, so I offered to take Lily for the night.
Initially, Sarah hesitated, concerned that Lily wouldn’t take a bottle and she didn’t have any pumped milk. But a couple of months later, as Sarah prepared to return to work, I volunteered to babysit. On her first day back, she arrived with a diaper bag bursting at the seams, stocked with enough pumped milk to last through an apocalypse, and a slew of apologies. I reassured her that I was excited to spend time with Lily. After hugs and kisses, she headed off, leaving me with both babies.
In a moment of desperation, I found myself holding one crying baby on each hip, frantically trying to remember the parenting techniques I thought I had mastered. I set both babies down and grabbed the Bjorn for Lily, while trying to soothe Max at the same time. It felt like I was parenting twins, and just as the chaos reached its peak, the smoke detector started blaring, drowning out the noise of the crying infants and alerting the neighbors.
In the midst of this pandemonium, I caught a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror—tears streaming down my face, mixing with the remnants of my makeup. I felt overwhelmed and utterly defeated. This twin-momming experience was tough, and I finally understood a fraction of what Sarah endured daily with Lily’s restlessness. I wanted to be a good mom and grandmother, but in that moment, I felt like a failure.
With my spirits low, I shuffled down the hall, singing the “ABC Song” to calm the babies, but really, it was more for my own comfort. That’s when my husband, Tom, appeared in the doorway, taking in the scene—me, frazzled and tear-streaked, with two fussy babies. He gently took Max from my hip and disappeared into the bedroom.
Taking a moment to sit on the couch, I cradled Lily in my arms. As she instinctively rooted around, I felt a phantom letdown, even though my milk supply had long dried up. Without overthinking it, I offered her my breast. In a matter of minutes, she was peacefully asleep.
Tom returned to find us in a tranquil moment. He asked if it was acceptable to nurse her like that, and I couldn’t find a reason why not. All my kids had comfort-nursed, and I was well-versed in being a human pacifier. I figured Sarah would appreciate my efforts to soothe her baby.
When Sarah came to pick up Lily, I shared the entire story, and we both laughed. “I don’t mind if you don’t,” she said, and honestly, I didn’t mind at all.
Since that day, I’ve cared for Lily on multiple occasions, and she often reaches for comfort at my breast. I know some may find this controversial, but frankly, I don’t care. My love for my daughter and granddaughter drives me to do anything I can to support them, even if that means dry-nursing.
For those navigating similar journeys, there are resources available, such as this informative blog post about various parenting techniques and experiences. And for those considering home insemination, reputable places like Make a Mom offer affordable kits to help you on your journey. If you’re looking for more information on pregnancy treatments, WebMD provides an excellent guide that is worth a look.
In summary, parenting is messy, emotional, and often unpredictable. But as grandmothers, we strive to provide all the love and support we can, even if it means breaking societal norms.