Juliet

Last Tuesday, I was 39 weeks and 1 day pregnant. Once again I felt like a whale, but in comparing pictures of me then vs. when I was 38 weeks with the twins, I literally think I was about half the size this time around. That morning I woke up, disappointed that I was still pregnant. Like so many of the nights before, I'd woken up in the middle of the night with a few strong and steady contractions, only to fall back asleep and wake up contraction-free. I had an appointment with my midwife that day, where the plan was to sweep my membranes and hopefully bring on labor.

I didn't think I'd be in any hurry. When I first found out I was pregnant, I was ready to have the baby stay inside of me as long as possible. Because every day the baby was inside of me meant that Charlie and Caroline would be one day older. And hopefully one day easier to care for. But then 38 and 39 weeks rolled along and I was beyond ready to not be a whale anymore. I longed to be able to roll around on the floor and rough house with my kids like I used to. And I desperately wanted to meet my baby. To know if the little tenant in my tummy was a boy or a girl, and to know whether he or she would be another white haired beauty or not.

And then there was this military training. A few days before, Forrest and I found out that he had a required military training at Camp Williams on March 6, 7 and 8. He would be gone day and night for those three days. And I was due March 9. I was absolutely terrified that I would go into labor while he was away and out of reach. So Forrest and I talked about it and decided that we would talk to my midwife about breaking my water early in the week, before his training so that there would be no chance of him missing the birth of our sweet little one.

So back to Tuesday. I woke up that morning and got myself and the twins ready for the day. Forrest went off to work. I drove to Salt Lake and dropped the kids off at a friend's house, then went in to my appointment. The midwife came in and swept my membranes (it hurt - I didn't expect it to hurt), then we began discussing my concerns and our options. She called over to the hospital and found an opening for me to go in for an induction the next day, Wednesday, March 4.

I didn't want to be induced. I had been having a fair amount of contractions and was reasonably dilated already, so breaking my water wasn't a big deal, but I still didn't want to have to be induced. I had decided I wanted a natural, un-medicated birth, and I hear inductions usually make that a little more difficult. But given the time constraints and my overwhelming desire to have Forrest present at the birth, I nervously agreed to be scheduled for Wednesday morning.

It's a strange thing, knowing what day your baby will arrive. Knowing that that day was our last as a little family of four. Knowing that my next few hours with the twins before I put them down to sleep would be my last with them as my only children. After I picked them up from my friend's house, I didn't just want to go home. I wanted to make some memories and have fun with my sweet Charlie and Caroline. So we went to a mall and walked around for a while and got a Jamba Juice.

Forrest met us at home where we bundled the kids up in their snowsuits for the first (and probably only) time this winter and went outside to play in the snow. They thought it was wonderful and so did I. Then we went and picked up some dinner, ate at home together, gave the twins a bath and kissed them goodnight. With my pregnancy hormones at their peak I cried and cried, knowing that the next day they wouldn't be my little babies anymore. Of course they will always be my babies, but I hate knowing how fast they will have to grow up now.

You know when you have something important the next day and you know you need to sleep, but you just can't? That was one of those nights. Forrest and I talked, watched TV, added some last minute things to our hospital bags, and went to bed well after midnight. And we were to check-in at the hospital at 9 AM. The next morning my mother-in-law came over to take care of the twins and we drove to the hospital.

Checked in at 9:30. Water broken at noon. Contractions started almost immediately. Then slowed. We walked, and walked, and walked. My mom came. Then my dad came. And my mother-in-law came. Forrest was there, and my nurse was there, and my midwife was there. I spent hours walking the halls with Forrest, pausing every 2-3 minutes to breathe through a contraction. I spent hours on a birthing ball, rolling my hips in a figure 8. All the while I was feeling pretty strong. I was hungry, yes, and tired, yes, but I was able to talk and laugh and join in conversations. And at every check, it was apparent that I was progressing pretty slowly. Finally around 8 PM, we decided to start some Pitocin to help increase the frequency of the contractions. After that, I wasn't much for conversation. I vaguely remember what was going on around me, but all I could do was breath and groan from the pain of the contractions and try to remember the end product.

My midwife was amazing. She was perfect and even though I hated it at the time, she knew exactly what to do to help me get closer to delivering. Sometime around 10 PM, she had me kneel up on the bed. It was completely agonizing and after only a few contractions of that, I remember yelling out that I needed to push. After some changing of position and a little confusion (at least it was confusing to me - the pain made everything so hazy), she checked me and told me I could start pushing. The time was finally here. It was nearly 10:30 PM and I had been in labor for over 10 hours.

And I thought the pain of the contractions was bad. Pushing was completely unbearable. I can't even describe the pain. It was like every fiber of my body was on fire. And I honestly and truly felt like I wanted to die. I remember telling Forrest that and he just smiled and said "no, you don't." And then suddenly, after 6 minutes, the pain was completely gone and there was a perfect little dark haired miracle laying on my chest. Forrest took a look and called out "It's a girl!" and we were all thrilled. We knew right away we would call her Juliet. Juliet Rose. She is the most perfect thing I've ever seen, just like her brother and sister.

Her birth was without a doubt the most difficult thing I've ever done. I have gained a whole new level of respect for anyone who has ever gone through that. I don't know if I will do it again, but it was a beautiful experience and I'm so glad to have gone through it.

Now that she's here, life is a whole new level of crazy. Today I sat in a chair nursing baby J. I was holding her with one arm, using that elbow to shield her head from the toys Charlie kept bring to put in my lap, and holding Caroline on my lap to read her a story with my other arm. The twins love her so much, but they are still learning how to control their impulses. They constantly want to touch her nose and poke her eyes and kiss her head. Caroline is obsessed with sharing things with Juliet - particularly her food. I can't put her anywhere close to the ground when the twinados are awake, but it is a wonderful kind of crazy and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

As for me, I feel fantastic. The recovery from a natural child birth has been a breeze compared to recovering after the twins. I am looking forward to being able to run again, hopefully soon. And life is good. So, so good.

From the Mouths of Babes

I have the 4 most darling nieces in the world. The oldest is 5 and the youngest is 3. Two of them just got a new baby brother, but the other two haven't had a lot of exposure to babies. So when we moved here close to them, it was like a whole new world of nursing, spit up, stretch marks, and babies being babies. They have been such good little helpers and love playing "mommy" themselves. Their curiosity about all things baby has led them to say and do some pretty funny things. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did!

After peeking under my nursing cover, "Mom! Aunt Holly is feeding Caroline out of her booties!" (Yes, she calls them booties.)

"Aunt Holly what's wrong with your belly?" "What do you mean?" "Well... It's scrambled!"

"Mom why can't you feed Charlie out if your booties? Because Aunt Holly would get mad?"

My sisters have both observed their little ones pulling up their shirts to feed their babies like me. 

While helping her mom babysit the twins, "Aunt Holly. I'm calling you on my microphone. Caroline spit up her peas. Call me back. Officer out."

After peeking under my cover while I was pumping, "What is that thing?" Me: "it helps get milk out of my body to feed the babies in a bottle." "Oh!" Then, to my grandpa, "Gramps do you hear that pumpy thingy? It's getting the milk out of Aunt Holly's booties!"

Every single time I change a dirty diaper, "Ew! Did he go poop?"

While feeding Charlie, "Aunt Holly what are those things?" "Oh Charlie is eating." "Eating? He's EATING YOU?!" 

I sing a night time song to the babes every time I put them down for a nap. My niece has started singing her version of the song to her doll, "it's beddy time, it's beddy time.."

Love those girls. 

Feel the burn

I always had in my head that I would be the person that ran through my entire pregnancy. That was the plan - there was no other option for me. So when I first became pregnant with twins and was told that I couldn't exercise because my pregnancy was "high risk," I was devastated. (Truthfully, I was so darn sick that I'm certain I wouldn't have exercised even if I could have.. But I would have liked the opportunity to choose for myself). I was working at a high school with special needs students - changing diapers, pushing wheelchairs etc. And I loved my job. But my doctor was worried about the amount of physical exertion I was going through, and so he put me on some restrictions. Major restrictions. Like the kind of restrictions that were so severe that I couldn't do my job. I couldn't stand for more than 10 minutes at a time. I couldn't lift more than 5 pounds. You get the idea - I basically became a couch potato for 12 weeks. It was horrible. They moved me to a temporary desk job at work, which I hated, but I was super grateful that my employers were so willing to work with me and give me something to do until I was able to go back to my regular work. When the 12 weeks were up and I was able to switch from our reproductive endocrinologist (more on that at a later time) to a regular OBGYN, I was finally told I could go back to regularly work and to light exercising. Hooray!

Getting back to work was wonderful. I had been so early in my pregnancy when I switched to the desk job that most of my coworkers had no idea why I'd had to change. Going back and announcing my pregnancy to the students and my coworkers was exciting. They were all so wonderful and supportive! Going back to exercising though.. That was another story. As an athlete you learn that it only takes three days of inactivity to start losing muscle, and at that point I hadn't been able to do anything but sit at a desk or on my couch for three months. Three months! Not to mention I was still puking my guts out multiple times a day. Oh yeah, and growing two babies. No big deal. Needless to say, my feeble attempts at working out at that point didn't last long. I pacified my conscience by considering my work as my exercise for the day. And it was! Until I was 28 weeks and I started having contractions. A lot of contractions. I had contractions about every 6 minutes from 28 weeks until I delivered. So I stopped working at that point and again tried to limit my physical activity. 

And then, of course, despite all the concerns about preterm labor, the weeks went on and on and I was still pregnant. I did ok until I was 36 weeks and still huge and uncomfortable. That's when, for the first time in my pregnancy, I started exercising. Forrest and I walked. And walked. And walked. I went to the mall on my own and walked. We lived on the top floor of our apartment building, so I would go outside and run up the stairs. I mean actually run. I did standing squats every day. I did lunges. I tried everything! And I made it all the way until 38 weeks, when they induced me.

I was extremely fortunate to avoid a C-section. I owe it all to my awesome doctor, who also happens to be my cousin. (Technically, my dad's cousin - either way, she's amazing). So since the delivery went so well, I recovered quite quickly. 4 weeks after the twins were born, I went on my first real run in nearly a year. It felt amazing and super awkward all at the same time. Those first few weeks I did some casual working out, trying to get back into shape. But I felt like I was progressing so slowly. Then at 6 weeks post birth, one of my friends invited me to go play soccer with her. I was excited, but hesitant. I hadn't played soccer in years and I knew how out of shape I was. But I decided to go and give it a try anyway. I kept telling myself that no matter how out of shape or how bad at soccer I was, I could run fast. I'd always been able to run fast. Even when I was out of shape. So I thought I was good. 

Ha! Ya right. Stepping out onto the field, seeing the ball zoom past me then turning to chase it.. I kept waiting to feel that adrenaline rush, the gears that click in your muscles and brain that tell you you're back. Back doing what you love and being great at it. But it never came. Instead, I took two steps toward the ball, tripped over my own feet and fell onto the turf. So embarrassing. I don't think there was even a person within 10 feet of me, so there was no disguising it as me being tripped by someone. Nope. I just had to face the fact that I didn't have much control of my body anymore. I honestly felt like a 13 year old that just grew 2 feet over the summer and hadn't quite gained control of their gangly limbs yet. That first game was awful. Just awful. I couldn't play for more than 3 minutes at a time without wheezing uncontrollably. I couldn't make the soccer ball go where I wanted it to go. But worst of all, I couldn't run fast. I was incapable of doing the one thing that I'd always been great at. The one thing that I knew I could do better than most. It was a shocking and even heartbreaking realization. I think I might have secretly shed a tear or two in the shower after the game that night.

Every game after that got better. Not a lot better, but a little bit every time. And I was at least having fun exercising and being around other people. I can't play soccer now because of Forrest's work schedule, but I do still try and run once or twice a week. And I have just started doing workout videos with my sisters once a week (they kick my butt and I'm always so sore after - but we have a blast!)

So no, I'm not in great shape. I'm not even sort of to the point I'd hoped I'd be 6 months after giving birth. But quite frankly, I'm ok with that. I'm ok with slowly working my way back into being able to run more than a few miles. It's ok!! Because I'd rather spend my time with my kids. And I'm alright with that.