Bad Mom Days

Yesterday was one of those days. I spent way too much time on my phone, I didn't do any dishes or clean up after any meal. I let the TV babysit my children (or at least my one child who will actually sit and watch it.. but still, taking care of 2 kids is infinitely easier than taking care of 3). We all stayed in our pajamas and didn't even brush our teeth. I took a nap while my children were awake and playing near me, despite Charlie's best efforts to get me to play blocks with him. I attempted to make dinner but burned it to a crisp. When Forrest finally walked through the door at 7 PM and asked me how my day was, I felt ashamed. "I was a bad mom today," I told him. He assured me that I wasn't a bad mom and that I was doing the best that I could.

That night after the kids were in bed, I sat there thinking about that. About my bad mom day, and about how I was doing the best that I could. But that started bugging me. Was I really? Because seriously, if what I just described was "doing the best that I can" then my children are doomed. I do think that sometimes I (and maybe moms in general) hold myself to unreal expectations that my kids will be fully dressed and hair done by 9 AM, we will eat healthy and delicious meals 3 times a day (all prepared by me), our house will remain clean and our laundry will always be clean and put away, we watch minimal TV and we spend our day reading books, experiencing new sensory play, and learning our shapes, numbers, colors, and alphabet. Some days that happens, and it is usually my goal. But then there are just those days.

I feel like social media has influenced parenting, and particularly motherhood, immensely. So much sharing of so much good is wonderful, but it definitely plays a role in making mothers feel inadequate. It's not right, but it's only human to compare ourselves to others. When I have a bad mom day, I start comparing myself to Penny down the street who has 8 kids under the age of 5 and has a clean house and children who are dressed with hair done and who seem absolutely perfect. But then there's the other side to social media and it's influence on parenting. There's the side that says that "this is real life" in reference my bad mom day activities. It's the side that is trying to make us all feel better by telling us that it's unrealistic to have a clean house and happy children and healthy meals. And that it's ok to spend all day watching TV and scrolling through Facebook because motherhood is hard, and we all deserve a break. But it's not ok for me.

Me "doing the best that I can" means that I'm at least giving an effort. I know that I won't always live up to my perfect expectations, but I'm not ok with lowering my expectations so that I can meet them every day with minimal effort. My kids deserve better than that.

I know I'll still have bad mom days. And probably a lot more of them than I would like. But the important part is that that's not the norm. "Real life" to me is laughing with my kids, reading them stories and giving them kisses. It's watching them grow and learn and amaze me every single day. Bad mom days are a part of that life, but only a very small part.

Lessons in Parenting

Little M and Uncle Forrest

 

When I was newly married, we lived near one of my older sisters. She was the first of us to have any kids, and at the time that this story takes place she had a two-year-old daughter and a newborn little girl. She would come into town to do some shopping and if I wasn't in class or at track practice, I would tag along and play with the girls while she shopped. On one of these occasions, we were driving from one place to another. My sister was driving, I was in the passenger seat and the girls were, of course, in the back. Sweet little M, the two-year-old, was really upset about something and she was crying and kicking and screaming and crying. My sister asked her several times to relax, to which M finally got so exasperated that she threw her sippy cup in the direction of her mom. My sister immediately pulled the car over to the side of the road, opened her door, and marched around to the other side to talk to her daughter. I looked back at little M who's face was covered in tears. She looked absolutely terrified. I whispered to her "Uh oh, you're really in trouble now!" As my sister opened the door to talk to her tantrum-throwing, sobbing child, I fully expected her to get a swat on the bottom and a good talking to. But what my sister said and did that day is something I will never, ever forget. She climbed into the back seat next to her daughter, put her arms around her and gently said, "Little M, I love you so much. Will you please tell me what is wrong?" I don't remember what exactly it was that was upsetting M. Something small and silly to us, probably, but I do remember that after her mom acknowledged her and tried to resolve what was bothering her, there was far less crying and tantrum throwing for the remainder of the drive.

Now, 6 years later, I find myself in a position similar to my sister's all too often. Whether we are in the car, at home, or visiting some friends, it seems like somebody is always crying or upset about something. Though I'm not always successful, I try to repress my feelings of frustration and show instead my love and concern for my children as I try to help them overcome the challenge (however small and silly it may be) that they are facing.

I am so grateful for my sister and the example that she showed me that day. I hope that one day I can be half the mom that she is!

The New Routine

 

I was reading back through some old blog posts and I came across this post about our daily routine when the twins were Juliet's age. I laughed out loud at how different life is now, and how much crazy has come into our lives. Here's a little look at what I'm talking about, a peek into our average every-day kind of a day:

7 AM - twins wake up, climb on top of the dresser, pull out every article of clothing in any drawer in their room, empty the trash can and laundry basket, undress themselves and attempt to re-dress themselves in swimming suits and rain boots, and spread lotion all over every available surface
7:15 - I finally realize they are awake and walk in to find what appears to be the aftermath of Hurricane Charlie and Caroline
7:16 - rush to the potty and sing "The Wheels on the Bus" for what already feels like the 57th time that day
7:20 - go rescue Juliet from her crib moments before Charlie crashes in on top of her, and remind myself that I need to put a child-proof door knob cover on her door
7:30 - make oatmeal and toast for the twins, strap them in their seats with their milk, breakfast, and "treats" (which are actually vitamins. I've conned them into thinking they are a treat.), and then sit down to feed Juliet
7:45 - clean up the kitchen which was spotless before breakfast and is somehow now coated in a layer of oatmeal, and grab myself something to eat, also intermittently interfering in Charlie's attempts to lay on top of Juliet (confession - sometimes I let him do it if it doesn't appear to be bothering her. I have to pick my battles)
8:00 - put Juliet back in bed. Brush kids teeth (this involves me pinning them to the ground and holding their head in-between my knees. Caroline's tears usually make a brief appearance.), do hair, use the potty again, and get dressed for the day. Sounds simple, but it takes a certain amount of finesse to get Caroline to allow me to touch her hair and get it done in the brief moments of light that Charlie's obsession with flipping the bathroom lights on and off allows me. Also taking care to keep the water faucet pointed toward "cold" so that Charlie doesn't burn himself when he gets bored with the lights and moves to turning the water on and off
8:15 - mop up the bathroom counters and floors from all of the water that somehow made its way out of the sink and onto everything else
8:20 - go into my bedroom and attempt to get dressed. If I'm super lucky, I might get to use the bathroom privately, and might get a bonus of brushing my teeth, putting my contacts in, or maybe even putting on makeup (ha! not likely). Meanwhile, my room now looks like it too was hit by Hurricane Char and Care.
8:30 - head down in the basement, our most kid-proof area in the house, and play. We work on puzzles, peg boards, and mega blocks. We play pretend with dolls and little people and throw balls at each other. The kids climb over the back of the couch and play peek-a-boo with each other. At some point I go and get Juju, feed her, and add her to the madness.
Noon - finally lunch time. Head upstairs, and I make one of three meals: grilled cheese, cheese quesadilla, or macaroni and cheese (somebody loves cheese a little too much..) Eat, potty, and then the most glorious time of all is here.
1 PM - Nap time!! Hallelujah. Caroline goes in her bed in her room. Charlie goes in Juliet's crib. Juliet goes in the pack n play in my room. Put them all down then sit in the hallway watching the monitors like a hawk. Go put Charlie back in the crib at least 4 times. Take Caroline to the potty once or twice more. Then finally, heaven-sent silence. If I'm lucky I get 2.5 hours of beautiful wonderful naptime. Enter the debate: nap? Clean up after hurricanes? Work on a project? Watch TV? The possibilities are endless, and yet somehow I find myself spending at least 15 of those precious naptime minutes sitting in the bathroom scrolling through my Facebook news feed. So lame.
3:30 - twins wake up from nap. Same sequence occurs as when they wake up in the morning, only this time they are in two separate rooms so Juilet's room now gets the hurricane treatment as well. I swear they get out of bed silently and destroy without making a peep.
4:00 - try to start some kind of a dinner, all while protecting Juju from her siblings and protecting the twins from hurting themselves. Charlie inevitably bring his bike over to the stove and tries to use it as a stool to get up and help me cook. Caroline digs into the drawer and pulls out two oven mitts and tries to open the hot oven saying "help you mommy!". I constantly remind myself to keep the knives away from the edges of the countertops, in the sink, or basically anywhere except for the top of the refrigerator.
5:30 - dinner. Convince the twins that they can have a "treat" (treat this time meaning applesauce, yogurt, or Almonds..) if they finish their dinner. Charlie finishes first every single time and gets his treat. Caroline cries that she doesn't get her treat yet, then finally after many tears decides it worth eating her dinner for.
6:30 - twins bath, brush teeth, potty, go on horsey rides, read scriptures, say prayers, tickle their guts out and then sing lots and lots of songs. And read lots of stories. And then some more.
7:00 - lights out, door shut, and hope they stay in bed. Sit by the door and listen to their conversations.
Charlie - Gramma!
Caroline - No! No gramma. Night night.
Char - Outside!
Care - No! No outside. Night night.
Char - Jumping jellybean!
Care - No! No jumping jellybean. Night night.
She loves her sleep, and she also loves telling Charlie no.
7:30 - Juliet bath (on the good days), feed her, and put her in bed.
And then party because all 3 kids are in bed and asleep before 8:00. Do some laundry, sleep, and repeat. That's how we roll.

Turning Two

I'm in denial. I have been for quite some time, actually. As of Monday, my babies are two. A little over two years ago I was a whale. I was so swollen I could barely fit flip flops on my feet. I turned heads everywhere I went. I slept in a chair, surrounded by 20+ pillows. I ate a watermelon a day (seriously. I lived on watermelon). And then at 6:22 and 6:28 PM on August 10, my life changed forever.

Suddenly it wasn't about me anymore. I didn't matter how swollen or uncomfortable I was, or how often I had to pee. I was consumed with love for two little tiny humans, and I spent every waking moment (which was about 23 1/2 hours per day for the first 5 weeks) worried about whether they had enough to eat, were warm enough, and had a clean diaper.

And now I still worry about them constantly. Just about different things. I worry about them breaking every bone in their tiny bodies when they fly kamikaze off of the couch and onto the floor. I worry about them being nice to other kids and others being nice to them. I worry about them getting cavities and eating a balanced diet. And every day I love them in a whole new way. Every day they make me laugh and burst with pride and want to pull my hair out (usually all within a matter of 4 minutes).

The last few months have been full of changes for my little people. Milestones. Transition to toddler beds. Potty training at 20 and 23 months. Moving from clothing sizes that end in "months" to ones that end in "T". Talking up a storm and communicating their emotions so well. They've handled the transitions like champs. Yet another sign that they are growing up. And as exciting as it is to see them grow and change and learn, it's also heart wrenching because I just want them to stay little forever.

It's About Time

It's been a rough month. Juliet is a perfect little angel, thank goodness. She NEVER cries, she sleeps 10-12 hours at night, and she naps most of the day. Sometimes I forget I have a third child because she's so quiet. Caroline is funny and spunky and a little crazy, but she is a people pleaser and she loves helping me with the baby, throwing away diapers, cleaning up toys etc. But she is also newly potty trained. Potty training her was a piece of cake, actually, but now that she is potty trained we have to plan our day around when she needs to use the restroom. But still, Caroline's pretty easy to handle. Charlie, on the other hand, is hitting a rough stage. He was doing so well with potty training, and then he got really sick and now he wants nothing to do with the toilet. Actually that's a lie, he's fascinated with flushing the toilet and climbing on top of it. Just not sitting on it. So he's back in diapers, which is fine. He's not even 2 yet. I'm afraid, though, that he's entering the "terrible two's" much sooner than I had anticipated. He's mastering the art of tantrum throwing with incredible skill. He's not sleeping quite as well as he used to, so it seems like he's always tired, and he only ever wants ME. On rare occasions he's clingy to Forrest, but he almost exclusively only wants Mommy. It's completely exhausting.

And then you put Charlie and Caroline together.. and sometimes I consider it quite a miracle that we are all still alive. My daily dialogue goes something like this:

Get down!

Be soft with the baby.

Don't play in the toilet.

Please get off the dresser.

Don't climb over the back of the couch.

Could you put all of the spoons back in the drawer?

Don't throw food.

Charlie let go of her hair!

Caroline don't bite!

Where are your glasses?

Do you need to go potty?

Get down!

Don't climb on the counter.

Where did you get those scissors?

What is all over your face?

Why is the floor all wet?

No, we can't go outside, it's raining.

Hopefully daddy will be home soon.

Please stay in your crib.

Don't push buttons.

Get down!

Just imagine all of that being repeated 1,000 times per day. Meanwhile the twins' dialogue:

Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. 

Nummy?

Milk!

Treat?

Snack?

Outside!

Oh no.

Ooh a puppy!

Bird! Tweet tweet.

Toot toot!

Slow feet... Quick feet!

Toastie!

A B C...

Mommy? Mom. Mom. Mommy!

Daddy work.

A baby! Hi JuJu.

I love you.

Apple! Nana! Snack!

Dressed? Tubby?

Brush teeth.

Ouchie! Hair!

Ouchie! Bite!

(Mischievous giggling as they move chairs to the counter and climb up before I can catch them)

No no no.

Roar! Woof! Meow! Moo! Monkey!

They are hilarious. But I think they could quite easily keep 5 adults hopping. I absolutely cannot keep them off the kitchen counter. I've occasionally had to resort to drastic measures to keep them safe. These include putting all of the kitchen chairs out on the back patio, putting Charlie and Caroline on top of the kitchen table and moving all of the chairs away so they can't get down, tipping all of the chairs upside down in the living room (but that doesn't really work, they can still tip them back over and move them), and finally just clearing every unsafe or breakable item off of the counter top and giving up on trying to stop them from getting up there.

I had a bit of a paradigm shift the other day. I was spending the late afternoon as I usually am, trying to make dinner and pick up the house before Forrest gets home. The kids were up to their usual climbing and terrorizing activities. Once I eliminated all climbing opportunities, the crying and tantrum throwing began. Mostly from Charlie, but Caroline was also joining in. I was just about to my breaking point (my ears were ringing from all the screaming and hollering), when I decided to sit down and read them a book. And then there was instant peace. Sitting there on the floor in our disastrous living room, one child on each side of my lap and reading "Chicka Chicka Boom Boom" for the 7,659th time, I felt a sudden spirit enter our home where the contention had gone. 

Dinner didn't get made that night. I think Forrest ended up making us a batch of pancakes instead. The house wasn't spotless, or even sort of tidy. But I was happy and my children were happy. And most importantly, I was finally making them feel like they were more important than dinner and a clean house. And they are. No comparison.

Later that night I was listening to a few General Conference talks from sisters who mentioned how they wished they had spent more time playing with their children and less time worrying about the endless to-do lists.

Not that dinner and a clean house aren't important. They are important to me, and I know they are important to Forrest. And hopefully, most days I will be able to make dinner, have a clean house, and have happy children. But not all days. And on those harder days, I hope I always choose my children and settle for eating a bowl of cereal for dinner. 

You know those cheesy yet insightful Mormon-ad commercials where the dad is super busy and his son keeps asking him to play catch, and then finally the dad stops his work and plays with his son, and the commercial wraps up by saing "Family - isn't it about TIME?" Like I said, a little cheesy. But so so true. 

Here's to recommitting myself to being a better mom. To being more concerned about my family and the time we spend together than about keeping my home in perfect order. To giving my children more of my time. And to being happier because of it.

To Be Like Her

A few years ago I was sitting at a table with some friends, listening to their sometimes funny and other times terrifying stories of things their "crazy" moms had done. Most of them had less than perfect relationships with their mothers. As I sat their listening, I began to smile thinking of my own mom. When asked what she was like, all I could say was that she is perfect. Amazing. Hilarious. Supportive. Heaven-sent.

If I can be half the mother that my mom is, I will count my life a huge success. I learn so much about how to raise my children from her. So often I find myself frustrated with not knowing how to teach one of my children something, and then I watch my mom and she answers my frustrations with perfect teaching and discipline. She is beautiful, elegant and graceful. Intelligent, loving and kind. And, like I said before, she is absolutely hilarious. I mean I have found myself rolling on the ground in fits of laughter from the things she says and does more times than I can remember.

One of my favorite memories of my mom is from when I was an early teen. My parents always made an effort to gather our family together in the evenings for family prayer. We had a routine that the person who had prayed the night before would get to pick a number, and whoever guessed closest to that number would say the prayer that night. My dad, who without fail picked the number 17 every single time, was notorious for saying exceptionally long prayers. So long that our knees would ache from kneeling by the time he finished. On this particular night, my mom had been the one who got to pick the number since she had prayed the previous night. She started with a "pick a number between 1 and 50." We all stated our chosen numbers out loud, and my dad predictably stated that his number was 17. Apparently my mom had momentarily forgotten his tendency, and she reluctantly admitted that he was closest to her chosen number, so he would get to pray that night. We all groaned and gave my dad a hard time, begging for a short prayer so we could all go to bed. Of course that only made it worse. The prayer went on, and on, and on. After what felt like a solid 15 minutes, my mom couldn't take it anymore. She suddenly interrupted my dad in the middle of his prayer with a muttered "I should have lied." We were all so taken off guard, including my dad, that we burst into laughter that lasted a long, long time. In fact, I don't think the prayer was ever finished.

My mom taught me how to be silly. How to laugh at myself. She taught me how to clean. She taught me how to work. She taught me to love the Lord. How to serve. How to be good and how to do good. When I think of goodness and righteousness, I think of my mom. And I also think of how blessed I am to have been raised by her.

I love that we have Mother's Day to honor all of the amazing women in our lives. I love my mom and I want her to know that. Somehow, though, I find that I am never able to adequately express my love and gratitude for her. Flowers, gifts, and cards are never enough to do the job. Maybe that's why Mother's Day comes around every year, though. As a reminder. So incredible women every where, including my mom, will never forget the powerful influence for good that they've had on all of those around them.

I feel so blessed to have an amazing mother, a wonderful mother-in-law, two incredible grandmothers (both of whom are watching over me from above), all of my awesome sisters and sister-in-law, and so many other sweet friends as women and mothers who have taught me so much. I learn from you all each and every day. Sometimes when I feel down, discouraged and overwhelmed, I look to your examples and it gives me strength to keep on keepin' on. So please know that you are loved and appreciated beyond measure. Especially you, mom. I love you.

This Mother's Day I'm also overwhelmed with gratitude that I am so blessed with my 3 beautiful angels. Let's be honest, sometimes I want to rip my hair out and throw a little tantrum myself. Having 3 kids under 2 is no joke. But 3 years ago when we were on the middle of our battle with infertility, I could never have imagined how full of love, laughter and craziness my life would be. Being a mother is the hardest fun I've ever had. And for that I am grateful.

And so once again, to women everywhere, Happy Mother's Day. 

Outnumbered

I grew up in a family of 7. It was my mom, my dad, and 5 super awesome daughters. My poor dad - he is a very patient man. He handled it pretty well. He does blame us (the girls) for every single gray hair and every last inch of balding on his head, and I think he's probably right in doing that. We didn't exactly give him an easy time. I think I remember one of my sisters getting caught using my mom's razor to shave my dad's head while he was napping in the bathtub. I personally recall drawing pictures all over any part of exposed skin with my mom's lipstick while he napped on the couch (maybe he should have learned not to ever nap while we were around). My mom even has some blackmail pictures of him wearing one of her dresses, some heels, makeup and jewelry. He would occasionally let us paint his toenails and put clips in his hair. He was a good sport. And he was always our biggest supporter. Whatever we were doing - whether it was a sporting event, a play, cheerleading or a spelling bee - he made an effort to be there. In short, my dad is a rockstar.

When I was little, we bought a boat. Most of us called it the banana boat because it was as yellow as a perfectly ripe banana, but my dad officially named it "Outnumbered." It was quite fitting. The guy was surrounded by 6 females constantly. Even when we all started having kids of our own, it was years before a boy finally made an appearance.

I think I'm starting to have some sympathy pains for my dad's experiences. Not being outnumbered in terms of gender, but simply being outnumbered by my children. When it was just me and Charlie and Caroline at home, it was manageable. Crazy, yes, but doable. And then when Forrest was home from work we could move to a man-on-man defense. It worked well for us. Enter Juliet. Now life is a whole different story!

Life is now a whole new level of crazy. Still wonderful, of course. But so crazy. Juliet and I have had to learn to breastfeed "on the go." Meaning that I often have to jump up with her in the middle of a feeding to pry Charlie away from Caroline before he rips a chunk of hair out of her head. Or I have to intervene when Caroline is about to slam the door on Charlie's little fingers. Or when one of them has climbed onto the kitchen counter and is headed straight for something dangerous.

As an added bonus, I now have 3 children in 3 different sizes of diapers. Not at all confusing! My plan is to potty train ASAP, though I don't know how in the world I can give the twins enough attention to successfully potty train while I'm feeding a baby around the clock. Wish me luck with that one!

Even when Forrest is home to help, leaving the house takes us about 5,692 times longer than it used to. And once we do finally get out the door, inevitably someone is hungry, or a diaper needs changed, or I forgot to stock the diaper bag with diapers, wipes, or an extra change of clothes. Or I forgot to brush my teeth. Gross, I know, but when you are so focused on getting 3 little bodies ready to leave, it's easy to forget the basic things like that!

In all honesty though, having Juliet at home has still been 100 times easier than the first couple of months with the twins. Having two newborns was just so demanding! With only one baby to wake up with in the night, I feel so well rested. Seriously. So much easier with one, even though I am woefully outnumbered.

Just a Boy and a Girl

When I found out I was expecting boy/girl twins, I was super excited! There are a lot of things to love about that. Most people say "you can just be done now!" Clearly that's not the case. But having one of each is perfect, in my opinion, and I was super excited to get to see the differences in their personalities and devolepment, side by side. 

So far I have not been disappointed. They are so, so different. And obviously they have both had the same parenting, at the same time. They share all the same toys, are given all the same foods to eat, and are exposed to (almost) all the same experiences. And yet they are different. It amazes me.

Charlie is 100% boy. He is not the least bit interested in stuffed animals, clothes, dolls etc. He LOVES things with wheels. Cars, strollers, walking toys etc. He plays with them constantly. Sometimes he pushes them around the room, but many times he purposely tips them over so that he can just spin the wheels around and around. And then he examines every little part of whatever he's playing with to try and figure out how it all works. He loves pulling things apart and putting them back together. He loves hinges and is thoroughly entertained by opening and closing doors, books, and anything else that operates on a hinge. And he loves climbing anything and everything in sight.

Caroline, on the other hand, could not be more girl. She is obsessed with dolls, stuffed animals, and her blanket. She hugs them tight to her and rubs her face against the softness. She loves combing her hair, blowing her nose, cleaning the floor with wipes, putting on my blush, having bows in her hair (even though she prompty pulls them out, she begs me over and over to put them in for her), and dressing and undressing herself. She loves shoes and wants them on her feet all the time. She loves wearing my necklaces, and constantly brings me lotion to put on her hands and chapstick to put on her lips. She loves carrying around purses and stuffing random items in them. Like I said, all girl.

Charlie is a little bit reckless. He has no fear and he climbs everywhere and then head dives back down (even though he knows how to get down safely). He falls AT LEAST 10 times more each day than Caroline and is constantly covered in bumps and bruises. Caroline is a bit more careful. Her balance is much better than her brother's and she rarely falls. Charlie is pretty easy going and Caroline is a little high strung. Caroline crawled, walked, pick up food etc. quite a bit sooner than Charlie did, but Charlie's vocabulary was bigger at an earlier age. And by vocabulary I mean that he could make a number of animal sounds and car noises pretty early on :). 

They are simply the best. I love them so so much, and I love the special bond that they have. When Charlie cries, Caroline goes and squats down next to him and jabbers some nonsense in his direction, then pats his head and gives him a hug. When Caroline cries, Charlie cries too. Or occasionally he laughs. They can make eachother laugh more than anyone else can, and they love tackling eachother to give hugs and kisses. They think they are hilarious when they stand on either side of a door and swing it back and forth to eachother, or when they hide on either side of a chair and play peek-a-boo. I am so grateful that they always have their best friend to play with. And frankly, I'm a little bit jealous that I didn't grow up with a twin!

Growing Up

My kids are 14 months old. They are a little crazy, and I love them to pieces. They laugh nonstop and love to tackle/climb/headbutt/roar at/wave at me, Forrest, and eachother. And anyone else for that matter. They aren't babies, but they're not toddlers yet either (some people would argue that they are.. I refuse to listen to those arguments). But they're still MY babies. I know it won't seem that way when the new baby comes, but for now they can still be that. They are teeny tiny little humans of the most adorable nature. And in my mind, they will always be that way.

Until today. Today Forrest and I went on a date to see "Meet the Mormons" in theater. (Side note: it is an outstanding film and was so inspirational. Everyone should see it and love it as much as we did!) The last section of the film is about a family from Utah with a son who leaves on a two-year volunteer mission for the Church to South Africa. And the mom. The mom of course is an emotional wreck, saying good-bye to her son. Until that point, I thought Charlie would never grow up. And then it hit me all at once. One day (hopefully), I will be that mom sending my little boy off on a mission to some far away place. The mom in the movie says something to the effect of "I learned that he was not mine, but he was on loan to me. And I was returning him to his Father for a short time." And then the tears flowed. Hers, and mine. 

I know we will have eternity together as our family, and what a blessing that is. But to even think of saying good-bye to my son - my perfect, sweet son - for two years is completely heart-wrenching. (Can you tell I have some major pregnancy hormones going on? I mean the kid just barely turned one for crying out loud.) Like the mom in the movie said, your head knows it's right and good but your heart says no. And really, I hope Charlie makes that selfless decision to go and spend two years of his life in service of the Lord. I really do want that for him. But the thought of it still makes my heart hurt.

Today was the first time I ever thought of my children growing up. And parts of them growing up make me excited. I can't wait to watch their sporting events and be their biggest fan (in whatever they choose to do). But I now know what my mom, and every mom means when she tells her babies to stay little and never grow up.

Please, please my babies, never grow up. 

Cake Smash

Let's pretend I wrote this post a month and a half ago, when my babies turned one.

The past year has gone by so incredibly fast. It seems like just yesterday we were waiting (not so) patiently for our little bundles of joy to arrive. I remember the hour-long drive to the hospital, knowing that the end of our child-free life was there. I remember the first night in the hospital, and the blur of sleepless nights that became the next five weeks. I remember their first smiles, first coos, first time rolling over. All like it was yesterday. And now my little bundles are 1.

I'm not particularly talented when it comes to throwing parties. I've never been good at decorations, themes etc. So we kept it simple. We had a small family party at my mom and dad's house with Minnie and Mickey Mouse cakes made by my super talented sister, Ashley. That was the second cake smash we had done. The first was after family pictures when they were 11 months old. But both cake smashes went about like this:

Charlie - mmm, that looks fun, I wonder what it feels like?

Caroline - I don't know what that is but it looks scary.

Charlie - wow it's really fun to squish in-between my fingers. I wonder if it tastes good?

Caroline - well it must be safe since Charlie is touching it.

Charlie - this is the best thing I have ever tasted! I think I'll shovel handfuls into my mouth as fast as possible. 

Caroline - (slowly poking her finger in) I'm not so sure about this.

Charlie - do you think they'll take it away before I eat the entire thing?

Caroline - (through tears) mom my finger is dirty!

I'm not kidding. Caroline barely even tasted it. And Charlie couldn't get enough. My mom took his Mickey cake away after he ate more than half of it. I am thoroughly convinced that if we had let him, he would have licked the plate clean. 

Silly kids. They are so different, and their little personalities crack me up. Here is a little of what they are up to lately:

Caroline is obsessed with ambulances. She walks around all day singing "wee oh wee oh wee oh." She loves to read books and her new favorite activity is bring a book to me, plopping down on my lap and then turning the pages while she jabbers nonsense and pretends to read the story to me. She likes most any food, but lately she has really been loving peaches, bell peppers, strawberries and pears. She is getting really good at expressing herself by pointing to what she wants and saying "want some!" which really sounds like "ant some." She really loves her shoes, and she associates putting shoes on with going outside. So she brings me a pair and says "shoe!" and then sits on my lap so I can put them on her. She also really likes to hold her shoes so half of the time after I put them on she takes on off and walks around the house with only one shoe on so she can carry the other one. She loves naptime and when I say "are you ready for a nap?" she runs into her room, grabs her blankie and tries to climb into her crib. She also loves giving things to people - she brings Charlie his blankie from his crib every morning after breakfast, and she picks up little tiny things on the floor and hands them to people. She loves waving at everything and gets really excited when people wave back. She has a spunky little personality that I love with all my heart.

Charlie has two favorite words: "no" and "ball." He thinks the word "no" is hilarious which makes it really hard to try and discipline him or keep him away from things. And he loves balls, particularly the ones that flash colorful lights when you bounce them. He knows how they works and he is really good at throwing them on the ground to make the lights come on. He has started trying to stack blocks together and when he is working on it he holds them up so close to his eyes and examines them thoroughly. I love the way he looks when he is concentrating so hard and figuring something out. He loves climbing on anything and everything, and although he knows how to get down safely, he prefers to dive head first. Both he and Caroline learned how to get down the stairs last week and now I can't keep them away. Charlie gets so excited to go up and down the stairs. His favorite game is to crawl up the stairs when he's not supposed to and crack up while I chase him. He starts laughing before he even gets to the stairs. I love his little sense of humor and that he is always laughing. Always. He loves playing peek-a-boo, loves swinging doors back and forth, and loves pulling every single book off of our entertainment center. He is so happy and content and he brings me so much joy.

In other news, we are counting down the 20 days left until I get to go to Missouri to bring Forrest back home. Yep, you read that right, 2-0. We're almost in the teens people! I'm a little excited if you can't tell. I am 17 weeks along, and my ultrasound is scheduled for the week after Forrest gets home. We've decided to keep the gender of our baby a SURPRISE since we already have a boy and a girl. Ah! I get so excited just thinking about it and wondering what our little miracle will be. The next three weeks will probably drag, but the time will pass. And then Forrest will be home and all will be right in my world again. 

When the Unexpected Happens

We think we have a plan for our lives. Then a giant obstacle gets in your way and changes everything. It leaves you on a completely different road than you'd planned, but soon you adjust to this new path and get settled into a groove again. If you're lucky, you get to stay in that groove for a while. But some people aren't that way. And I'm one of those people.

In my previous post about infertility, I mentioned how hard it was to cope with not being able to have children. The twins were an absolute miracle, and I thank my Father in Heaven for them every single day. After going through IVF, I dreaded the day that I would have to do it again. Of course it was worth it - but it was so so hard. Emotionally and physically. I crossed my fingers and hoped and prayed that somehow, someway, I would never have to do it again. But I knew they were false hopes. Infertility is a part of my life now, so I need to accept that and realize that this is my new normal. Most people don't have to pay $15,000 for their children. But I do. 

I'd accepted this new normal and was moving on in my own merry way, leading a crazy life filled with my two crazy 11 month old munchkins. And then all of the sudden, in one moment, that normal became not so normal. That was the moment I got a positive pregnancy test. The first of my entire life. (The nurse called me the first time. I never actually took a test). I was completely shocked. And speechless. And dumbfounded. I couldn't stop shaking. And smiling. You always hear about those people who try for so long and then either adopt or do infertility, then without even trying or knowing they get pregnant out of the blue. I'd heard about them. But I never in a million years thought I'd be one of them. 

There are a myriad of different thoughts that run through my head. More emotions that actual thoughts, really. Excitement. Relief. Terror. Shock. Joy. Inadequacy. Gratitude. Fear. They are all there. But the most present emotion is shear happiness. Words cannot express how happy I am to have this baby. This baby that is every bit as much of a miracle as Charlie and Caroline are. 

Like I said, I still have fear and doubts. I mean, I'm going to have 3 kids 18 months and under. Do we get a 3rd crib? 3rd high hair? Or do my twins just have to grow up super fast? Do we need to move? Is it at all possible to potty train before 18 months old? How am I going to handle 3 kids in diapers? I could keep going. But I won't.

My point is, the bad feelings are there. The fear and the doubts and the insecurities. But I choose not to focus on them. I choose to recognize that this baby is a complete miracle and a blessing sent straight from heaven, rather than thinking "why me?".

I don't know why we had to go through infertility. Maybe Forrest and I needed to learn patience. Or maybe Charlie needed Caroline right by his side to help him weather the storms that are sure to come his way. We'll never know. Either way, even with this miracle baby, it's likely we will have to cope with infertility again at some point. But for now I will just be grateful. Grateful to have my three little miracles. 

10 Things I Didn't Understand Until I Had Kids

1) Nap time is sacred.
I mean that quite literally. Don't be offended if you call me during nap time and I don't answer. Or I answer but only talk briefly. It's that amazing (yet always too brief) part of the day where you can shower, eat, clean the house, catch up on your TV shows and try to relax. Like I said, sacred.

2) You can sweep the floor five times a day and still have crumbs everywhere.
I remember thinking it was odd that one of my friends had sweeping the floor on both the morning and afternoon chores list for her kids. But seriously. When there are children roaming free in the house, you can sweep all day long and still have food sticking to the bottom of your feet when you walk around barefoot.

3) You will forget what life before kids was like.
Being able to leave the house on a whim? Spontaneous weekend getaways? Enjoying a nice quiet candle-lit dinner at home? Those things will all seem worlds away, like a dream that you are unsure of whether or not it actually happened.

4) It is impossible to have nice things.
That cute shirt you bought on a killer sale? NEVER wear it unless you want it to be covered in ketchup, yogurt, or blueberry stains. Your smart phone/tablet/laptop? Hide them. Up high. And don't ever let them be seen. Those cute lamps that you spent hours refinishing? You have two options: 1) put them in a storage until for the next 15 years or 2) take a picture for posterity and then give them a kiss goodbye.

5) Your house will never be clean again.
Your perfectly decorated house will be cluttered with an endless amount of baby things. It starts with swings, bouncers, burp cloths and diapers. Soon it turns into jumpers, bumbos, high chairs, books, stuffed animals and toys. Add a cute little crawler or walker into the mix and you have a constant "my-house-looks-like-it's-been-hit-by-a-hurricane" feeling.

6) Picking someone else's boogers isn't as bad as it sounds.
Neither is cleaning up a child with poop up their back. When it's your own child, it's not weird. It's just life. I remember watching my sister pick her daughter's nose and thinking that it was the most disgusting thing I'd ever seen. Now it's a nearly daily occurrence for me.

7) Everything in your house is deadly.
If your kids are awake and let loose in the house, you will never go outside for long. You will constantly be worrying that they will pull over that 300+ pound entertainment center that you have yet to secure to the wall. Or that they will eat something nasty out of the garbage. Or fall and hit their head on the corner of your $7 Ikea end table. Basically anything in your house could kill your child.

8) Hanging out with friends is nearly impossible.
You swore you would be the cool parents that would still go hang out with your old friends and do pretty much anything you want. Oh wait what about nap time? It's sacred, remember? And then there's the time you need to breastfeed. Can you do that easily where you're going? Now make sure you pack enough diapers, wipes, burp clothes, bibs, toys, books, spare change of clothes, snacks etc. in the diaper bag. Got it all? OK go. Then once you get to wherever you're going, your child decides they want to scream the whole time. So you go home, probably before even really getting to see your friends. And you decide just to stay home next time.

9) You never knew what love really was.
Your heart will hurt with how much you love your little mini-me. And your love for your spouse will grown and change too, when you see how much they love your little one. You will be overly emotional about any potential harm that could come to your child. And you will be completely irrational. You would literally do absolutely anything for your baby.

10) The laundry/dishes/housework will never be done.
You will no longer be able to get away with doing one-two loads of laundry a week. It's a daily thing now. And the dishwasher will be run on a daily basis. You should vacuum at least weekly but you don't. You will pick up toys all day every day and still miss some. You will have a pile of folded laundry that sits outside the baby's room all night (and maybe for the next few nights) until you get a chance to go in and put everything away. And folding all those teeny tiny baby clothes is pure misery.

Wiped Out

Babies poop a lot. And with twins, you get double the poop (yay!). So we made sure we're always well stocked with diapers and wipes. At least three times the amount we think we really need. Maybe that's why this story strikes me as so funny. Though, at the time, I was certainly not laughing.

Forrest has been out of town for work for a while (he's back now thank goodness!), so I've been spending a lot of time at my mom's house. I had taken an entire box of diapers and what I thought was plenty of wipes. But the wipes were in one of those big plastic hard containers - not convenient for travel. So when I packed up the diaper bag for church, I opted to leave the box of wipes behind and grabbed the travel bag of wipes from the car. Then as we sat in church, feeding the babes a snack, some of it inevitably spilled on my dress. So I reached for a wipe. And what did I find? A whopping two wipes, both dry as a bone. I got one wet with water from the sippy cup and mopped up the spill on my dress. And then I spent the rest of church hoping and praying that there would be no poopy diapers to change. Fingers crossed! 

Jump ahead 1.5 hours. Sitting in Sunday School. And my sister hands me Charlie, who stinks something terrible. So I take him into the Mother's Room, which is a small room in the building where moms can nurse, change diapers, rock babies to sleep etc. Usually it's empty. Not today - I walk in to find two other moms there. I don't know either of them. I lay Charlie up on the counter to get him changed and find a massive explosion of brown disgustingness. I use the sink to get my one precious remaining wipe wet and start cleaning him up as best as I can. But of course it's one of those times where he refuses to hold still. I'm talking sticking hands into the diaper, trying to roll off the counter, inevitably spreading poop everywhere. Keep in mind there are still two other moms in this tiny room, all the while having a hushed conversation behind me. Thankfully there are paper towels by the sink, so I get a few of those wet and use them to finishing wiping Charlie and then put him on the ground so I can scrub the counter clean from all the poop. I'm sure the whole process only took 10 minutes, but it seemed like an eternity. I returned to Sunday school thinking the worst was over.

Turns out Caroline had also pooped, so I immediately went through a similar situation again with her (thankfully the other two moms had left). And then to top it all off, Charlie pooped one last time. Seriously? Usually we go through the entire 3 hours of church with no diaper changes. And of course, the one time I only have two measley little dry wipes, my kids turn into poop machines. Oi. Good thing I can laugh about it now! 

Twins by Numbers

2 mouths to feed

2 faces to scrub

2 bodies to wash head to toe in the tub.

20 fingernails to trim

13 teeth to be brushed

Countless tears and cries in the night to be hushed.

10 diapers to change

Just about every day

And 2 best little buddies to play with, hooray!

3 loads of laundry

4 changes of clothes

And at least 13,000 wipes of the nose.

72 oz of food

In 3 meals a day

That makes 42 lbs of baby to weigh.

500 books read

With 1,000,000 to go

And how many songs have I sung? I don't know.

8,000 kisses

And 10,000 hugs

And an eternity to fill with nothing but love.

Only for a Season

You know before you have kids when you look at other people with their children and think "I'll never do that" or "I can't believe they do it THAT way"? Yeah me too. I plead guilty on many, many accounts. In my pre-child mind, having kids wouldn't change the way that I lived my life. I would still like the same things, go on the same types of trips, hang out with all the same friends, still go on weekly date nights... you know. And even when I found out I was having twins I still thought it would be possible. "It's a choice" I thought. Which it is. I just failed to realize that my priorities might change. And that sometimes a baby getting in a good nap is more important than making it to a lunch date with a friend. Not always, but sometimes.

I love the thought of being outdoorsy and adventurous. I've done a lot of camping, boating, snowmobilling, and hiking (confession: according to my sister, I've done SOME hiking.. not a lot). The point is, I love doing all of that stuff and I thought I would make the choice to keep doing those things. And I still want to. But in the last ten months I've learned that some things aren't worth doing anymore. Someday they will be, but not right now.

My family is all about adventure too. In March they planned a trip to hike Havasupai. It's a trip I've heard rave reviews about, and I wanted to go SO bad. I tried just about every way to make it work, but when it came right down to it, I was nursing, Forrest was busy at work, and asking someone to take care of my twins for a week was A LOT to ask of someone. So I stayed home, and tried to be positive about it. And today, more of my family went to hike King's Peak. I had planned to go, until last week when Forrest got a last minute out-of-town work assignment. Camping trips to Goblin Valley, entire days spent with friends and family, late evening dinners and activities.. I want to do it all. But I have to remember that my kids will only be little for so long. Months and years from now they will LOVE to camp and hike and run and play and spend all day out in the sun without taking a nap. But for now, they are happiest when they can nap on schedule, have an air-conditioned (or heated) building nearby, and get to bed on time. And happy babies = happy me. 

So for now, sacrifices will be made. Today will pass all too soon and in the blink of an eye my babies will be grown. It is only a season. After all, isn't parenting all about putting your childrens' needs in front of your own?

Why I Sometimes Choose Ignorance

We've all heard the saying "ignorance is bliss." I'm just beginning to understand what that means. It seems like the more I watch the news, check my Facebook newsfeed, and listen to the radio, the more evil and sadness in the world becomes apparent to me.

I'm watching the news and I hear a story of a woman who has murdered 7 babies inside of her own home. Then I hear stories of a family who lost their father due to an affair or cancer or drugs. Then of a grieving family who lost their sweet and precious little one to pneumonia. Then of hundreds of girls being kidnapped by terrorist groups in war-torn countries. 

Becoming a mother has certainly made me more sensitive and emotional. When the twins were just a few days old, I was up feeding them in the middle of the night and reading a story of a girl I knew in high school. I didn't know her very well, but her story left me sobbing for hours. Her baby was born quite prematurely and was in the NICU. About the same time as my sweet little infants were placed in my arms, her precious little one passed beyond the veil to the other side. It still brings me to tears, thinking of losing a child. I can't imagine the pain and sorrow that accompanies such a horrific loss. And then I'm left to wonder why I am so blessed that I still have my two little miracles. Why me, and not her? I know everyone experiences different challenges in this life. And that our Father in Heaven would never ask us to endure anything that we were not capable of. And of course there is life after death. What a blessing to know that families can be together forever, even when they are only together for a short time here on this earth. 

Sometimes when I see a headline of a sad story, I turn off the television. Or I don't follow the online link to read the story at all. Because I feel like my heart can't handle it. Most of the time I feel like I would honestly rather not know what is going on. And then I struggle with myself because I know it's not good to be ignorant.

Last year when I was working at the high school, a group of college students came and put on an assembly on ignorance. They spoke about how when we hear about something sad we say, "Oh, that is so sad." And maybe shed a tear of two. And then go on with our life like nothing ever really happened. 

I know that's exactly what I do. It's so much easier to pretend like the evil and sorrowful things aren't really there. And more than that, even if I fully face it and acknowledge all these bad things that happen, what am I to do about it? Hold my family a little closer. Hug my kids a bit tighter. Be grateful for what I have every single day because there are those who go without. Live every day to it's fullest.

In truth I'm completely conflicted between turning a blind eye and pretending the bad doesn't exist, and becoming totally overwhelmed by it all and not knowing what I can actually do about it. I'm not at all comfortable with choosing ignorance, but nor am I comfortable with facing reality. I'm hoping to find a better way to cope, and am wide open to suggestions.

To Women Everywhere

Maybe you're a teacher. Or perhaps an aunt. Possibly a neighbor, and probably a friend. Somehow, someway, you have influenced a child's life. As women we have an innate ability to love and to nurture. It might come more naturally to some than to others, but it's inside of you. And those around you can sense it. Particularly those precious little souls you interact with. They love you, they look up to and admire you, and they want to be like you.

As we celebrate Mothers Day this week, there's something we all need to realize. Motherhood is a divine calling that does not begin with bearing children. In fact it begins far before that. It begins when a young girl picks up your dolly for the first time. It begins when she watches her own mother, her teachers, her aunts, grandmas, neigbors and friends as they mother her and the other children around them. It begins when she helps to dry the tears of a friend who is hurt. And it continues to grow with her as she gets older. She may never get married. She may never have children. But she still has the noble and divine calling of a mother.

To all women, everywhere: whether you are married, single, or divorced; whether you have ten children or you have none, today we celebrate you. Happy Mothers Day. 

How I Survive as a Stay at Home Mom

When we were going through infertility, I resented every single day that I had to go to work. Of course I was grateful that I had a job, but every time I walked out the door and drove to work I wished that I could stay home. Because going to work meant that I didn't have kids to stay home with. 

Now that I have children and I'm able to be home with them, I absolutely love it. It's wonderful and exciting and joyful. But it's also really hard. There are days that I feel stretched beyond what I thought possible (that's most days, actually). Some days I probably shed as many tears, if not more, than the babies. I often want to pull my hair out (particularly during meal times) and scream at the top of my lungs.

Every day is different. But now that the twins are getting a little older I feel like I've settled into a bit of a groove. They have their routine, and I have mine. One of my good friends refers to the things that get her through as her "Diet Coke." So the following are my Diet Cokes.

TV shows - It's not like I sit and spend all day in front of the television. And I have a personal rule that I don't turn on the TV/iPad etc. when the twins are awake. But when they nap, I almost always sit down on the couch with my breakfast/lunch and watch my shows. Some of my favorites are Psych, White Collar, Modern Family, Dancing with the Stars, Duck Dynasty, and Once Upon a TIme (I know.. I can't believe I actually like that show. It's so nerdy! But I love it). After hours of reading stories, rolling around on the ground with the babes, holding and feeding them, watching TV helps me unwind and relax a little.

Setting realistic goals - Right before the twins were born, Forrest and I were talking about his paternity leave (he took 6 weeks) and what he was going to do while he was off of work. He rattled off a lengthy list of all the things he planned to do each day. After Charlie and Caroline came we both quickly realized how unrealistic that was. Some days it just seems impossible to do anything but survive. I hated feeling like I didn't do a single thing all day long (even though I know that taking care of two babies is actually doing a lot), so I set a goal for myself to do one thing a day. Whether that one thing is laundry, cleaning the bathroom, taking out the trash, or vacuuming, I still try to stick to that. Some days I get a lot more than one thing done. Other days I struggle to even do that one thing. But setting a reasonable goal for myself everyday helps me to feel accomplished and boosts my self-esteem.

Getting dressed - I know this seems really silly. But there seriously are days (a lot more than I would like to admit) when I don't ever change out of my pajamas. And if I don't change out of my pajamas, I probably haven't brushed my hair or teeth either. Getting dressed and then going through my morning routine of doing my hair, brushing my teeth, and putting on makeup (even if I do all this quickly) makes me feel a lot better about myself. Then I don't go through a panic when someone unexpectedly knocks on the door, because I'm presentable. Much better that way.

Exercising - This one is really important for me, because exercise is something I really enjoy. It makes me feel like a normal person. It was really hard for a few months because Forrest would work so late that I couldn't exercise in the evenings, and I was too tired (I prefer not to think of it as lazy) to wake up and run before he left in the mornings. And it was far too cold to take the kids outside for a walk. But now I am able to go much more frequently. I get together with a few friends and go running on Wednesday evenings after the kids are in bed. I can't tell you how wonderful it is to get out of the house, have some girl time, and get some exercise.

Doing things - Like getting dressed, this seems silly too. But seriously. It is so easy to just stay home and do nothing, because it's far easier when the twins can nap in their beds, I don't have to pack up any food etc. But going out makes a huge difference in my sanity. Sometimes I take trips to the grocery store even if I don't really need anything just because I need to get out of the house. Now that it's warming up I try to take the kids on walks and outside to sit in the courtyard and play with the neighbor kids. Sometimes I even go out and sit in the sun when they're napping, just because I need to be outside! And going to family events, friends houses etc. is so helpful too. Even when it's not convenient, I try to make it work. I need to stay sane.

Serving others - Whether it's something simple like getting up early to make Forrest's lunch, or making dinner for a friend who just had a baby, forgetting myself and doing something for someone else is wonderful. It's easy to think that I'm too busy, that my hands are too full, that I don't have time to do service. But finding even small ways to serve makes a big difference in my happiness. 

Blogging - Seriously, it helps me so much just to be able to write down my thoughts and emotions. It helps me sort through what I'm feeling, and it makes me feel good when others enjoy reading what I write. 

I'm sure as time passes I will find other things to add to my list. But for now, these things really help me love my new job as a full time mom! I love the term "play at home mom." That's what I feel like I do, I play at home with my beautiful children. And it's wonderful! 

Infertility: Our Story

I always knew I wanted to be a mother. Playing "house" as a little girl, giving my baby dolls bottles of milk and orange juice, and playing barbies for hours on end... Motherhood was like this perfect little fantasy. You grow up, get married, and have a perfect family and everything is wonderful. That's the idea right? As I grew up, my fantasy started to become reality. My first year of college I met my wonderful husband. We only dated a few weeks before I knew he was the man I was going to marry. We were married and sealed together for all eternity in the Provo, Utah LDS Temple less than a year after we met. Things were looking great. I wanted to start a family right away, but I knew it wasn't very realistic since Forrest and I were both on our college track team, and we had a couple of years left to compete before we graduated. So I thought I'd run for those two years, then have a baby as soon as possible afterwards. Great plan, Holly, really great plan.

Too bad our plans don't always go the way we'd like. Correction - too bad our plans rarely go the way we'd like! Forrest was determined to make it through grad school before we had kids. He felt that he needed to have a job secured before we started a family so that he could provide. I understood his point, but it was so frustrating to me to have to wait! We don't ofter argue, but when to start a family was one of the few things that we didn't see eye to eye on. Finally, after being married just over 2 years, we agreed to start trying to have a baby.

I knew that it took most couples approximately 3 months to get pregnant the first time. I was terrified that it would take us longer. We have close family that has struggled with infertility, and I had seen how difficult it can be. Even knowing all of that, I was devastated when I didn't get pregnant right away. I soon learned to hate pregnancy tests and all the emotions that came with seeing yet another negative result. After about a year of getting my hopes up when my period was a day late, I felt a little nauseous, or had to pee a lot - then crying for hours after taking a pregnancy test, we went to see a doctor. They ran a few tests that came back with pretty depressing results. Sitting in the doctors office, hearing her tell us that while most couples have a 20-30% chance of getting pregnant each month, we only had a 3-5% chance... then her instantly switching from the bad news to pushing us to pay $15,000 to do a cycle of In Vitro Fertilization that month. That was bad. Forrest and I both left the clinic feeling hurt, shocked, terrified, disappointed and so much more. I honestly can't describe what it feels like, knowing that teenage girls can get pregnant without even trying but we couldn't. 

Clearly our experience with that doctor and clinic was.. uh... less than ideal. As soon as we left we decided not to go back. We took a step off of the trying-to-get-pregnant train for a few months while we casually asked around for a good doctor that we could trust. As luck would have it, Forrest had a co-worker who highly recommended a doctor in Newport Beach, which was only a few minutes away from our house. We made an appointment for a consultation, and the minute we walked into the office we felt different. At the first office we felt like they wanted our money and didn't really care about us personally. In contrast, Dr. Anderson made us feel like he cared about us individually and truly wanted to do what was best for us. He recommended some next steps for us, which took us a few months to complete, and then we proceded with what he thought was the best course of action. 

In August 2012 we attempted our first of three IUI cycles (artificial insemination). Each of these involved me giving myself 10-15 shots in my stomach, and having my blood drawn and an ultrasound done every other day. After each cycle is complete, you wait 10 days then go in to have your blood taken for a pregnancy test. After the blood is drawn, you go home or to work or wherever, and wait. Wait for the phone call from the nurse that will bring you to tears, either out of joy or sorrow. Three times I got my hopes up. Three months the doctor told me everything looked perfect and there was no reason that it shouldn't be successful. The last of the three times we even thought we might be getting triplets (terrifying thought, but when you are so desperate to have a baby, 3 for the price of 1 doesn't seem like such a bad option). But all three times I got the phone call from the nurse. I pick up the phone anxiously and the first word out of the nurse's mouth is "unfortunately". I don't even listen to the rest of whatever she says. I shed some tears but then try to hide them as best as I can while I resume working, and hope that nobody asks me what the phone call was about. Then I call Forrest on my lunch break and tell him the news. He tried to stay positive but I know how hard it was for him, and for me, to think that there was an end to it all. 

There are some very dark emotions that come while coping with infertility. Every time I saw a pregnant woman my stomach turned. I lived in constant fear that my friends and family who had gotten married after me would get pregnant and have babies before me (something that did come to pass. I cried, selfishly, every time. Not that I wasn't happy for them, but it's a painful reminder of everything I couldn't have). I got frustrated every time I heard women complain about their children. I couldn't handle looking at pictures of people's kids all day, so I rarely looked at facebook. I alienated myself from so many friends because I just couldn't deal with it any other way. I couldn't walk by the kids and baby sections in stores without averting my eyes. Anything related to babies and children was painful.

During those depressing times we found some ways to cope. One of them was walking. Every Sunday we went to the park and walked. For hours. And we just talked. About work, mostly. Occasionally about our trials with infertility, but we tried to avoid that subject as much as possible. I found a quote that helped me a lot. From Elder Neal A. Maxwell, "Faith in God includes faith in His timing." I tried so hard to remind myself of that whenever I started feeling sorry for myself or started thinking negatively. I also received countless cards, notes and gifts from family and friends who knew what we were going through. Those helped me more than the senders will ever know.

Mothers' Days are particularly hard when you want so badly to be a mother but can't for whatever reason. One Mothers Day, a fantastic friend and her sweet little one baked me cookies and brought them to me with a Mothers Day card. I burst into tears and hugged him (I don't think he understood, but it meant the world to me). I am so grateful for wonderful friends and family. Forrest and I would have been much worse off had it not been for them.

After 3 failed IUI's, the doctor recommended we move on to IVF. It was a lot to take in, but we prayed about it and felt like it was the right step for us. It was November 2012. We had been trying to get pregnant for 2 years. Forrest was working over 80 hours/week, I was in the middle of my 2nd season as head coach of the high school soccer team, and we were swamped. But we felt like we needed to do this. So we proceeded. Thankfully we had infertility insurance, but between the lab costs, medication costs and copays we drained our bank account to make it happen. We barely scraped by, but we had enough. I gave myself over 110 shots, some in the stomach but most in the hip. I again had my blood drawn and ultrasounds done every other day. I underwent surgery to remove the eggs before they were fertilized, then a week of bedrest after the procedure was done. I will forever be grateful to my sister who came and waited on me hand and foot that whole week, and my friends who brought us meals and cared for me while I was down. 

During the procedure, the doctor picked out two perfect little embryos, and they became my little Charlie and Caroline. Perfect as can be. 

When the nurse called with the results from my pregnancy test I was at church. I stepped out of Young Women's to answer. "Hello?" "Hi Holly, this is Raquel from Dr. Anderson's office." Then, excitedly, "Guess what?! You're pregnant!" And I burst into tears. I could barely finish my conversation with her I was so overcome with emotions. I tried to call Forrest and frantically searched the halls until I found him. When he saw my tears he at first thought it was bad news. I finally got the good news out and we held eachother and cried. We went out to the car and called family and cried some more. Up to that point, that was the best day of my life. And I didn't even know there were twins until a week later. 

It is the weirdest feeling, having a trial end after years of dealing with it. Getting pregnant was on my mind nonstop for 2 years, and then all the sudden, after one phone call, bam! I'm pregnant. It was a lot to take in, and it took a few days for it to sink in that I was finally going to be a mother. It was a long hard road to get there. And the thought of going through all of that again to get another baby is terrifying. But so so worth it. I would do it all 1,000 times to have a perfect little miracle (or two) in my arms. 

I'm not sharing our story so that you'll feel sorry for us. I'm sharing so that we can all become more aware of what others are going through, and know how it feels when people ask things like "so when are you going to have kids?". Our experience has changed the way I look at others, especially couples without children. I no longer assume that they are just content and comfortable to live on two incomes without any dependents. Because chances are, they would do just about anything to have one more mouth to feed. I'm also sharing because maybe, just maybe our story can help someone else struggling with infertility, just like others helped us on our journey.