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.

The Unpleasants

When I was 32 weeks pregnant with the twins, I felt like a small whale. Or a large whale. Something gigantic. I had over 10 lbs of baby inside of me, in addition to two placentas, lots and lots of fluid, and all my usual organs, which felt like they were being reduced to the size of peas. I was uncomfortable, to say the least. Caroline was up so high that I had to constantly push her legs and elbows out from under my rib cage. Charlie was so low that anytime he hiccupped, kicked, or wiggled at all, I peed my pants just a little bit. I generally prefer not to ponder on these "unpleasants" of pregnancy, but now that I am feeling as giant as a whale again, the memories are flooding back in.
While I was in the height of my discomfort with two babies inside of me, Forrest's work held an end -of-busy-season party. It had been a particularly awful busy season, where they were working 80-90 hour weeks for nearly 5 months. So to celebrate surviving the madness, we were invited to a lovely weekend resort stay, complete with meals, spa treatments, unlimited golfing etc. And it was wonderful.
I was treated to a facial, an hour-long pregnancy massage (with a giant pillow with a hole in the middle so I could actually lay on my stomach - pure bliss), an entire afternoon in the spa.. it was heavenly. One of the evenings, the company had arranged for all of us to get together for dinner at one of the fancy resort restaurants. I dressed up as fancy as is possibly for a small whale, and headed to dinner at 8 PM. That was a little late for me since my usual pregnancy bedtime was between 8:30 and 9:00. But I went anyway, and guided Forrest to a seat near the exit so I would be free to get up and use the restroom as needed. What I didn't know when we showed up was that we were about to be served a 500 course meal. Seriously, the food just kept coming. With plenty of time in between each course to cleanse our pallets, I suppose. I tend to drink a ton of water when I'm dining out. Especially when I have to wait a long time for my food. So I was drinking a lot of water, and my tiny little pea-sized bladder kept filling up all too quickly. And then Charlie felt it necessary to do a little jig at frequent intervals. All of this meant that I needed to use the restroom. A lot.
And the restroom was nowhere near where we were sitting. And it wasn't the "weave your way through all the tables to the other side of the restaurant" kind of trip to the restroom. The restaurant itself didn't actually even have a single toilet anywhere inside of it. Instead, guests had to stand up, weave their way through all the tables to get the to door, walk out the door and into the resort, and then walk another half-mile to the restrooms in the hotel lobby. It was quite the trek.
The entire journey to the restroom and back took me about 10 minutes. Which is about the frequency at which I felt I needed to use the restroom. So my night looked a little something like this:
8:00 - Seated
8:10 - Restroom break
8:20 - Eat first course, drink lots of water
8:21 - Restroom break
8:30 - Eat second course, drink a gallon of water
8:35 - Restroom break
And that was only the first half hour. This dinner continued on well into the 11:00 hour. And everyone seemed to be wide awake, with no intent to wrap it up anytime soon. Sometime after my 137th trip to the restroom, one of my husband's coworkers leaned in close to Forrest and quietly asked if I was ok. Forrest just laughed and responded that yes, I was fine, but pregnant women just have to pee an awful lot. Finally around 11:30, I could barely keep my eyes open. My legs were numb from sitting in the same chair for so long, and I needed to use the restroom yet again. I decided it was time for me to call it a night, so I excused myself for one final time and headed to bed while everyone else stayed and chatted and ate until heaven knows how late.
Thankfully I haven't had any experiences with the unpleasants this pregnancy that have even come close to that one. Even last night at Chili's, when I had to use the restroom four times during our hour long dining experience - it didn't even come close to what I experienced at the resort that night.
I had actually somewhat forgotten that resort dining experience until now. I think when I was pregnant with the twins I was just so beyond exciting to finally be pregnant that I blocked out all of the difficult and uncomfortable parts. I had waited so long for the experience, and it was something that I didn't know if I would ever get to experience again. So I chose not to dwell on the unpleasants, and to some extent I don't think I really noticed them. But let me tell you, I sure have noticed them this time!
It's a good think this pregnancy has been unpleasant, though, because otherwise I think I would want this baby to stay inside of me for as long as possible. Unpleasants make it exciting to think of the new baby finally being here, and help to drive away the terror of having 3 kids under the age of 2! Actually it doesn't completely drive away that terror... but it helps a little.

Flashback to the 90's

I may have been a slightly awkward pre-teen. And by slightly awkward, I mean REALLY awkward. Everybody goes through a stage right? I wore Harry Potter glasses, never brushed my hair, and hadn't quite grown into my long arms and legs. There's a reason my sister nicknamed me "Lurpy." I really was. And to add to it all, I was terribly uncoordinated.


What does that have to do with anything, you ask? Well, yesterday as I dropped a 6th egg out of the refrigerator I had a flashback to 1999, or maybe the early 2000's. It was awkward, uncoordinated pre-teen and early-teen me, dropping a brand-new jug of milk on the front steps and watching it shatter. Or tripping over my own feet in the middle of a soccer field with nobody else around me to disguise it.


Flash-forward to today. And I'm pretty much the same person, plus a husband and 2.5 kids. I don't remember being this clumsy when I was pregnant with the twins, but maybe that's because all I ever did was sit in a chair with my feet propped up and watch reruns of Psych. But now that I'm pregnant AND I still have to care for my two tiny humans, the clumsiness is more apparent than ever.


And it's not just dropping eggs. This morning Charlie and Caroline were playing on a chair together and I was sitting on the floor next to them. Caroline dove off the chair and into my arms, and I lost my balance and tipped both of us over onto the ground. On the way down, I hit into the chair and knocked Charlie (who was standing up without holding on) off on top of me and Caroline, resulting in two crying babies and one extra-long contraction.


I have to double check the floors 10 times before bed to make sure there are no toys, clothes, pillows etc. in my path from the bed to the bathroom. Because if there is so much as a cheerio on the ground, I can guarantee my feet will find it and somehow trip over it (as evidenced by multiple trip-and-falls per day).


Thank goodness I only have 4.5 more weeks of this. Any longer and I'm not sure we'd all survive!

Ch-ch-ch-changes

Things have been a little crazy around here lately, in case you were wondering why I've been so absent from the online world. There are some major changes coming up for us in the very near future - and I couldn't be more excited about them!

About a week before Christmas, Forrest was offered a job at a new company that would allow him to work much better hours and spend so much more time at home with our family. He accepted and just started his new job this week. His time in public accounting was good to us, but we were so ready for the change and I can't even begin to explain how excited we are about his new opportunity!

When Forrest accepted the job, we realized it was time for us to move so that we could be closer to his work. We had also promised each other that the next time we moved, it would be into our own house. All the stars aligned and we were able to find the perfect home for us, very close to Forrest's work and in a great area. We are now under contract to purchase the home and are hoping to close at the end of next month. After renting apartments for 7 years, we could not be more thrilled at the prospect of owning our own home and having space for all of our stuff!

And in the midst of all this, I am nearly 34 weeks pregnant with our little munchkin. The week we close on our house is also the week of my due date. Sometimes Forrest and I think about things and wonder why in the world we always choose to take all of these life changes at once. We moved to Utah 5 weeks after the twins were born. And now a job change, buying a house and moving, and having baby #3 all at once - I know we are a little crazy. But the changes are all so good and I am so looking forward to everything.

The hard part about the upcoming move and the baby coming soon is being in limbo about preparing for baby. All of the clothes, bassinet, burp cloths, bottles etc. are already packed up in storage containers and ready to move. I would love to leave them like that until we are in the house, but what if the baby comes early? Who knows what we'll end up doing. My rough plan is to get everything washed and ready and put into an easily accessible bag that we could use whether we are in our apartment or the house when the baby comes.

Wish us luck!

What Not to Say

In response to my previous post about infertility, I had a lot of people comment that they knew someone struggling with the same thing and didn't know how to help them. I wish there was a magic formula I could give you that would help. Or a line I could feed you that you could say to every person in that situation to make them feel better. But there's not. Every person is different. We all handle trials differently. I know a lot of people said things that both helped me and hurt me, so here are my opinions on what you can try to help someone you know who is experiencing the heart-wrenching sorrows of infertility.

Do acknowledge how difficult their trial is. 

Do try to be sensitive. Particularly if you are pregnant, be sensitive when sharing your good news. Tell them individually instead of in front of a group. Give them some time to grieve. Because they are probably happy for you, but I can speak from experience that most likely the first emotion they will feel is anger and frustration. And then they'll feel guilty at feeling that way, because it's not like we don't want you to be happy with your new little family. It's this never-ending spiral of trying to be happy but just being mad/sad/frustrated and then feeling guilty for having those feelings. So give them time. It took me about 2 months to get over it and get to the point where I could even congratulate a close friend or family member on their pregnancy. (For whatever reason, it was easier for me to deal with pregnancies of those who already had kids. It was hardest coming from those who were younger than I am, had been married for less time, and didn't have any kids yet.) So try to be understanding if they cry instead of smiling and congratulating you right away.

Do remember them on Mother's Day and Father's Day. Those days are particularly hard.

Do send notes, cards, flowers, food.. Make sure they know they are in your thoughts and prayers. And do pray for them.

But still, we're all human. We make mistakes. We sometimes walk around thinking we know things, or jumping to conclusions, then opening our mouths and saying things that can be really hurtful. We don't do it intentionally (usually) and I truly think that most people have good intentions. But there are certain things that should never be said. To anyone. The following is my list of never-to-be-saids.

-"Are you expecting?" Please, please never ask ANYONE this question, unless you know the answer is yes. Let them tell you. There are so many couples that struggle with infertility, and asking them if they are pregnant is another painful reminder of everything they don't yet have. Right along with this question goes "When are you going to have kids?" Prior to going through infertility, I would look at couples who had been married for a few years and didn't have children. I hate to admit this, but I sometimes thought that maybe they didn't have kids yet because they enjoyed the comforts of having two incomes and the freedom of being a couple without children. I know, terrible me. It kills me now that I ever thought that, because I have had people tell me that that's what they thought about Forrest and I before we had Charlie and Caroline. And it really hurts me to hear that. Please don't assume that. You never know what people are going through.

-Upon learning that someone is struggling with infertility, or a single woman struggling with never having children, saying "You can have one of mine" or "You can hold mine anytime you want." Don't. Just don't. Don't pretend that your children can fill the void. Although I will say that being an aunt and a primary teacher to perfect little children did bring so much joy to my heart. But It's just not the same. They weren't mine.

-After hearing how hard it was to get pregnant, saying "Wow. I'm just a fertile Myrtle." or "I just have to hug him and I get pregnant." I think people say this just because they really cannot relate at all, and they don't know what else to say. But trust me, it does not help to hear how easy it is for you to multiply and replenish the earth.

-"The clock is ticking." Really?! Who says that? Don't you think that we are very aware of how old we are and that right now is the best time to have children? (For the record - I am not that old. I am not particularly concerned about my biological clock. But I know many who are.) There is no need for the painful reminders of how much time we have left. I assure you, we wanted to be pregnant years ago.

-"I had a friend who got pregnant right after they stopped trying. So maybe you should just relax and not try so hard." Oh sure that's easy to do. Let me just stop thinking about how much I want to be a mom. If only the stress/pain/emotion was just a switch we could turn on and off. Don't minimize what we're going through by saying things like "Just give it time" or "I'm sure everything's fine." Because it's not fine.

-Anything about adoption. We may get there at some point, but most likely we are not ready to think and talk about adoption just yet. One step at a time.

-Don't complain about your pregnancy and/or children. This one bothered me the most, I think. When all you want is to see your belly growing bigger, it is really difficult to be around other women who are pregnant. It is made 100 times worse when they complain about it. And the same thing for those who have children already. When I was dealing with infertility I had to stop getting on Facebook because it was so painful to see posts about my friends' children, and even worse to hear their complaints about them. Be grateful for what you have, because there are so many who are longing to have it too.

Please know that if you have made one of these comments to me, it's ok. I'm over it. But in truth, it probably did hurt. I know my experience with infertility has made me think a lot more about what I say to and think of people. But I'm not perfect either. Let's just all be a little more conscious of those around us and how the things we say can make them feel.

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. 

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.