tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87773140529797839782024-03-05T18:04:33.615-08:00in through the out doorsurviving life with triplets and a spare In Through the Out Doorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12623911460750562477noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8777314052979783978.post-65187645167986290422019-08-09T16:54:00.000-07:002019-08-09T16:58:14.916-07:00how to disappear completely<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Dear Dad:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Eleven
years. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">I remember
waking up on the day of your destined departure and thinking, ‘my dad is going
to die today.’ It’s one of those things in life that is deemed so
inconceivable, its consequences are only received in its arduous aftermath. Its
unwavering persistence never falters, and its impact brands the rest of our existence
with habitual heartbreak.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">The days
preceding your anniversary and my self-proclaimed ‘Annual Day of Dread,’ are
nothing more than an unwanted invitation to resurrect repressed resentment. You
were around for the good, but I surely never imagined you’d be absent from the
best. I know you’d do anything to disencumber my mind from its boundless
bereavement. Instead, I resort to finding solace in your relentless efforts in making
yourself known during my darkest and most challenging of times. After all, sequences
of intuitive innuendos have displeasingly become our new black. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">In lieu of
countless internal dialogues justifying the need to visit your grave, I have
yet to muster the courage to do so. Guilt, obligation and desire all take a backseat
to the mere fact that I can’t come face-to-face with your headstone for reasons
stemming from nothing short of the fact that you just don’t belong there. It has
taken me a long time to remotely come close to terms with your absence, I need
not be reminded of the true permanence of your demise. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Death is a such
a mind-fucking conundrum, and grief is its unsolicited ally. Despite being
an inevitable outcome, it is the only standing certainty of our existence that
elicits permanence in its truest form. I mourn your loss every single day of my
life, and I selfishly miss your physical presence. Today, I grieve a life
without you in it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">I’ll see you
in my dreams,</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">jax </span></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>In Through the Out Doorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12623911460750562477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8777314052979783978.post-29088002684075100252018-09-27T07:34:00.000-07:002018-09-27T17:01:37.026-07:00stop! in the name of love<div>
Three-and-a-half years into my triplet mom journey and I still wake up, at times, thinking, "how the hell did this happen again?" I mean, who reproduces three at a time, anyway? Don't get me wrong, I love my kids, I really do, but this is one life wrench I don't think I will ever perceive as "normal." <br />
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Despite my best efforts to make sense of the unexplained, life has carried on as such and I <em>still </em>find myself in the epicenter of curiosity, lodged somewhere between fascination and ignorance. I always surmised this aspect of triplet parenthood would eventually curtail, but as luck would have it, my hopes are perpetually shattered by my persnickety peers. </div>
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With that being said, here is a glimpse into the thought process of a triplet mom when bombarded with the good, the bad, and the clueless.<br />
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"You're a supermom!" As endearing as it is to be referred to as a "supermom," I assure you, nine times out of ten, I feel like anything but. For starters, my day-to-day life is inexplicably overwhelming and often quite isolating. Generally speaking, it feels like I am treading water with weights tied to my feet, and it takes everything in me to keep my head above water. My daily demands elicit a level of exhaustion I never deemed possible, and quite often, the only thing getting me through the day is knowing that the current day will eventually end. I verbally declare "tomorrow is a new day" more times a day than a priest performs the Sign of the Cross with "this too shall pass" and "pick your battles" presenting as a second and third contender. <br />
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A successful day for me in the triplet parenting world includes not killing my kids, putting on deodorant and/or brushing my teeth, and making sure there isn't a hole in the crotch of my leggings. While I desperately attempt to maintain some sort of self-care routine, I am often forced to succumb to the unavoidable physical/mental/emotional obligations I am subjected to on the regular. My needs are always placed on the backburner with the mere hope that maybe, just maybe, I will be awarded the time, privacy and energy to shower and put on a clean set of clothes that I will likely be wearing for the next three days. <br />
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"Just get a sitter." Just get a sitter? Why don't<em> </em>I just split the atom while I'm at it. Sadly, it's not that easy. To begin with, there aren't many occasions that I am willing to sacrifice the sleep, nor willing to endure the wretched mornings that are so commonly associated with overserved nights out. Hangovers with kids should be used as a torture tactic. By the time it's bedtime, you're on your hands and knees promising God that you will never drink again just as long as your kids go to bed without a fight. Then the morning comes and you are hangover-free, festered with guilt for lying to God the night before. So, no, chances are I am not going to risk going to Hell unless you can guarantee 6am childcare.<br />
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"They must be easier now that they're older." I don't know about you, but the first word that comes to mind when I think of a three-year-old is "asshole." Truly. Fuck the "terrible twos." It's a shame no one ever talks about the "asshole threes," because that's where the real Matzo Ball lies. The tantrums, the whining and the defiance I tolerate is enough for me to secure a permanent parking pass at the Betty Ford Center. I am truly baffled when people even mention, much less suggest, that having three kids the same age is easy. While I can honestly say that I do prefer their current age merely for the independence factor alone, I am ultimately trading one evil for another. For instance, they are all potty-trained, but on the flipside, their thriving personalities make me feel like a mental patient ready to erupt like Mt. Vesuvius. <br />
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"I'm sorry." I'm sorry you hate your kids; perhaps he should have pulled out. <br />
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Gawking and/or pointing. For the love of God, stop staring. We are not a hippo giving birth at the zoo. We are not a criminal getting arrested at the scene of a crime. We are not a streaker running across the field of a nationally televised sporting event. We are just regular moms, walkin' around, trying to do regular mom things with our overactive uteruses and 89 kids in tow. <br />
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At the end of the day, and I am assuming most triplet moms are with me on this one, all we ultimately ask is that you think before you speak. Words can be hurtful and cannot be unspoken. We're not looking for sympathy, pity and above all else, we certainly don't consider ourselves better mothers because of our fertile fate. Kindness and patience go a long way. Like the old saying goes, "if you have nothing nice to say, eat shit." </div>
In Through the Out Doorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12623911460750562477noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8777314052979783978.post-65690992638871740632018-08-09T16:32:00.000-07:002018-08-12T12:17:28.818-07:00ten years gone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">Dear Dad:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">On this day, an incomprehensible decade ago, the finality
of your fate feverishly launched my heart and soul into a fictitious,
unidentifiable realm that is host to the unfathomable. A place that is riddled
with grief and plagued by permanence. A place littered with forcible acceptance
and daunted with unattainable peace of mind. A place that has been harboring a
menagerie of back-burner feelings that have ultimately festered my life into an
everlasting existence of magnificent sadness. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">As I reflect on our last, and final, conversation, I can’t
help but wonder what it was like, for you, the lead in my life’s biggest
tragedy, to be dying right before your daughter’s eyes. You were a 58-year-old
terminally ill man, lying on your deathbed. The strongest man I knew was skin
and bones, weak, and feeble. So sick, so tired, so vulnerable. Your illness was
ready to claim you, forcing you to surrender and forcing me to prepare myself
for the impending realities of your afterlife. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">The aftershocks of grief are what make death so challenging.
They are fragments of memories, flickers of what was, and glimpses of what
could have been. They often hit unheralded, unexpected and unbridled. They gain
momentum like a tsunami, and there’s no way of knowing when they will
dissipate. They do not announce themselves, nor can you prepare for their
unpredictable repercussions. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">I don’t ever think I’ll ever accept your absence from my
life, and I have your stubbornness to thank for that. Your physical presence has
been replaced by reoccurring numeric sequences, lyrics of a song, the smell of
cigars, the sight of Lake St. Clair, and the sporadic visual encounter with a
cardinal. You are everywhere, yet you are nowhere to be found. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">I’ll see you in my dreams,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "tahoma" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; margin: 0px;">jax </span></div>
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In Through the Out Doorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12623911460750562477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8777314052979783978.post-45918623559448065902016-08-09T06:56:00.000-07:002020-01-19T12:31:38.946-08:00eight miles highDear Dad:<br />
<br />
It has been said that 'time heals all wounds.' I say that the person who conjured up this notion is a fucking idiot. Time has, in fact, proven to be quite the opposite and has been a sorry excuse for the inexplicable grief that has plagued my soul as a result your unfortunate departure.<br />
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Despite my best efforts in fallaciously fooling myself into accepting the fact that you are in a "better place," there are days that I am nothing but numb to the fact that you've been absent from the longest eight years of my life. The mere mental mien of your face leaves my mind in a motionless state of melancholy musings.<br />
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It wasn't until a few years after your cancer diagnosis when you verbally declared to me that you "weren't going to live to be an old man" that I realized you were coming to terms with your untimely forthcomings. It was an excruciating realization that we were both trying to wrap our heads around, but even then, it was nothing I could have ever prepared myself for. My immediate response to you was, "You are an old man," but as I look back now, you were anything but.<br />
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I think of you everyday and often wonder how different my life would be if you were still in it. Would you still have your boat? Would we still frequent Mr. Paul's? and quite possibly, my most burning question of all, what kind of grandpa would you have been? It takes my breath away just thinking about it, and it's something I will struggle with for the rest of my existence.<br />
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We are conditioned to comprehend that death is an inevitable part of life, yet its finality is truly unfathomable. Grief burns infinitely deep and it leaves a perplexing void that knows no boundaries. It's what makes or breaks us, and it's the only repercussion in life that reaps such permanence.<br />
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Today, I celebrate your life and the 26 years of memories you left me with. I may never comprehend all the fragmented "whys" that fester in my brain, but there is one thing I know for sure: I will forever be grateful for the day you were there to see me enter your world, and I am equally as grateful for the day I was there to see you exit mine.<br />
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I'll see you in my dreams,<br />
<br />
jax<br />
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In Through the Out Doorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12623911460750562477noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8777314052979783978.post-37873100802459366322016-04-20T06:50:00.001-07:002016-04-20T07:10:55.115-07:00bittersweet symphony<div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Mr. Bean/Princess Pea/Charlie Girl:</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">The weeks leading up to today, your first birthday, I had delusional visions of penning the perfect praise of the initial 365 days of your lives. It wasn't until I sat down to do so that I realized <span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I struggle to conceptualize the appropriate thoughts, words and feelings that are free-flowing through my brain yet seem damn near impossible to transmit to print. I assure you it isn't for lack of content, but rather, for </span>once in my life, I am at a loss for words.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">As I reflect on our <span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">unequivocal union,</span> there aren't vocable expressions deemed appropriate to describe the changes, challenges and chaos that has ensued as a result of your birth and homecoming. On the flip side, I am overwhelmed with feelings of joy and happiness upon seeing your faces light up when I enter the room. The sounds you emit when I exit are nowhere near as joyous, however, they're always taken with a grain of salt. After all, you are babies.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I'm sure this goes without saying but this<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> last year has, undoubtedly, been the most bittersweet twelve-month period of my life. Sacrificing a career that I loved to become</span> a stay-at-home mom was never a conceivable notion in my life plan, however, the sense of pride and accomplishment that I now endure on a daily basis is immeasurable. Having four children in two-and-half years is not for the faint-hearted, and caring for you all has been no easy feat. My once short-term daily goals of making it through each 24 hours have now turned into an award-worthy, year-long achievement. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">To make up for the fact that I wasn't able to hold you on the day you were born, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to do so today. Happy First Birthday, my sweet litter. You'll forever be my bittersweet symphony. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">All my love, </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Mumma</div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFn8HL_iZAzoNILBhr1YhOTHJ4uQkAv7waz9t2CMu8cbQRfAtUrRs-i1ZA2zKDDLhzdWYBKPQxZQicrny4rPBfgtf7smmNeNtsRrBG3_x7U2ONrMzJLm7HxvXyRjbRt8hrdy59Ah1EldUe/s640/blogger-image--1516461149.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFn8HL_iZAzoNILBhr1YhOTHJ4uQkAv7waz9t2CMu8cbQRfAtUrRs-i1ZA2zKDDLhzdWYBKPQxZQicrny4rPBfgtf7smmNeNtsRrBG3_x7U2ONrMzJLm7HxvXyRjbRt8hrdy59Ah1EldUe/s640/blogger-image--1516461149.jpg"></a></div>In Through the Out Doorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12623911460750562477noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8777314052979783978.post-56126216282250628102016-02-25T09:54:00.001-08:002016-02-26T06:55:22.527-08:00so fresh, so clean<div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">As if I didn't already have enough on my plate as a stay-at-home mom to 10-month-old triplets and a toddler, I've recently decided to become a sales consultant for Norwex. Now, <span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">before all of you pyramid scheme conspiracists start going off the handle, just hear me out.</span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">For starters, I know exactly what you all are thinking; "Great, another direct sales asshole is going to try to sell me stuff while clogging up my Facebook newsfeed." Well, I'm not gonna lie, part of that statement is true. <div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">With all the marketable natural living-promising products out there today, there's no doubt that we, as consumers, are transforming into a more health-conscious society. We opt for food-fearing fads (GMO-free/gluten-free/organic) in an attempt to preserve our bodies and ward off chronic illnesses, diffuse oils in our homes to holistically encourage health and wellness yet we continue to neglect one very big household and environmental issue: the chemicals in our cleaning products. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Aside from the potent, nasal-burning fumes of your average household cleaning products, some ingredients have been linked to everything from skin and respiratory irritation to chemical burns and chronic, long-term effects, such as cancer. If you're sitting there thinking, "Oh, I use the 'natural' brands," I have news for you; they're not as safe as you think they are. While there are several popular brands out there that deem their products as such, they still contain chemicals that have negative impacts on our health. I know they smell good with their fruit-infused extracts and all, but they still contain harmful additives and preservatives. As a former natural-cleaning-product-cleaner-turned-Norwex user, I have also found them to be lacking in performance, from a cleaning standpoint. </span></div></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Now, you don't have to be a wizard to realize that my days are pretty hectic. With four under four, a dog and a husband ruling my roost, you're probably thinking, "How the hell does this broad ever find the time to clean anyway?" Well, to be brutally honest, I love to clean; however, nowadays I don't have the time nor energy to clean as I once did before I birthed a litter of babies. That's where Norwex comes in. </span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">So, what exactly is Norwex, you ask? It's a line of reusable, self-cleaning, microfiber-based cloths designed to save you time and money, remove up to 99% of surface bacteria all while </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">drastically reducing the use of chemicals within your home. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The only thing you need to pair with Norwex to clean, polish or dust, is water. </span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">If you're feeling skeptical, I don't blame you. To be honest, I was, too, before I bucked up and gave them a whirl. Not only do they clean surfaces above-and-beyond anything I have ever used, my mind is at ease knowing I am no longer subjecting myself or my family to potentially fatal chemicals. </span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I didn't decide to join Norwex for the free trips and fancy cars, but rather to help educate people of the toxic chemicals we subject ourselves to all for the sake of a clean house. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I am very excited and feel incredibly grateful that I have been awarded the opportunity to help others make more informed decisions when it comes to preserving the health of themselves and their families starting within the walls of their homes. </span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">www.norwex.com</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">www.jaclynhiller.norwex.biz</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWjKrzd7xfGn-L5WVtFR0vcJT5OvFgp404JBPs1Be-lHXYaj_yZhpmdC3aVQp_cYEO150Hbt7sY9GQUax0vnlizGtIRQfKae2CW3BTnyAkyiaukUHtvmhRF9QP5JlhDUQzr9mINmlDs7c0/s640/blogger-image--701729410.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWjKrzd7xfGn-L5WVtFR0vcJT5OvFgp404JBPs1Be-lHXYaj_yZhpmdC3aVQp_cYEO150Hbt7sY9GQUax0vnlizGtIRQfKae2CW3BTnyAkyiaukUHtvmhRF9QP5JlhDUQzr9mINmlDs7c0/s640/blogger-image--701729410.jpg"></a></div>In Through the Out Doorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12623911460750562477noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8777314052979783978.post-31878561244617755802016-02-23T10:35:00.001-08:002016-02-23T10:52:18.502-08:00say it ain't so<div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Often times, frustration gets the best of me. While I am completely aware of the fact that the babies don't have the mental capacity to make sense of anything I say, it doesn't stop me from spewing the verbal discourse they are subjected to on the regular. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Truth be told, my mouth is incapable of holding back the impromptu, swear-infested thoughts that are conjured up in my head. <span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My filter-free mindset often makes for some spontaneous, one-sided dialogue when I find myself alone with the litter.</span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Here are a few of the most commonly used phrases that are expelled from my lips on a day-to-day basis: </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"I'm putting you up for adoption"</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">This threat is generally only muttered to the boy of the bunch, Ryan aka Mr. Bean. For starters, he's obscenely cute and he knows it. He's a total mama's boy, and he has a hard time functioning in this world without me. I lose 99% of our stare downs and his days are often centered around the fact that I am a sucker for toothless smiles, chubby cheeks and bountiful belly laughs. As annoying and back-breaking as his neediness can be at times, I will always surrender to the fact that he is the last little boy I will ever be able to swoon over. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"Can you give me a fucking minute?"</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">If you don't dispense your human waste into a diaper around here, your basic everyday needs (i.e. bathing, eating, involuntary bodily functions) are often overlooked and mocked by three antagonizing grins. They are completely oblivious to the fact that I am one person and that there are three of them. If I pick one up, the other two seize, buck and cry with envy. The general rule of thumb around here is: if they can see me, they all want me. As adoring as it is to be loved and needed as such, sometimes it leaves me hankering for the ability to click my heels and Wizard of Oz the hell outta here.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"You all are gonna drive me to drink"</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">If you're thinking "alcohol isn't the answer," maybe you need to start drinking more. In all honesty, I don't drink nearly as much as you'd think. My bed seems to always win the "sheets vs. sauce" internal struggle as shut-eye is *generally* far more valuable to me than vodka. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"Is this a joke?"</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Most commonly used after someone: 1. saturates their outfit with barf and/or shit. We do, on average, 3-4 costume changes a day around here. 2. someone blows out their diaper right after they've been changed; or 3. when someone wakes after a half-hour nap. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"I'm going to eat your face"</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">If any of my children ever end up with bruises on their faces, it could only be from one thing: me kissing them. Chunky cheeks never go unnoticed around here and they seem to always get caught in my smooch-infested crossfire. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"Get your goddamned hands out of your mouth"</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">If the smell of spit-up was deemed as an attractive, desirable odor, I'd be the most sought out woman on the planet. It's bad enough I look like a disheveled, unkempt garbage man everyday without the smell of spoiled milk taking over my dysfunctional dress code. The less-than-fragrant aroma is ingrained in my nasal passages (and clothes) and I have their tiny little fingers and hypersensitive gag reflexes to thank for that. With that being said, laundry has undoubtedly become my number one extracurricular activity. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"This is coming out of your allowance"</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Nothing is more frustrating than making three eight ounce bottles of formula only for all of them to decide that they don't have the attention span to sit through a feeding. They buck, roll, or will just downright refuse to finish a bottle. Ounce-for-ounce, formula has a monetary equivalent to the value of sleep around here. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"Why are you so cute/pretty?"</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Most days, I feel like I accomplish more before 9am than the average person completes in an entire day. The remainder of my waking hours generally follow suit. Even so, I do my best to spend some one-on-one time with each of the babies. In the moments I do find myself alone with each of the trifecta, time slows down, attention is undivided and for the time being, we usually just stare at each other. Even though these moments aren't as abundant as I would like them to be, they are cherished in a regard that far exceeds a life that reflects a more simplistic means that resides far beyond our comprehension. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">As the babies' tenth month has lapsed, I am reminded that the temporary situations in life are often the ones that seem to be the most demanding and mentally draining. They cue reactionary moments of haste that can often be misconstrued for permanent positions of powerlessness. There is no recourse for their presence, but rather we have a choice to let them make or break us. </div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNajdvDGqfHS2ETG2RjOmiyCcRmsZEFSNraGMnJSqx6-5nmEloSQ9NRFp3cUKtQUgZRStPEfV1Z78-R4wA_2nK0ygeUlEY0P2ex0Swzc15UsLCti27F1s5R0EC8czgz2EARsQRh8HquRYc/s640/blogger-image-570376398.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNajdvDGqfHS2ETG2RjOmiyCcRmsZEFSNraGMnJSqx6-5nmEloSQ9NRFp3cUKtQUgZRStPEfV1Z78-R4wA_2nK0ygeUlEY0P2ex0Swzc15UsLCti27F1s5R0EC8czgz2EARsQRh8HquRYc/s640/blogger-image-570376398.jpg"></a></div>In Through the Out Doorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12623911460750562477noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8777314052979783978.post-86342652079137125922015-11-17T10:45:00.001-08:002015-11-22T10:46:00.222-08:00what is and what should never be<span style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Generally speaking, I find myself wedged between a plethora of paralyzing parental predicaments and a ruthless reality of redundant riddle. I daydream of simplicity yet I'm consistently plagued by the relentless demands of my tumultuous trinity. My life mimics an inconceivable chaos that is antagonized by my desire to return to a comprehensible version of my current self-sacrificing shenanigans. </span><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">With the exception of the death of my father, these babies, by far, have been the most life-altering, sleep-depriving, sanity-draining, anxiety-filled mind fuck of my life. There isn't enough Xanax or vodka in the world to jolt me back into the time where I felt content and at ease with my ability to parent. They have strained relationships, precipitated panic attacks, and have gifted me the ability to survive on less sleep than I did in college. Despite becoming more and more independent as each month passes, my situation has gotten anything but easier. </span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">In all honesty, I'd be lying if I said I didn't sometimes fantasize about what life would be like had we only had one more child. In the same breath, I can't even fathom my life without the other two-thirds of our pig paradise.<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> Between Charlotte's asylum-worthy smiling, Vivian's bashful banter and laughter and Ryan's incessant desire to be near me, I'd probably have to die myself before I could ever live without any one of them. Moreover, I anxiously await to see the dynamic of their relationship unfold. They share a beautiful, rare bond that will forever distinguish them from your average siblings. Their connection is magical and their fascination with each other knows no bounds. </span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">In addition to, they truly are three of the happiest, sweetest babies I have ever encountered, yet the biggest obstacle lies within just that: there are three of them. We are outnumbered and despite numerous projected attempts to see the light at the end of the tunnel, I have a hard time seeing so much as a spark. Throw a regressing three-year-old into the mix and I can't help but feel like I should be juggling a goddamned ball on the end of my nose most days. </span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">At times, it's hard to seek out all of the good in any given circumstance when you continually find yourself fumbling backwards for every one step forward. </span>More often than not, situations arise that are anything but easy to make sense of. They can be dissected, analyzed and questioned time and time again yet their purpose may never be forthcoming. They test our boundaries, preserve our patience and blur our perception between reality and what we once thought would never be. </div><div><br></div>In Through the Out Doorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12623911460750562477noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8777314052979783978.post-11467940700485769842015-10-26T19:27:00.001-07:002015-11-04T05:13:52.012-08:00gin n juice<div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">It's safe to say that I cherish and covet my weekly bar excursions. Despite my less-than-frequent states of reoccurring slumber, I somehow manage to buck up, make myself somewhat presentable and set out for an evening of mindless malarkey. <span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It's a time for me to zone out, people watch and dick around on my phone with zero interruption where the </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">only question I have to worry about answering is "are you ready for another?"</span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">More often than not, I </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">frequent a bar that is all of eight blocks from my house. There's nothing special about it other than the fact that I can walk there and it's the only local bar I can tolerate going to on a weekly basis.</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It's a pretty low-key place during the week, it has an outwardly douchebag-free clientele and most importantly, it serves Tito's vodka. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It's my version of a Friday or </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Saturday night</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> without having to feel like a pork chop in a piranha tank just for being a seemingly single, thirty-something, ringless woman sitting at a bar by herself. </span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Even though I am accompanied by a friend on the majority of my nights out, in the event that </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I do find myself by my lonesome, I've come to appreciate a whole new level of alone time that I once so adamantly avoided. </span>Before I had kids, I would have never, ever entertained the idea of going to a bar alone. The concept seemed foreign, awkward and appeared to be something only middle-aged divorcees did. <span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">One three-year-old and a litter later and </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I've come to the realization that I have a lot more in common with these fellow solo sippers than I thought. </span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">From what I have gathered, most of the early bird boozers I have encountered are having after work cocktails. When I think of it in those terms, I suppose I'm no different. After putting in a 12+ hour day at the juvenile jail, I temporarily punch out to do a little off-site drinking. Since all four of my bosses can't wipe their own assess and I don't have the option to report to work late and/or call in, time and alcohol consumption are always of the essence. Even so, I'm off the clock and for the time being, beer and Belvedere are on my mind, not babies and Butt Paste.</span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Whether you seek alone time at a movie theater, library, coffee shop or bar, the daily demands of life often push us to solicit temporary states of solitude. They are brief bursts of mental clarity that become the most vivid in times of overwhelming oblivion. </div><div><br></div>In Through the Out Doorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12623911460750562477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8777314052979783978.post-47895206850650064312015-10-12T17:04:00.001-07:002015-10-13T04:15:35.401-07:00mama kin<div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">In the times I find myself on the verge of snapping, I ultimately have limited resources to vent to. While I am incredibly lucky to have an amazing support system of friends and family, I generally choose not to bombard them with my frustrations as it is hard for them to relate to my situation. In all honesty, the only people who can even wrap their heads around my day-to-day life are those who are riding the triplet wave with me. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Halfway through my pregnancy, I was fortunate enough to be connected to a triplet mom group via Facebook. It's a group of women from all over the world who have had or who are expecting their babies in 2015. We come from all different backgrounds and walks of life but we all have one thing in common: our lives are ruled (or will be ruled) by a toothless trifecta.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Despite the fact that I have never even met any of these women, we have developed an instantaneous, unbreakable, triplet-fueled bond. <span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We laugh and we swear and we talk about everything from pregnancy and postpartum pooping to pumping and playtime. </span>We share <span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">our frustrations and our hardships, our excitement and our gratitude and when the unthinkable tragedy of loss strikes, we are there to lift, love and support those in need. </span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We share our unfortunate encounters with the ignorant and offer encouragement to those who are approaching the tail-end of their pregnancy. We have more-than-frequent urges to tell our babies to go the fuck to sleep, little time to eat and even less time to shit, shower and shave. We never take advantage of collaborative naptime and we have zero shame in admitting that we often bathe our babies all of once a week. But even in the midst of our most maddening hours, we undoubtedly would agree that we wouldn't change a thing for the world.</span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">While I have often been referred to as 'Super Mom' for my role as the matriarch of four under four, I can't help but cast these moms with the same title for reasons that far exceed my own set of circumstances. Some are single moms and some have husbands who have been deployed overseas. Some have zero help and some had two, three and even four children prior to having their trios. Some have struggled with years of infertility and some were forced to deliver at 24 weeks. Some have spent months upon months in the NICU while others have have been placed on mandatory hospital bed rest for an undetermined period of time. Even though the conditions of our triplet journeys differ from one family to the next, we never pass judgement as we are all very well-aware of the fact that a triplet pregnant and three fuckin' babies is a lot of fuckin' work.</span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Not only am I am I incredibly fortunate to be a triplet mom but I am equally as fortunate for the people that have been brought into my life as a result. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">At </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">the end of the day, we're all just doing our best to keep up with the three-of-a-kind hand we've been dealt, and somehow, I've managed to strike the triplet mom jackpot along the way. </span></div>In Through the Out Doorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12623911460750562477noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8777314052979783978.post-78194797008394670532015-10-05T11:52:00.001-07:002015-10-05T12:34:44.420-07:00dog days are over<div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">As the babies approach their six month of life, they are beginning to rapidly outgrow that fragile, helpless, all-I-do-is-eat-and-shit state that infants are notorious for. Personalities are beaming, curiosities are blooming and my once three and four pound preemies are feeling more and more like sandbags these days. Despite their preterm-induced developmental delays, they are finally starting to exhibit the behavioral characteristics of the average infant. </div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Even though they are still pint-sized versions of their five-and-a-half-month-old counterparts, the litter has come a long way since our NICU days. <span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">While it often seems like it has taken them forever to reach such seemingly simple milestones, for these premature little pigs, they've been up against a six-week delay. Even so, they're rapidly progressing and have finally outgrown a time that I have found to be one of the most challenging (and boring) phases of parenthood.</span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">As much as I love the sweetness of a newborn baby, there is only so much time that can </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">be spent staring and gushing over a sleeping infant (or three).</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I've always found that one of the most frustrating things about being a parent is the lack of reciprocity that an newborn has to offer. You spend countless hours feeding, changing, holding, and consoling them in exchange for witching hours, sleepless nights and projectile vomit. They are little blobs of Heaven that leave you feeling emotionally, physically and mentally drained, but in reality, they really aren't able to offer much in return. Despite our extended stay in the newborn phase, they've begun to take full flight into the curious and active world of an infant.</span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Over the last few months, we've bid farewell to the redundant days of eating and sleeping and have welcomed longer periods of awake/play time. They're eating nearly quadruple of what they were when we brought them home (80oz a day. Yikes!), and they laugh and smile like little mental patients. They are diligently attempting to roll over, and they're practicing sitting up with assistance. They babble and yell and continue to be fascinated with their hands and feet. They affix their eyes on just about anything that crosses their visual path, and we can finally carry them around without the fear of their heads falling off. They are slowly but surely turning into the three little independent people that I so anxiously have been waiting for.</div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgb(69, 69, 69); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">As a mom of four, I've come to embrace and value the lessons of the past, the routine of the present, and the unknowns of the future. I've been rewarded a responsibility that was delivered in a not-so-conventional manner, but even so, I've resisted the urge to hold up the local liquor store. As luck would have it, we have a 24 hour baby bar equipped with unlimited toothless smiles and bottomless belly laughs. I'll always cheers to that. </div><div><br></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigYNia5GACEw3jf18EIVQYsIBKpkgDQtMzr4i4bId6w7vTlOnonXUfluAGD1PGCcr0sUNhi6F-Pc5m9en1skUjsG-sbUS570koDUu15ND0dQUYB_o_VTTDw04H_JbbNmstLhfwax2e7JoH/s640/blogger-image--1553797182.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigYNia5GACEw3jf18EIVQYsIBKpkgDQtMzr4i4bId6w7vTlOnonXUfluAGD1PGCcr0sUNhi6F-Pc5m9en1skUjsG-sbUS570koDUu15ND0dQUYB_o_VTTDw04H_JbbNmstLhfwax2e7JoH/s640/blogger-image--1553797182.jpg"></a></div>In Through the Out Doorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12623911460750562477noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8777314052979783978.post-73604502614196573092015-09-28T03:39:00.001-07:002015-09-28T04:29:37.895-07:00where is my mind?<span style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">This weekend, I found myself in an annoying life-induced, can't-snap-outta-it funk. Ya know, those days where you hate everyone, nothing makes you happy and a one-way ticket to the other side of the world is more tempting than a pint of Ben & Jerry's after a long night of binge drinking. Although rare, they do happen despite my best efforts in masking my mind from these kidless, child-wearing free delusions.</span><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">As much as I would like to blame our coughing, snot-infested, sleep-deprived trio for my latest Debbie Downer doldrums, their temporary ails are just the icing on the cake. Truth be told, I'm envious of the pick-up-and-go mentality that once ruled our roost.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">While I strive for normalcy in my everyday life, I've come to realize my day-to-day living is anything but. The fact is, three infants and a toddler singles me out from the everyday normalities that most stay-at-home moms encounter. Lunch outings, play dates and trips to the grocery store with everyone requires far more time and energy than is even worth completing such seemingly easy tasks. While I am more than capable of dragging Jake and the litter out with me, I'd likely end up at the bar before reaching any said destinations.</span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">On the majority of my days, my normal is not leaving the house for several days at a time. My normal is event-free weekends. My normal is having zero time to spend with my husband because we are forced to put the needs of our four children before our own. My normal is scarfing down a makeshift dinner before the babies' final feeding of the day. My normal is me hoping and praying for a communal nap that allows me enough time to to drink my coffee before it turns cold. In addition, my normal reveals a home-bound life that requires me to make arrangements for my kids for every waking moment that is spent away from my house. </span></div></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">As the babies approach their sixth month of life, old challenges have been replaced with new ones and the everyday minutiae that consumes my days are starting to become more and more blurred. Even though my days and weeks pass by in warp-speed, it feels like an eternity before I will ever be able rejoin standard society again. There are times I crave my former </span>spontaneity so fiercely, I can't help but lose sight of the fact that I'm distracted by a world of realities that no longer exist.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Throughout my triplet fiasco, I've learned that some of my biggest sanity-saving graces are those that launch me into my future with the eye-opening realization of the inability to turn back time. I am reminded that time is our biggest enemy and that the present is our strongest ally. Sometimes in life, we need a good funk to find ourselves in the chaos.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div>In Through the Out Doorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12623911460750562477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8777314052979783978.post-55342515816311043932015-09-23T15:03:00.001-07:002015-09-24T02:44:02.329-07:00mr. brown<span style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">With all the recent triplet and toddler talk that has infiltrated my blog as of late, I've somehow managed to overshadow a pretty important component of our family. He's brown, he's five, and his name is George. </span><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Briefly after JR and I were married, we began to entertain the idea of adopting a puppy. We were apprehensive, at first, primarily because the condo that we were renting at the time wasn't very conducive to having a dog; it was on the smaller side and there was no fenced-in yard. Even so, I found no harm in scouring the Internet for our hypothetical puppy-to-be.</span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">If you've ever ventured into cyberspace with the sole intention of only "looking" to adopt a puppy, you know it's a similar experience as if to say you're going to the bar to have only "one" drink. Puppy faces, much like alcohol, are intended to suck you in with a zero percent chance of turning back. The second I laid eyes on George (whom was named Trout at the time), I made it my life's mission to make him ours.</span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">As we officially began our canine conquest, I was clueless as to what this entire operation would entail. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It wasn't just about finding a cute dog online and bringing it home, but rather, it was an extensive screening process that had the best interest of the animal in mind. Paperwork, a brief interview and a home visit were among the unexpected requirements of the adoption process. </span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Upon inquiring about G's availability, I quickly learned that this particular organization, Home Fur-Ever, was a non-profit, no-kill, foster-based rescue based out of Detroit. We soon made arrangements with his foster mom to drive out to an upcoming pet expo to meet the anticipated third member of our family.</span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">When we arrived at the pet store, there were dogs as far as the eye could see. Some young, some old and some who were desperately seeking the opportunity to be loved. The sadness and hope in their eyes made me wish I could have rescued them all. I couldn't help but flashback to the Sally Struthers' Christian Children's Fund infomercials from the 90's that guilted you into thinking that your soul was going straight to Hell if you didn't pick up the phone right then and there to make a donation to sponsor a child. I was plagued by feelings of guilt and sadness, but nonetheless, we were there for one brown boy and one brown boy only.</span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">After a long and and seemingly lengthy process, I received a phone call from G's foster mom who formally extended the opportunity for us to become his adoptive parents. We graciously obliged and immediately began to equip our condo for the arrival of our new fur baby.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">The days following G's arrival, we slowly began to acclimate to his presence while he quickly launched us into an uncharted territory of steady responsibility. Potty-training, obedience and middle of the night disruptions were to name a few. It was the closest we'd ever come to experiencing what life would be like with an actual baby, and it's something I've always believed all couples should experience before reproducing one day. <span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I truly believe those long puppy nights helped us prepare for what would later become the real thing.</span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Here we are five years down the road and George's homecoming still remains one of the happiest moments of my life. He's as kind and gentle today as he was the day we brought him home. He's not only <span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">our dog, but rather, our friend and companion who has demonstrated nothing but unconditional love in its purest form. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">He's our protector, our alerter, and his Cujo-like tendencies when strangers approach the house make us feel nothing short of safe and secure. </span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Although he is no longer the solo center of our universe, he continues to play an active role in our family. He may not be our biological child but his cold snout and Frito-smelling feet are all I need to call him my own. </div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig6EKiSUAzrR_wqxC3ATIU9xvqWNJswKgWRy48-5FKKfuwiwiVySbBk730AIdUH0LqMd-YM1FU3xrgn4lQcM_ebc5Z4tzLfHZlB6ln6oUpJ2OcatoiQjBh51eaCnthv2Od24fpP1MywO0T/s640/blogger-image--1495839440.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig6EKiSUAzrR_wqxC3ATIU9xvqWNJswKgWRy48-5FKKfuwiwiVySbBk730AIdUH0LqMd-YM1FU3xrgn4lQcM_ebc5Z4tzLfHZlB6ln6oUpJ2OcatoiQjBh51eaCnthv2Od24fpP1MywO0T/s640/blogger-image--1495839440.jpg"></a></div>In Through the Out Doorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12623911460750562477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8777314052979783978.post-45215741284141363192015-09-21T03:40:00.001-07:002015-09-21T09:24:27.408-07:00how many more times<div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Becoming a triplet mom instantly launched me into a spotlight filled with curiosity, speculation and an excessive amount of intrusive questions and unsolicited comments. It started when I was pregnant and continues to be a hot topic of interest amongst strangers. While I completely understand the draw to our family's dynamic, I'll never get used to the accosting that occurs when we are in public.</span></div><div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br></span></div><div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Here is a glimpse into the good, the bad, and the stupid of the triplet parenting world.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: inherit; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"Were they natural?" - This is generally the number one question I get asked. While it is a touchy subject for some, I have no problem divulging this information nor do I feel it is invasive. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: inherit;">As someone who has suffered from endometriosis for more than half their life, reproductive challenges were pretty much inevitable. When we were trying to conceive the first time around, we were told IUI would be in our best interest due to my condition. As luck would have it, I found out I was pregnant just two days before we were to begin the insemination process. Even though our infertility journey concluded before it ever began, I caught a glimpse of what it's like to put your reproductive fate into the hands of modern medicine. It's frustrating, it's stressful, and the worst part is, there is no guaranteed outcome. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: inherit;">When we found out we were expecting triplets, we were dumbfounded and in disbelief that this could have even happened without infertility. This seems to be the common consensus amongst the general public so when people ask "were they natural?," I honestly think it's just a reflex of curiosity rather than an invasion of privacy. However, since it's generally not socially acceptable to ask someone the sex position in which their child was conceived, this question should really be kept at bay. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: inherit;">While triplets are shocking, in every capacity, when they happen out-of-the-blue without medical intervention, it generally ups the shock factor a smidgen. It sure as hell did for me. Even so, our babies are no more "natural" than those who were conceived with help. Modern medicine is a beautiful thing that should never have to take a backseat to the traditional means of conception. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: inherit;">"Do triplets run in your family?" - Nope. Triplets don't 'run' in anyone's family. Next. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">"I'm sorry" - <span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I'm sorry you feel sorry for me. Perhaps it's only </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">because your kids are assholes.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">If you find yourself experiencing pity for us, please don't. I regard our situation as one that was meant to be and a combined instance of 'God never gives you more than you can handle,' 'everything happens for a reason,' and 'whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger.'</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: inherit;">While I will never be able to verbally reiterate what life is really like with three infants and a toddler, I can tell you that the happiness and fulfillment that stems from having four healthy, happy children far exceeds the time and effort it takes in caring for them. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: inherit;">"Do you have help?" - Absolutely. Several times a week, my mom and mother-in-law rotate days coming over to lend an extra arm or two. Whether it be for a feeding, to console a crying baby or to entertain Jake, their presence allows me to tend to my house, laundry, errands, and in the rare event, myself. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: inherit;">"Looks like you've got your hands full" - No fucking shit. While I would never claim the hardships of my parental journey to trump those of another, I will say this: my sanity level is at an all-time low. Even so, I wouldn't trade my time with my kids for anything. They are the root of madness, happiness and at times, a very stressful marriage, but at the end of the day, sanity can be restored, time cannot. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-family: inherit;">"This is when they are easy" - Oh, is it? Please, enlighten me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'll let you in on a little secret: there is nothing easy about having triplets. While I wouldn't necessarily use the word 'hard' to describe life with the litter, I do find it incredibly frustrating and stressful that I am unable to attend to more than one baby at a time. Above all, I feel guilty as undivided attention is a thing of the past in our house. I know I am only one person, but the babies (and Jake) don't quite grasp that concept yet.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">While the novelty of having triplets is long gone for us, it is something that will forever differentiate us from the average family. When you pop babies out three at a time, you have no choice but to take in words with a grain of salt and a shot of tequila.</span></div>
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In Through the Out Doorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12623911460750562477noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8777314052979783978.post-6290739835763970792015-09-17T03:31:00.001-07:002015-09-17T10:18:57.800-07:00fat bottomed girlsNeedless to say, this past year has been one of the most physically, mentally and emotionally challenging years of my life. Despite conquering a triplet pregnancy, delivery/recovery, and the daily demands of four children, I am still haunted by one nagging postpartum demon: my weight. <br><div><br></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Now, I know I recently birthed a litter of babies. This is not some desperate attempt at a public plea for attention so people tell me how great I look for "just having triplets" because in all honestly, this is the biggest I have ever been. Despite my inconsistent efforts, the scale hasn't budged and the residual weight from two pregnancies has sent my body straight to the gutter.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">For starters,</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> my ass and thighs look like they belong in a rap video. My once perky boobs now look like sand-filled Kroger bags that not even Victoria's Secret can save. Most days I don't know if I should wear a bra or tuck my tits into my pants. Continuing further south, the sagging skin on my abdomen looks like it was clawed by a cat, but in all honestly, I don't mind my stretch marks. They tell a story that not many can tell. They are my battle wounds, and I wear them with pride. </span></div><div><br></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">In lieu of several unavoidable postpartum bodily changes, the root of my problem lies within how I perceive myself. It's not so much about </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">wanting to fit into my high school jeans again, but rather, achieving a realistic weight and level of fitness that allows me to feel comfortable in my own skin again. I'm in a physical funk that not even mono and/or a stomach parasite can snap me out of.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The sad part is, I know what I need to do and how I need to do it. However, I'm someone who needs to be held accountable in a situation as such. Asking me to turn down a slice of pizza is like asking a dog to not lick himself. I have zero self-control and even less willpower. Even so, I didn't want to resort to a fad diet that guarantees rapid weight loss in a short amount of time. I wanted to do things the good old-fashioned way: clean-eating and exercise.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I've officially retired my sweat-inducing shapewear and have committed myself to a six-week clean-eating challenge. It's horribly strict and painfully limited, but it's exactly what I need. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div>Attempting weight loss is frustrating, gradual, and there is no easy way around it. Pumping may be <span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">the fucking worst, but pregnancy weight is a fucking whore. </span></div><div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392);"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392);"><br></div></div>In Through the Out Doorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12623911460750562477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8777314052979783978.post-57057212853847654042015-09-14T07:21:00.001-07:002015-09-26T05:36:37.072-07:00you are the best thing<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">My Sweet Jake:</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Tomorrow is going to be a pretty big day for the both of us. It's a day that snuck up on me far too soon, and it's a day that you will begin a new chapter in your young little life. It's a day that the mere thought of puts a smile on my face and a lump in the back of my throat. It's a day that is inevitable for all three-year-olds and moms alike. You see, tomorrow is your first day of pre-school. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I know it's probably a bigger deal to me than it is to you but that's only because you are my first-born. Your birth launched me into a lifetime of "firsts" that I will only ever get to experience with you. I knew this day would arrive sooner than later, but I never expected it to draw up the emotions that it has. It's not about being away from you for a few hours, but rather, setting you free into the wild for you to start experiencing life first-hand without me. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The day you were born, I couldn't help but wonder how I ever managed to live thirty years of my life without you. At just moments old, you claimed a piece of my heart that I never knew existed. It was reserved for you and only you and it's the greatest love that I have ever known. You fulfilled a dream that only one person on this planet could ever take credit for; you made me a mom. </span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">One of the greatest rewards of motherhood, thus far, has been watching you <span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">grow. I can only hope that you embrace and apply all of the life lessons I have attempted to instill upon you. You may only be three but the fundamentals of life and human decency can never be introduced too soon. </span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">As your mom, I have to let you fall to see you pick yourself back up. I have to let you set goals for yourself so I can watch you achieve them. I have to let you fail so you know what it's like to succeed. I have to love you unconditionally so you can learn to love and learn to be loved. I have to show you compassion so you learn to be kind to others. Most importantly, I have to let go of you a little piece at a time in order to let you grow into the person YOU want to become. While I will not always be able to hold your hand, know that I will always be behind you.</span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">In addition.....</span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">*Aim for simplicity. Experiences will </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"> be far more fulfilling to you in life </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"> than material possessions.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">*Always give to others even if you </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"> don't have much to give.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">*Laugh and laugh often.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">*Never, ever take your health for </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"> granted. Without it, nothing else </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"> matters.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">*Forgive but never forget.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">*Learn to play a musical instrument.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">*Don't worry about the things you </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"> have no control over.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">*Strive for happiness, not perfection.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">*Don't ever invest more time in others </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"> than they are willing to invest in you.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">*Learn how to cook.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">*Remember tattoos are permanent.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">*Don't judge others by how they look </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"> or what they do or don't have, but </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"> rather, judge them based on how </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"> they treat others.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">*Go on adventures.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">*Be kind. Nothing in life is ever worth </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"> intentionally hurting somebody over.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">*Don't ever take yourself too </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"> seriously.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">*Live in the moment.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">*Know that I will never, ever judge you.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">*Friends may come and go but family </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"> is forever.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">*Take time out for yourself.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">*If you love someone, tell them, </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"> no matter what. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">*Always remember that you are a product of your environment. Choose who you associate with wisely.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">You have so much to learn and experience for yourself, but it's my job, as your mom, to start you off on the right track. I am so proud of who you've already become and I am even more proud of you for adapting to the recent expansion of our family. While you will never remember life before your siblings, I will always cherish our time and the undivided attention I was able to give you.<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span>You are my heart, my soul, my everything. You are my Golden Boy. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">All my love,</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Mumma</div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRfhlOehNw5oYdqh4HF7LgVCysVCsSbo9et5N7hkdSe-CYDmkoElTAydbghjRd2VuYg_flG22jF_4o0Hoiyj83nL_PgAhkJoPLO8U2wJxIGJqHdOjmeLO9H0mwaa27K1JqyooToQEEcnQD/s640/blogger-image-689012777.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRfhlOehNw5oYdqh4HF7LgVCysVCsSbo9et5N7hkdSe-CYDmkoElTAydbghjRd2VuYg_flG22jF_4o0Hoiyj83nL_PgAhkJoPLO8U2wJxIGJqHdOjmeLO9H0mwaa27K1JqyooToQEEcnQD/s640/blogger-image-689012777.jpg"></a></div>In Through the Out Doorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12623911460750562477noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8777314052979783978.post-62960883824563570042015-09-10T03:15:00.001-07:002015-09-10T05:53:45.465-07:00before they make me run<span style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Generally speaking, I am always holding a baby. If one is not physically in my arms, one is next to me or in one of the 89 baby contraptions that monopolize our living room. Nonetheless, the majority of the time, someone is always up and wanting to be held. Despite numerous attempts, I have better odds of returning to my pre-pregnancy body than I do getting them to all nap at the exact same time. </span><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">In the rare event that I do have an hour to myself, it's still spent doing something house/toddler/baby-related. The closest I usually ever come to 'me time' is on Wednesdays when Jake goes to daycare. I lay all three babies down for their morning nap, make my second cup of coffee and head outside to my front porch. Before long, I hear at least one of them squealing on the monitor. After mumbling several "goddamnits" under my breath and delivering an eye roll to a non-existent recipient, I chug what's left of my coffee then reluctantly head inside. Back to babies, back to bottles, back to reality.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Even though 'me time' is short-lived around here, I can't help but take advantage of it when the opportunity arises. When bathroom breaks and trips to the gas station weren't enough anymore, I decided to join a gym. I needed a daily outlet away from my house for mental clarity, above all. I wasn't too thrilled about the idea of putting my BMI-challenged body in spandex, but it was within walking distance from my house so there was really no excuse not to. Despite being surrounded by girls that I could snap in half like a wishbone, it was one of the best decisions I've ever made. That sanity-saving hour of the day belongs to me and only me. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">The only other time as valuable as gym time is bar time. When I became a mom, I made a vow to myself to never lose my identity. While motherhood is a ridiculously huge and important part of my life, it does not define me. Truth is, I've only been a mom for a little over three years. The years leading up to that, I enjoyed going out, crushing beers and hanging out with my friends. My social life was important to me, and it still is. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Flash forward through an engagement, marriage and four kids, and I still make it a priority to go out one night a week. It's by no means in the same capacity as I once did, but rather, it gives me the opportunity to <span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">socialize with people who have all of their teeth, most of their hair and who don't require me to wipe their ass after they use the bathroom. </span>It's a chance for me to <span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">take a shower, put on real clothes and </span>talk about something other than babies. Above all, it makes me feel normal. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Finding balance in life isn't alway easy, especially when you have kids. It's something that generally doesn't come naturally, but rather, something you have to work at. I hate when I hear people say that they don't 'have time' to do something. If it were truly THAT important, you would find the time to do it. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We're all busy. Welcome to life. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div>In Through the Out Doorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12623911460750562477noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8777314052979783978.post-9053425427702895412015-09-07T03:43:00.001-07:002015-09-08T04:25:55.514-07:00i feel a change comin' on<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Despite our recent sleeping through the night conquest, our bedroom is still haunted by the inconsistent sleeping patterns of three infants. A gas bubble, runaway binky, or an attempted swaddle breakout are usually to blame. In our house, broken sleep has become the new black.</span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">In a matter of months, I've gone from being a full-time working mom of one to a full-time stay-at-home mom of four. Leaving</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> a near seven-year career at a job that I loved wasn't easy, but I knew it was the inevitable. To be brutally honest, the thought of being a SAHM never seemed all that appealing to me. I vividly remember being more than ready to go back to work after my maternity leave had lapsed when I had Jake. It wasn't that I didn't enjoy spending time with him, but rather, I enjoyed the routine of going work, bringing home a paycheck and the reward of a three-day weekend each week. I worked a four-day workweek so it was easy to find a perfect balance between home life and work. These last four-and-a-half months have been a pretty big adjustment for all of us, but at least I </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">know </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I will never look back and regret the time I've been able to spend at home.</span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">In addition to my early workforce retirement, I began to mourn my daily freedom as a mom of one. Prior to our triplet bombshell, I knew two would be a challenge, but at least I'd still be able to integrate myself into everyday society. Now, trips to Target</span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">, weekend adventures to Belle Isle and my solo lunch dates with Jake have become a thing of the past. With four, my child-induced tether leaves me feeling more and more like a prisoner awaiting a chance at parole. </span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">As the babies approach their fifth month, old challenges have been replaced with new ones and their most recent demands, at times, leave me wanting to crush a Xanax up into my vodka. Everyday, I find myself struggling to keep up with the whole three-to-one ratio thing. One mom and three needy babies translates to copious amounts of coffee, a broken back, and an uncanny ability to tune out an inconsolably crying infant. </span></div><div><br></div></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">When people ask me, "how do you do it?" the answer is really quite simple: I just do it. You'd be surprised by how capable you are of doing something when not doing it isn't an option. I try to treat each day as an opportunity to learn and grow as well as focus on all the positivity and happiness these babies have already brought into our lives. Little do they know that they have already imparted some valuable life lessons upon us.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">They've taught us more patience than the average person will ever have in an entire lifetime. They've taught us that just about anything can be forgiven with the flash of a toothless smile. They've taught us that life is too short to sweat the small stuff and that life should be lived and enjoyed in the preset. They've taught us that time never slows down and that it only speeds up as you grow older. Last but not least, they've reminded me that I need to schedule JR's vasectomy this month. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQxpUVv4o8ZK5o15ZKJZt6MP6TkEhINyvlDmbuyjwwXVkT4ulNEzybS7ud2RIv9bAiPvoJS1I8xOUtmQVizoT9iK8_7zLvqnApvkP3jCPdygfiprcwG-VmZLjDZaL938dw92neJrpEiovt/s640/blogger-image-2084065390.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQxpUVv4o8ZK5o15ZKJZt6MP6TkEhINyvlDmbuyjwwXVkT4ulNEzybS7ud2RIv9bAiPvoJS1I8xOUtmQVizoT9iK8_7zLvqnApvkP3jCPdygfiprcwG-VmZLjDZaL938dw92neJrpEiovt/s640/blogger-image-2084065390.jpg"></a></div>In Through the Out Doorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12623911460750562477noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8777314052979783978.post-73118847222862656592015-09-03T03:12:00.001-07:002015-09-03T03:12:09.735-07:00i'll sleep when i'm dead<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Despite the fact that we were not first-time parents, we were oblivious as to what life was going to be like with three new babies. It certainly wasn't something that we could have ever prepared for, but rather, one of those situations in life where you have no clue until you actually experience it firsthand. Everyone knows that one baby is a lot of work. Triplets and a toddler was nothing short of a three-ring circus.</span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">During their first month home, I briefly nursed them before deciding it would be in everyone's best interest for me to <span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">exclusively pump. </span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">If you aren't familiar with pumping, I have only one thing to say about it: it's the fucking worst. It's a full-time job that requires a lot of discipline and dedication. </span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Even though I wasn't producing much, it was important to me to offer them what little bit I could. I would pump a half hour before every feeding around the clock. It was the closest I have ever come to feeling like a cow, but instead of having udders, I had nipples that resembled gigantic pencil erasers. As if my body hadn't been through enough already, my orangutan boobs were now being pulled and tugged on by an electronic device. I was moos away from belonging in a goddamned barn. </span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">For a good two months or so, showering, teeth-brushing and eating dinner became a novelty. My days were consumed with bottles, diapers, laundry, crying, and any attempt to keep our house in functioning order. I had very little time or energy to spend on myself, and to be honest, I just didn't care. <span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Personal hygiene took a backseat to projectile vomit and blown out diapers. </span>Between their nightly witching hour and broken sleep, my ultimate goal was to just make it through each day without killing anyone and/or checking myself in to Betty Ford.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Despite help from my mom and mother-in-law several days a week, at the end of each day, I was so exhausted, I had no choice but to go to bed after their 7:00pm feeding. I'd set my alarm for just a few hours later in order to pump before their last bottle of the day at 11:00pm. Once everyone was changed, fed, burped and swaddled, we'd all hit the sheets and I would, once again, set my alarm for 2:30am to do it all over again. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Some nights, that 3:00am feeding was so brutal, the thought of it made me wanted to cry. Between making bottles, diaper changes, feedings, burping and reflux episodes, we'd be up for a solid hou<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">r (or more), back down at 4:30am then back up at 6:30am. Many of those nights, JR a</span>nd I wouldn't even speak to each other as exhaustion had gotten the best of us and we were both running on empty. It was a classic tale of "what's better left unsaid," even though, at times, I know we were both em-effing each other in our heads. It <span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">was, undeniably, two of the most mentally and physically-draining months of my life. </span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Just when I was on the verge is slitting my wrists, the unthinkable happened. At just three months old, our long and tiresome nights had come to a screeching halt; all three babies were sleeping through the night. We had conquered the world, or so it felt. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUSlUzML2Hpfss_0nlGt6zEB-Xo1Qcia9lCY1OP-zeC5pPqtuHIT4qJuCpFOhLZlC2pl6pZNvTQq6i9IFzfMT92GZpAR6PmhlsqGyyuDbw7SERYyp-ez5To7JyaKhu6WR4vJRV4MR91WyN/s640/blogger-image--1047826827.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUSlUzML2Hpfss_0nlGt6zEB-Xo1Qcia9lCY1OP-zeC5pPqtuHIT4qJuCpFOhLZlC2pl6pZNvTQq6i9IFzfMT92GZpAR6PmhlsqGyyuDbw7SERYyp-ez5To7JyaKhu6WR4vJRV4MR91WyN/s640/blogger-image--1047826827.jpg"></a></div>In Through the Out Doorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12623911460750562477noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8777314052979783978.post-40093101471600257532015-08-31T04:02:00.001-07:002015-08-31T16:11:04.721-07:00home for a rest<span style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">The days leading up to the babies' discharge from the NICU left me feeling happy, excited, nervous, and believe it or not, a little sad. As good as it was going to be to have everyone home, a part of me was going to miss visiting the NICU everyday. It had become a part of my daily routine, and to be honest, I think I was going to miss the company of the nurses the most. Our stay in Room 17 was quickly coming to an end as all the babies were right on schedule to be released. It was a bittersweet finale to our unforgettable triplet journey. </span><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">The neonatologist in the NICU decided it would be a good idea to send the babies home one at a time. We were more than onboard with his decision, to say the least. The day we brought Vivian home was a day as normal as any other. It was a sunny Thursday afternoon, however, it would be our first night with an infant in the house since Jake had been born. Just like riding a bike, it's hard to forget how to care for a newborn baby, but there were still plenty of unknowns since we weren't exactly sure how she was going to adjust. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">During our drive home, I had only one thing on my mind: Jake. All I could think about was how he was going to react. Would he be standoffish, hide under the dining room table and poop on the floor like George (our dog) did when we brought him home? I was prepared for the worst but optimistically hoping for the best. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">As we pulled up to our house, we were greeted by my mom and Jake. We put the car seat up on the counter so Jake would be at eye level with Vivian with the help of his step stool. I frantically retrieved my phone as I could not pass up the opportunity to record his reaction. My eyes, once again, were welling up with tears and I could feel my lower lip beginning to quiver. My postpartum hormones were in full force and I was trying my hardest not to lose it. As we introduced him to his new baby sister, he curiously gazed at her, smiled, and waved hello. I don't think I have ever loved him more as I did at that very moment. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Our first night with Vivian went really well, and we were getting ready to do it all over again the next day with Charlotte. We were really easing into things and adjusting well to our new God-given crazy life. I went to bed that night with a smile on my face, a beer in my hand and another 365 days older. Thirty-three was already off to a pretty damn good start. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">With two babies down and one to go, I anxiously awaited Monday morning since we would be picking Ryan up that afternoon. We survived the weekend with both girls, and they continued to stick to a four hour feeding schedule. Just like big brother Jake, they were good sleepers and were only up once in the night. It almost seemed too good to be true that things were going so well already despite the fact that we still had one more baby to bring home. This entire experience left me thinking how much these triplets were meant to be. I honestly couldn't have even imagined bringing only one baby home from the hospital. Our reality was triplets and our mindsets coincided. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Our third and final trip to the hospital left us bidding farewell to the NICU and its staff. It almost didn't seem real that the whole charade was finally coming to an end, but nonetheless, we were looking forward to having everyone home. Bringing Ryan home felt more like a scene out of Groundhog Day. It was a brief glimpse into the repetitious and redundant days that were in store for us. From here in out, everything would be done times three.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">That night within the walls of our modest, quaint little home was our first night home as a family of six. Three two-week-old infants and a 2.5 year old later and we were the proud (and semi-terrified) parents of four under three.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD9VQjQsMvxF8S65KoMklsjpX7oUe1TnH_iOptZ-uqqtJrCB0QhQvzoAYbfYPg0gyGYn1FhQwZ-vl7eyrA3sQB_9dIQOvP-6Sx9Fg45fUt1ozJTwuiaCbLThN16nvjLkzbGB6mthVojjWK/s640/blogger-image-893063934.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD9VQjQsMvxF8S65KoMklsjpX7oUe1TnH_iOptZ-uqqtJrCB0QhQvzoAYbfYPg0gyGYn1FhQwZ-vl7eyrA3sQB_9dIQOvP-6Sx9Fg45fUt1ozJTwuiaCbLThN16nvjLkzbGB6mthVojjWK/s640/blogger-image-893063934.jpg"></a></div>In Through the Out Doorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12623911460750562477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8777314052979783978.post-34232821378133281412015-08-27T01:58:00.001-07:002015-08-28T04:02:22.405-07:00life, in a nutshell: part V<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">The morning after my surgery was pretty brutal. Why anyone would ever, ever elect to have a c-section is beyond me. I had delivered Jake vaginally and even after a longer-than-average labor, shitting myself during delivery, and second-degree tearing, I would have done another beaver birth ten times over again in lieu of this. It wasn't good.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">My incision was quite large and my pain level was about an 89/10. The burning sensation in my lower abdomen was so intense, it took my breath away. My lunch lady arms quivered every time I had to brace my then 200lb body frame to sit down on the toilet. To top it off, my boobs were slowly starting to resemble those of a porn star, and my body was looking more and more like Shrek from all the IV fluid. My cankles had cankles and my toes looked like Lil' Smokies. My stomach was tightly wrapped in a binder, but I just knew it looked like a deflated hot air balloon. I was a hot mess, to say the least.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I soon took up pill-popping, which is, luckily for me, encouraged after your lower abdomen experiences such a traumatic attack like the one I had just endured. One of the pain meds was administered intravenously and it was magical; not quite a bong toke, but more than a four or five drink buzz. It left me cloudy enough to relax me, but coherent enough to know what was going on. Despite my prescription cocktail haze, I had babies to visit.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">We were pretty strict about visitors in the NICU, for obvious reasons, so we kept things at bay with immediate family. It was a look, but don't touch kind of a situation. It felt more like we were window shopping for jewelry at the mall than admiring the latest (and final) additions to our family. We'd stare into their incubators and watch them breathe and sleep. They were too peaceful to disrupt, not to mention the fact that they were so tiny, we were nervous to even touch them. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The babies were all in stable condition and breathing room air. Our runt, Charlotte, was actually progressing the fastest. She fought the hardest in utero so it wasn't a surprise she was advancing so well in the outside world. Vivian had slight jaundice, but other than that, she was a champ, just like her sister. Ryan suffered from what the NICU referred to as "Wimpy White Boy Syndrome." Despite being the biggest at delivery, developmentally, he was a little behind. In the grand scheme of things, he was healthy and that's all we cared about.</span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">By the end of the day one, I had mustered up enough courage to hold one of them. I cautiously picked up my sweet Vivian and held her naked, warm little body to my bare chest. I'm not sure who enjoyed it more, but it surely was a feeling I will never forget. The next day, it was Ryan's turn and shortly thereafter, Charlotte. I still couldn't believe that I had three new beautiful, healthy babies to love on. Life had never been better.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">By the time I was discharged from the hospital, I was slowly getting more and more comfortable with taking their temperatures, changing their diapers and holding them. <span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Everyone was on a four hour feeding schedule and continued to make steady progress. I'd take turns holding everyone, pump, and even began nursing them. When they were about five days old, their day nurse let me hold everyone at the same time. I didn't know to laugh, cry or run so instead, I just stared. There in my lap, lay my three little pigs. I was in hog heaven.</span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">For the next two weeks, the majority of my days would be spent with them at the hospital. <span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My eight hour days in the NICU left me missing Jake, but I knew my time there was imperative as I had to familiarize myself with the ins and outs of the preemie world. What better way to accomplish this task than spending hours upon hours with the NICU nurses? I will never forget my long days with those nurses and will forever be indebted to them for their love and support they rendered during the babies' stay. </span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">A few days into their second week, we were given a general projection as to when they would likely be coming home, but they had to keep making progress before anything was official. Vivian was on par to come home first, followed by Charlotte. Ryan's sleep apnea issue would extend his stay just a few days longer. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">In just three short days, I'd be celebrating my 33rd birthday and the homecoming of two of our trio. They say bad things come in threes. Luckily for me, there's an exception to every rule.</div><div><br></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz1FLy3q7TAeDWv-HIhUCrXqgySvFgrmWmHwdY4xwIyMSzDtw8gbLI7A_CSQeqJ-RNN925z_L2dVywoQo35SBfO0a2tscWIfMxiHMVsnrJJd43LnPglSepPeHC3OX0p1mwJRAfLGzkgtvq/s640/blogger-image--554342793.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz1FLy3q7TAeDWv-HIhUCrXqgySvFgrmWmHwdY4xwIyMSzDtw8gbLI7A_CSQeqJ-RNN925z_L2dVywoQo35SBfO0a2tscWIfMxiHMVsnrJJd43LnPglSepPeHC3OX0p1mwJRAfLGzkgtvq/s640/blogger-image--554342793.jpg"></a></div>In Through the Out Doorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12623911460750562477noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8777314052979783978.post-25093808683925041192015-08-24T12:37:00.001-07:002015-08-24T13:25:58.032-07:00life, in a nutshell: part IV<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was hard to wrap our heads around the fact that in exactly one week, we would not only be welcoming three more children, but we'd also be doubling the size of our family. I suppose it's one of those things you can't really imagine until it actually happens. Nonetheless, shit was starting to get real. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">On the morning of April 20, 2015, we woke up as if it was any other morning. We showered, got dressed and headed for the door. I hugged Jake like I have never hugged him before and assured him we'd be seeing him soon. It took everything in me to not break down in front of him. It was the last time I'd ever see him as our only child. He's been my heart, my soul, and my everything since the day he was born. How could I EVER share my love with another baby? Much less three, I thought. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">When we arrived at the hospital, I checked in and was taken to my room in the Birthing Center. Everything was happening so fast, I almost didn't have time to process it all. Before I knew it, everyone, including JR, was getting suited up and I was wheeled into the OR. There was, what seemed to be, a thousand people in the room all scrambling around like lab rats. It felt like we were behind the scenes of a movie set. People were everywhere. If it really takes a village to raise a child, apparently, it takes a colony to deliver triplets. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Just as the anesthesiologist was about to administer my spinal, Mason sat right in front of me and instructed me to bear hug him and relax so the needle would go in smoothly. I happily obliged and moments later, I was immediately laid flat. I remember being uncharacteristically quiet and just looking around at all the commotion. The blue sheet went up and before I knew it, I was paralyzed from the chest down. JR entered the room looking like Dexter and joined me on my right side. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">There really wasn't much going through my mind with the exception of me panicking at the thought of JR passing out. I begged him to stay behind blue curtain because I just knew he'd be one of those guys to blackout and collapse at the sight of my insides being manhandled. To stay on the safe side, he handed off his phone to Mason's P.A. who assured him she'd get some good shots (and did she ever). Next thing I know, it was baby time. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Baby A was about to make his grand entrance. At 10:05am, Ryan James made his debut at 4lbs 11oz and 18 inches long. The second I heard him cry I went into hysterics. They flashed him behind the sheet so I could see his face. Even through my blurred vision, I could tell that he was perfect. One minute later, Baby B, our sweet Charlotte Rae was born at 10:06am at 3lbs 8oz and 17 inches long. She was the tiniest bean I had ever seen, and man, did she have a set of lungs on her. Exactly one minute later, at 10:07am, identical twin sister, Vivian Elizabeth aka Baby C arrived. She was 4lbs 1oz and 16.5 inches long. She was even more beautiful than I had ever imagined. Thirty fingers and thirty toes later and I was a mom of four. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">As all three babies were taken into the OR next door to get cleaned up and evaluated, I was lying there in disbelief. HOW did I just give birth to THREE healthy babies? I felt like a goddamned clown car. After all it's been through, my uterus belongs in a museum. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">As Mason began to put my insides back and sew me up, the nurses brought each baby to my side, one at a time, so they could be properly identified. They looked like little Glow Worms in their hats and blankets. I immediately began sobbing, once again. After we formally designated who was who, they were taken to the NICU and I was soon wheeled back to my room for recovery. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">At this point, I was still pumped full of pain meds and was waiting for my spinal to wear off so JR could wheel me down to the NICU and we could formally see and meet our babies. I don't remember being overly anxious to see them, but I do remember it being so much different than when I had Jake. The second he came out, I pulled him onto my chest. This time around, I wasn't sure exactly when I'd be able to hold any one of them. I was OK with that just as long as I knew that they were all healthy. Their stability was far more important than my desire to hold them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">After about five hours, we headed down to the NICU. As JR wheeled me down the hallway, I could feel my eyes starting to well up again as we approached Room 17. At the very end of the hall, last door on the left, there they were. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I didn't know who to go to first. It was quite possibly the most surreal moment of my life. I did my best to peer into each incubator as it wasn't easy for me to stand. I smiled and gazed at each of them, called them by name and told them I was their Mama. I'd never been so happy in my entire life. Until that moment, I had never even dreamed of what it would be like to have four children, but as we walked out of that room, I already couldn't imagine my life without them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Sometimes, our biggest blessings are the things we never realized we even wanted. </span></div>
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In Through the Out Doorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12623911460750562477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8777314052979783978.post-3487685036775135942015-08-20T14:31:00.001-07:002015-08-20T17:14:53.298-07:00life, in a nutshell: part III<span style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Just days before Thanksgiving, I had my 'confirmation' ultrasound at the hospital. With three little turkeys cooking, it was time to find a high-risk doctor. This office was home to four perinatologists, one of which came highly recommended time and time again. He was often referred to as 'the best' and his reputation in the high-risk pregnancy world was nothing short of stellar. I had doubts that a doctor so well-known may not be accepting new patients, but as luck would have it, he was. I was to return to the office in two weeks for my first appointment with Dr. Brian Mason. </span><br><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Meeting a new doctor for the first time can sometimes be tricky. Not only would I be spending a lot of time in this office, but I was also putting myself and the lives of my three unborn babies in the hands of someone I had never met before. I was ABSOLUTELY seeking the best and was hoping Dr. Mason would live up to his reputation. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">The morning of my appointment, I had an ultrasound and shortly thereafter, I was taken to an exam room. I was soon greeted by Dr. Mason, his P.A. and two medical students. He greeted me with a firm handshake, a friendly smile, and an entourage. I greeted him with a, "How the fuck did this happen?!" He was funny, quick-witted, slightly scatterbrained, and a tad bit cocky. He was everything I dreamed he would be. When he spoke, people listened and it didn't take long for me to realize that he was, in fact, some sort of high-risk wizard. The man knew his shit. I knew at that moment that this was going to be a match made in triplet pregnancy heaven. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">As I sat there on the exam table, he laid out the basics; the frequency of my appointments and ultrasounds, potential complications, and more or less, the projected timeline of events for the duration of my pregnancy. He was very matter-of-fact and made it well-known that the road I was on was going to be a tough one. He assured me that he wasn't God, but that he would do everything in his power to ensure the health and safety of our pending litter and me. <span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The entire office quickly learned who I was by name and face as I was, at the time, their only patient pregnant with triplets. This office would soon become my home away from home.</span></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">As the weeks passed and my pregnancy progressed, we looked forward to finding out the genders. My suspicion of identical twin girls (Baby B and Baby C) and a boy (Baby A) was soon confirmed and we could not have been more excited. My husband always used to say, "I think it would be cool to have twins." He also always dreamed of having a little girl. Luckily for him, it was buy one, get two free in my uterus that day. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Week to week, this pregnancy was already so different from my first. So much so, it was like being pregnant for the first time all over again. </span>Once I hit about 20 weeks, my stomach began to grow at warp speed. Before I knew it, my belly was already measuring somewhere in the mid-30 week range. At this time, Dr. Mason and I agreed that now would be a good time for me to start my medical leave from work. My early wake up calls and daily routine were beginning to be too much for my body. From here on out, I was on house arrest.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I was really enjoying my time at home with Jake but as I steadily grew, so did my exhaustion and discomfort. I could no longer pick up Jake, give him a bath or lay with him at bedtime. Laundry, walking up and down stairs and cleaning began to feel like I was participating in a triathlon. I soon had to surrender to help and accept the fact that I couldn't physically do a lot of the things I once did. The well-being of these babies depended on my sedentary activity so I soon adopted a sloth-like lifestyle. My life had succumbed to seven to eight hours a day of laying down, eating lunch in my bed, and endless hours of TV. I was beginning to feel like a perfect candidate for TLC's 'My 600lb Life.' </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Throughout a triplet pregnancy, there are several milestone weeks that, ideally, you want to make it to without any complications. First one being 23.5 weeks, which is viability. <span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Despite a major hiccup in my pregnancy, (TTTS aka twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome) all three babies made it to 29 weeks, then 30 weeks, then 32 weeks. </span>An average triplet pregnancy lasts between 29 and 32 weeks. Anything past that is "luck," according to Mason. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">At this point, I had surpassed the norm and we were goin' for the gold. Mason had no doubt that I would be able to make it to 34 weeks. The thought made me want to cry, but I knew I had to just suck it up. My stomach was enormous and painful heavy. Some nights, when all the babies would shift, I swear to God my skin was going to split. Day in and day out, I kept telling myself that this wasn't about me; it never was. It was always all for them. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Mason took off to the other side of the world for a 10 day vacation and returned just seven days before my 34th week. Upon his return, he got wind of the fact that one week prior, I had been transferred to the Birthing Center for contractions. It was then his P.A. called me to deliver the news that these babies were going to be born on April 20, 2015. Finally, our babies had a birthdate.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"> I did it.</div><div><br></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWVGEk4V6DvsI2ogetmQ6NfgIQs7suz3eoxkB7ODj58EssNcfCX02MhIcVb5OceYT_qGM_vAFDjeDKq1tTB2TK-GBZKImV9VZb9_AHruQDdWsKyvYwoEa1uvJIGvdKCnQmMYe-mmAJtrLa/s640/blogger-image--1034417797.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWVGEk4V6DvsI2ogetmQ6NfgIQs7suz3eoxkB7ODj58EssNcfCX02MhIcVb5OceYT_qGM_vAFDjeDKq1tTB2TK-GBZKImV9VZb9_AHruQDdWsKyvYwoEa1uvJIGvdKCnQmMYe-mmAJtrLa/s640/blogger-image--1034417797.jpg"></a></div>In Through the Out Doorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12623911460750562477noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8777314052979783978.post-49095347711624278802015-08-17T03:45:00.001-07:002015-08-18T06:19:19.912-07:00life, in a nutshell: part II<span style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">As we were leaving my doctor's office, I was instructed to make an appointment at the hospital for a second ultrasound to "confirm" the pregnancy. After seeing three babies, clear as day, on the monitor, I didn't need confirmation, I needed a drink. </span><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I bid farewell to my doctor's office once and for all since here on out I would have to start seeing a perinatologist as I was now considered a high-risk patient. As if being pregnant with one isn't nerve-wracking enough, three babies was going to take my neuroses to a whole new level. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">JR saw me to my car (we drove separate) and he headed off to work. With Jake in my backseat, we headed home. This news was just eating away at me. I HAD to tell someone. I needed someone else to distract me from my own thoughts. I needed to hear the voice of the one person in life who has always reminded me that everything was going to be OK, no matter what the circumstances. I needed to call my brother, David. The second I heard his voice, my voice began to quiver and my eyes, once again, started to well up. He knew I had my appointment that morning and judging by my tone and overall demeanor, I could tell he thought I was calling to deliver some unfortunate news. Little did he know it was the very, very, very opposite. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"Uh oh. Is everything OK," he asked. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"Oh yea, everything is fine!" I sarcastically replied. "I'M HAVING TRIPLETS!!" </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Crickets. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">After a few more expletives on my end, he let out a high-pitched giggle in disbelief. "Not funny," I callously spoke. "What are we going to do?!??" After about ten minutes of some big brother reassurance, I had calmed down a bit and the reality of triplets was slowly starting to sink in. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">When we I got home, I didn't know what to do with myself. Jake wasn't much of a conversationalist back then so I decided to call my mom. This conversation was going to go one of two ways. She was either going to:</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">1. Panic and start crying or </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">2. Be over-the-moon happy and start crying. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">Thank God it was the latter. She was happier than a pig in shit. The excitement in her voice was as though she had just been called down to the Contestant's Row on The Price is Right. I could just envision her running around her house, flailing her hands over her head while squealing with delight once we hung up. This has never been denied nor confirmed. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">With one parent down and two to go, it was time to tell my in-laws. Now, I need to preface this with, I love my in-laws. JR and I have been together for over nine years and recently celebrated our five-year wedding anniversary. His parents have never treated me like anything but their own daughter. I really lucked out in that department, and from what I can tell, the feeling is mutual. However, I have to admit, I was a little nervous to deliver our news to them. Moreover because I didn't want them to worry for us. I also didn't want them them to think that this was something we had CHOSEN. We were always on the two and done plan. The concept of multiples, much less spontaneous triplets, wasn't even a feasible thought. In our minds, we probably had better chances of becoming meth addicts than conceiving natural triplets. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">When JR got home from work, we headed to my in-laws. It was a weeknight and we pulled the ol,' 'Oh, we were in the neighborhood and decided to stop over' routine. It was a blatant lie. On the drive over, my stomach was in knots. I felt like we were back in high school getting ready to drop the bomb on my boyfriend's parents that he had knocked up his younger, underaged, freshman girlfriend. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">As the four of us sat there in their living room, my mother-in-law asked us how my appointment went. We both let out a nervous laugh to which she immediately questioned us with "What?!?" JR's 'I've got this' response still makes me laugh to this day. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">"There's three in there," he blurted out. Those choice words even took me a minute to process what the hell he was even talking about. I stuck my hand into my purse and handed off a wad of folded up ultrasound photos to my mother-in-law.</div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">As they unfolded like an accordion, she gazed at them in excitement, confusion and disbelief. Once the dust settled, they assured us, "We're here for you if you need us. Anything at all." After the day we had just had, it was exactly what we needed to hear. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">When we got home and put Jake to bed, we decided to put a post on Facebook about the pending arrival of our litter. It was the fastest and easiest way to get the word out. The second I hit 'post,' the comments, texts, and phone calls began to flood in. It was overwhelming. So much so that I had to turn my phone off. I remember going to bed that night feeling surprisingly calm even though I had three babies in my belly. THREE! </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">I have always been a believer that everything happens for a reason. Even though, at the time, it was hard to make sense of, I knew God had three perfectly good reasons as to why he was doubling the size of our family. As I laid there in bed that night, I couldn't help but thank him for not not splitting the other egg, too. </div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div><div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></div>In Through the Out Doorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12623911460750562477noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8777314052979783978.post-64481879972140866162015-08-12T03:16:00.001-07:002015-08-12T08:56:20.237-07:00life, in a nutshell: part I<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"></span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">When the time came for us to start expanding our family, we decided this time around we weren't going to find out the gender. We had already done the whole finding out, picking out a name, and customized nursery thing when we found out our first-born was going to be a boy. This time around, we wanted to be surprised (and holy hell, were we ever). Since we were "actively trying," we found out very early on that I was pregnant again. We were excited, of course, but it's very different when finding out you're expecting the second time around. More of a been-there-done-that, here we go again kind of thing, but nonetheless, we were thrilled. My nesting mode kicked in pretty early on and I gradually began to prepare the house for baby #2. Little did we know we'd soon find out that we'd be preparing for a litter instead.</span><br />
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In the beginning of pregnancy, depending on when you find out, there really aren't many physical changes. The dead giveaway to others was that I was no longer drinking. Hello, red flag. You can only avoid people for so long before things start to look suspicious and since I had no complications with my first pregnancy, we had no problem telling some of our close friends and family about baby number two's pending arrival. Right around seven or eight weeks, I started to experience the dreaded morning sickness. Morning sickness, in its truest form, is the spawn of Satan. It's debilitating and for a full-time working mom of a toddler, it made things that much worse. I'd like to kick whomever drummed up the term 'morning sickness' down a flight of stairs. In reality, mornings weren't always the worst part. I felt sick, all day long, for weeks. Dry-heaving on the way to work is no way to start your day off. Barfing at 4pm is no picnic, either. Even so, I chalked it up to different pregnancy, different symptoms. An instance of "this, too, shall pass." My pants, this time around, did get tighter a lot sooner, but again, I thought nothing of it since people always claim to grow/show sooner with a second pregnancy. I was actually secretly excited I got to slip into maternity pants so early on. Those full panel waistbands are what dreams are made of.</div>
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I wasn't scheduled to have my first ultrasound until the anatomy scan, which generally takes place between 18 and 20 weeks. At my 12-week checkup, we got to hear the baby's heartbeat and my midwife ordered an ultrasound because I was measuring bigger. No cause for alarm as this was a routine drill to make sure I was in fact as far along as I was measuring. I was actually super excited by this news since we'd be able to see our baby sooner than the anticipated anatomy scan. We were to return to my doctor's office the following week to see our 13-week bean on screen. </div>
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The morning of the ultrasound I was anxious and excited. Even though this wasn't our first rodeo, all we wanted to hear was that our baby was safe and well. We decided to bring our then two-and-a-half-year-old son, Jake, with us in hopes that he'd potentially start to grasp the concept that he was going to be a big brother. In customary ultrasound fashion, I entered the room alone so the tech could obtain all the measurements and whatnot of the baby. As I lay there pantless, I began making small talk with the tech since silences can often make me want to laugh out loud. So, to prevent myself from looking like a mental patient, I asked to tech what the most number of babies she had ever seen on the screen was (the irony of this whole thing just kills me) and she proceeded to tell me "three" which led her into a few stories about delivering "the shock of a lifetime" to these unsuspecting expectant mothers. I then began to ramble about my friend from high school, Alesia, who had triplet boys just two months before Jake was born. Phrases like "I can't even imagine" and "I don't know she does it" rolled off my tongue as I further went on to refer to her as my hero. After our brief conversation, the tech went into the waiting area to bring in my husband, JR, and Jake. Unbeknownst to us, we were moments away from a bomb bigger than Hiroshima. </div>
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Now, keep in mind, I never saw the screen and this chick had quite the poker face so I had ZERO idea what was about to go down. As JR came to my side, she turned the screen exposing two different screenshots. I saw an 'A' and a 'B.' I tilted my head to the side like a dog, and in confusion I asked, "Oh, twins?!" I glanced up at the tech for clarification and she slowly shook her head from side-to-side. I then looked at JR, and I mean, he didn't know what the hell was goin' on, but clearly, neither did I. She then went on to ask, "Remember what we were just talking about?" (as in all that triplet talk) "Baby C is over here," she said while flipping to a different screen and then verbally confirmed that I was, in fact, pregnant with triplets. </div>
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"C?!? See what?!," I bellowed. This was the closest I have ever come to having a stroke. One look at JR and he was whiter than Elmer's Glue. We briefly lost sight of Jake but turns out he was only playing in the bathroom. Thank God. I immediately began sobbing, and let's be honest, they were not tears of joy. I exclaimed, "No, no, no! How did this happen?!? I'm not an infertility patient! How are we going to afford three more kids?! Our house isn't big enough for three more kids! HOW, DID, THIS, HAPPEN?!?!" Panic. Shear panic was setting in. What the fuck were we going to do and who in God's name conceives natural triplets anyway, I thought. </div>
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After my vision returned to normal and JR picked up his lower jaw up off of the ground, the tech said, "Well, in case you were wondering, they all look good and they are all healthy." No words have ever calmed me down sooner. She then handed me what seemed to be 89 ultrasound pictures. Clear as day, there were our three babies: Baby A, Baby B and Baby C. The other half of our family was right before our eyes. We walked into that room as a family of three and walked out as a family of six. There was no better time to deliver our news to the world. </div>
In Through the Out Doorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12623911460750562477noreply@blogger.com9