Go Mama, GO!

(If you're wondering why I haven't posted in eons, thank Elizabeth.)

Before I start this post, there are a few things you should know about me, if you don't already:
-I am overweight.
-I had never completely finished anything before in my life (except pregnancy, haha!)
-I (used to!) have very low self-esteem and self-confidence.
I'd always been fairly in shape and fairly active, and while I've never had what one might call a "knock-out" body, I've always been pretty proud of my “Athena” curves. I grew up swimming competitively, and I’ve played soccer here and there, but I have never pushed myself to see what I could really be capable of. Basically, when it hurt, when it got tough, or when I got tired, I went home.

Fast forward to spring 2009. My husband and I were blessed to learn that we'd be expecting twins, and I took very good care of myself by watching what I ate and exercising lightly. I gained the average 35lbs with the twins and delivered them full-term.
After they were born, I caught a cold that progressed into pneumonia. Eventually, I ended up breaking one of my ribs and had to be out-of-commission for 11 weeks. Finally, when the twins were about 6 months old, I was able to return to the gym and start working out. I was working steadily to lose my "baby weight", and after 3 months of diligently working my tush off (literally), we found out we were pregnant again!
As much as I wanted to be excited, I was a teensy bit sad. I went through some mild postpartum depression mostly because of the way my body looked (and because we don't live within driving distance of our family, my husband is a full-time student, and we had just moved to a new town; I really had ZERO help with the babies.) Cue the violins. Ha!
Anyway. Pregnancy #2 went off without a hitch, and our precious baby girl was born healthy and vibrant on June 26, 2011.
Again, I wanted to be happy because I had this perfect, new, little baby to love, and the twins were so excited to have "their baby" outside Mommy's tummy. But because I hadn't lost all of the weight I'd gained with the twins, and then gained even more weight, my body looked like a nightmare.
My husband would tell me day after day that I looked beautiful, but how could I believe him? After all, I was carrying 50 extra pounds, my stretch marks made it look as if I'd gone 5 rounds with Wolverine, and everything, well... it just sagged.
I knew I NEEDED to ditch the extra weight, but how? I began to feel myself slipping into that same funk that I was in after the twins were born.

Then one night, while feeding my 5 1/2 week-old baby, it came to me: I need to do something to prove to myself that I AM worthwhile. I needed something drastic, something really far-out, something that I (and everyone else) would never expect me to do.

I was going to do a triathlon.

I researched to see if there were any in my area. I didn't know the first thing about a triathlon; I didn't know the distances, the order of the sports, I didn't even know that there was a "season" for triathlons! All I knew is that I was going to do one, and I wanted to do it soon.
I found one that was about 2 months away. (It also happened to be a reverse triathlon.) And it was only about an hour or so from our town! When I looked at the distances (.25 mile swim/12 mile bike/ 5K run) I almost fainted. Again, I felt those seeds of self-doubt creeping back into my brain: "I'm not a runner; I can't run that far! I don't have a bicycle! What if I come in last place? Everyone will laugh at me!"
That night while laying in bed, I told my husband I wanted to do a triathlon. He looked at me in his sweet, soft, loving way and said, "Good job, baby. I believe in you, and I know you can do it!" "Well.", I thought to myself. "That makes one of us."
I asked my girlfriend, Mallory (who happens to be 100lbs soaking wet, very athletic, and runs like a greyhound) if she'd like to do this tri with me. (It would be her first triathlon, also.) She shrugged and said, "Ok.", as if it were no big deal. Me, on the other hand, I felt exhausted and out of breath just thinking about it!

Since I clearly didn't know anything about triathlon training, I did what every other child who was born in the 80's and became a product of the “Internet Age” would do: I googled it. I came across a blog with a name that I thought was inspirational: “Everymom to Ironmom.” I skimmed through and found a post entitled: “8 Weeks to Your First Triathlon,” and saved it on my phone and showed it to Mallory. She thought it looked good and was on board with the plan.
The very next week, I had my 6 week postpartum appointment with my midwife. I told her my plan, and after looking at me like I was a lunatic, she gave me the green light to start training.

I decided I'd start the 8-week plan on the following Monday because well...I just like starting things on Mondays.

I had already decided to put the twins (who were 18 months old when Baby#3 was born) into day care part time to give myself a little "Mama Time." What better way to use that "Mama Time" than to do something like workout and work on Mama?!
That very first Monday morning, I dropped them off at "school," and Baby #3 and I headed straight to the gym. (Thank heaven we belong to a fitness center that provides childcare for infants!) I cranked out the first workout (a 6-mile bike ride) in about 30 minutes and I. Felt. Great! This was my new schedule now: wake up, drop tots off at "school", and head to the gym. I had a goal I was now working toward, and I had someone (Mallory) to keep me on track.

Day after day, week after week, I stayed steady on the plan. If I had to miss a day (which only happened once or twice), I made sure to fit the missed exercise in sometime later on in the week. As it turns out, Mallory and I only trained together twice throughout the whole 8 weeks, but we texted each other many, many times daily to check in and keep each other motivated. For further motivation, I actually signed up online (on my phone) for the triathlon pool-side, immediately after finishing one of the swim workouts! I was ecstatic!

On race day, I was jittery, to say the least. I was so nervous that I wasn't going to be able to finish (I still wasn't able to completely run 3 miles without walking a little), and I was very intimidated by all of the slim, muscular physiques that I suddenly found myself surrounded by. I was the largest woman there! I seriously considered turning around and running back to the safety of my car.

Ten minutes before the race started, all of the participants lined up at the starting line for a little pre-race meeting. My husband and 3 babies stood on the other side of the mesh fence just watching and listening. I kept glancing over at them, and I'm sure they could see the fear in my eyes. My husband just smiled and gave me a very enthusiastic thumbs up. My sweet baby boy raised his fist and yelled out, "Gooooo Mama!" The next thing I knew, a gun shot was fired, and we were off and running. Literally.

I'm not going to lie, the run sucked. I'm just not a great runner, but I want to be, so I know that's something I need to work on. The bike portion was difficult too, but only because the course was very hilly, and I didn't train for that. The swim part was a piece of cake, just as I knew it would be for me. Plus, it was in a pool, and I'm sure that made all the difference in the world.
When I climbed out of the pool and saw my precious husband smiling at me, holding our excited babies, I felt unstoppable! I had just done something I never in a million light years thought I could do. And not only did I do it, it was the first thing I've really ever completed. My self-confidence sky rocketed! I can now say that I am a triathlete, and I have done something that not too many folks have done. And that, my dear friends, feels fantastic.

I also learned to not be so critical of my body, to appreciate it more, and give it some credit! Sure, I'm not supermodel skinny, and I'll probably never look like I did when I was 18, but my body did something amazing. Just as I will always remember my wedding anniversary and my children's birthdays, October 9, 2011 is a day that I will never forget. That was the day I started and finished a triathlon. Me. The overweight, (now slightly less) out-of-shape mommy of 3, who always told herself she couldn't, did.
If you are teetering on the edge of "Should I do a triathlon? CAN I do a triathlon?" The answers are YES! and YES! So start training and sign up for one, and then call me up and let me know so I can do it with you. :) I can honestly say that my life has been forever changed by this event, and I now believe that this mama can do ANYTHING she sets her mind to do.

Go Mama, GO! :)

The One About the Baby...

And without further ado, I am pleased to introduce you to our newest blessing,

ELIZABETH GRACE KA'IULANI HOLLOWAY

She was born on June 26, 2011 at 11:50PM. I don't know why folks are interested in birth weights or lengths, but if that's your thing, she was 6lbs, 5 ounces and 19 1/2 inches long.

(She is also the reason that I haven't blogged in almost 2 months.) (But she's totally worth it.)

So now I'm going to share Elizabeth's birth story with you. (Don't worry, I'll spare you the really gross parts...) Here goes:

I'd been having Braxton-Hicks contractions for quite a few weeks before she was born, and so I called my mother and told her that she'd better drive down to Alabama soon so she wouldn't miss the birth. Wouldn't you know it, as soon as my mom arrived, the contractions stopped completely. I didn't have another until she'd been here almost a week.

In the meantime, we'd had our new floors installed in our kitchen, hallway, living and dining rooms, bought new furniture (and had it delivered!), and even threw The Hubster his surprise 30th birthday party! And... still no baby.

That changed on Saturday, June 26. The day started just like any other day; I got up, made the twins their breakfast, cleaned up the house a little. I met with a friend, showed some Craigslist buyers some items and even took a nap.

At about 2:00PM, I started having real contractions (not the BH kind). They were spaced really far apart, about 15 minutes or so, and were low in my back. They kept coming at irregular intervals, so I called the hospital close to our home (not the one I was scheduled to deliver at), to see when they suggested I come in. I didn't want to drive all the way to Columbus (where I was supposed to deliver the baby-- about a 45 minute drive) only to be told that I hadn't dilated and then subsequently be sent all the way back home.

(Side Note: When I went to the doctor 4 days earlier, the midwife checked my cervix and said that she couldn't even feel it; that I was not dilated at all, and that my cervix hadn't even moved down into position. This is the reason why I stayed at home for as long as I did...)

Anyway.

Eventually, the contractions got down to about 6 minute intervals, and it was pure back labor. I tried every position I could think of to get comfortable, but it just didn't work. I tried sitting on the couch, I tried sitting on the floor. I tried getting on all fours (not advised if you have hardwood floors), I tried sitting backwards on the toilet chair and leaning over it. I tried pretty much every position I could find on the internet to help ease the pain. There was no denying it though... I was having the dreaded Back Labor.

At about 6PM, I called the midwife. There was a very bad storm rolling in (thunder, lightning, hail, you-name-it), and I didn't think I was going to make it to Columbus. She encouraged me to try because now my contractions were dead-on 6 minutes apart. I was scared. Because of the storm, I knew it would take us much longer than the usual 45 minutes, and I didn't think I would make it all that way. I certainly didn't want to have the baby in the car!

I told the Hubster that I definitely wanted to go to the hospital right by our home, but I didn't want to leave the house just yet because it was raining sideways and the thunder/lightning/hail was pretty bad. We waited it out for about another hour and a half and then I couldn't take it anymore. (The vomiting was a good indication that it was time to go.) (And I think so was my screaming, "MY BACK IS BREAKING!" at every contraction...)

When we arrived at the hospital, the Hubster dumped me at the entrance to the Emergency Room and went to park the car. I hobbled into the ER and the woman at the front desk was already on the telephone with the maternity ward telling them that I was on my way up. They had a wheelchair waiting on me, and I had two contractions on my way up. One in the elevator, the other in the hallway. The one in the elevator was pure torture.

When the nurses got me into the delivery room, they checked my cervix and found I was already dilated at 7+ centimeters, and 100% effaced! I was so surprised that I got that far on my own! (The Hubster always tells me how low my pain tolerance is, so you can imagine my surprise when they told me that, considering most women get epidurals at 4 centimeters.) I told them that I was supposed to deliver my baby at a hospital in Columbus, and the nurse said, "Honey, you ain't going nowhere. Otherwise, you'll end up having your baby in your vehicle!" That was enough to convince me to stay put. That, and the fact that I felt like my back would break at any moment.

Speaking of the pain, I can honestly say that unmedicated childbirth is the WORST pain I have ever felt in my life. I literally felt like my back was going to shatter, my vagina was being ripped open, and my body was going to split in half. I'm not exaggerating or being overly dramatic-- this is truly what I thought was happening. The nurse (a sweet woman named Beth) told me that because I was already 8 centimeters along, I wouldn't be able to have an epidural or any other medication to dull the pain. I couldn't believe it. I burst into tears because the pain was so overwhelming. I really didn't know how I was going to do this all on my own.

But I did.

Beth told me to push because it was time for us to meet our child. I told Beth I couldn't, because my back would break. She assured me that my back would not break and to push anyway.

Two pushes, and our precious Elizabeth was born into this world.

And then there were 5. :)

A Whole LOTTA Strawberries!

I've discovered something that the babies LOVE to do: pick strawberries! So we've been going about once a week for the past three weeks or so and picking a big ol' bucket each time. (Actually, I think more goes into the babies' mouths than in the bucket, but... I think that's the way its supposed to be, right?)

Here are some photos of yesterday's trip. It was extra special, because The Hubster actually got to come with us!

Showing Daddy where the very best berries are!

My two best helpers!

Stopping to sample the merchandise.

Mmm...!

Strawberry kisses!! (And this one, of course, is my favorite!)

I just have to tell you how glad I am to be able to share things like this with my children. I can remember picking vegetables in my grandparents' garden when I was little. Being out in the sun, surrounded by so much greenery and watching the twins run and play among the rows of strawberries really makes me remember how blessed I am.

Life is... good. :)

Am I Smarter than a Toddler? Obviously Not.

Today, I learned that my children are smarter than I am.

Well, kind of.

I guess a more accurate statement would be, "Today I learned that my children think about getting into things that I would never even consider getting into."

I was tired of picking up the Tupperware, the bakeware, the cookware, the underwear (not that panties are normally stored in one's kitchen, but somehow they, too, sometimes make their way into ours every now and then. With children, nothing surprises me anymore.) Anyway, I was tired of picking it up and washing it day after day and putting it away, only to do the same exact thing the very next day. (Could someone remind me what that definition of insanity is again? Just kidding.) So, I thought I outsmarted the twins by installing child locks on all the cabinets within their reach. And once again, my 16-month-old geniuses never cease to amaze me.

(I just had to show you that second photo because my son is his father through-and-through. Apparently, the Holloway men carry a gene that causes them to blink in 99% of the photos they take. It's hilarious and annoying all at once.)

Also, here are some Easter photos:

The plan was to have the babies in matching outfits (just like we do for all special occasions), but as it turns out, The Boy's outfit was just a tad too big. So he got to wear his 3-piece suit instead. Watch out, ladies! We all know there's nothing better than a (tiny) man in a suit...picking roses! For his mother! (Insert delighted girlish squeal and obligatory "Awww!" here.)
Someone (we won't mention Madam's name!) would NOT agree to sit next to her brother like a good girl and have her picture taken. Unfortunately, you can NOT control a woman, no matter what her size is. I'm sorry, Grandma, but this photo is just going to have to do.

Hope everyone had a great Easter weekend!

Don't Ever Ask a M.o.M. (Mother of Multiples)...

Most people... ok, 9 out of every 10 people (literally) that we know have asked us about having twins and how they were "made".



Side note: Please don't EVER (like, ever ever, like, as you wouldn't touch a black man's radio...) ask a M.o.M if her babies are "natural". They are made from organic matter, they breathe air, and they are definitely not robots. Of course they are natural! Idiot. Ok, yes, that's some sarcasm you are sensing; I know what these people are implying. I just think it is an incredibly rude, ignorant, and insensitive question to ask someone in the grocery store or at Walmart. Unless you are my mother or my BFF [who happens to be The Hubster], then you don't need to know. And if you are my mother or my BFF, then you already do know. But, because inquiring minds want to know, here is today's blog post:



I never realized how common "infertility" is. I put it in quotations because it's all really just a relative term. When The Hubster and I decided that we would like to start a family, we were told by quite a few doctors that the chances of us conceiving naturally were a crap shoot. A billion to one. It just wudn't gunna happen. We were told our only ONLY way of ever conceiving a child would be an expensive series of procedures known commonly as In Vitro Fertilization. We looked into it and yes, it was very expensive. We contacted our (military) health insurance provider only to be given a total run around and told that we would have to be put on a 3-year waiting list and even then we'd still have to come out of pocket for some of the procedures and medications.



It was all very heartbreaking and depressing.



We didn't know anyone who had done these treatments before, so we felt very much alone in our journey. We had watched friends and knew people that (despite our personal beliefs) had had abortions and given their unplanned children away to adoptive parents. I think that was the hardest for us. We tried so hard to conceive-- basal temperature charting, ovulation charting, you name it...-- and to see our friends (in a manner of speaking) getting rid of their unwanted blessings just crushed us. We even spoke with a friend of ours who found herself unmarried, without a home, and pregnant, and offered to adopt her child. She flatly refused our offer and aborted her child 4 days later. I honestly cannot convey in words how much this hurt me.



At any rate, when we learned of the cost (financially and timewise) of these IVF treatments (and how most couples are not successful on their first try), we were disappointed. Because the military moves us around so frequently, we weren't even sure we would still be at the same base in 3 years, thereby negating the 3-year wait that our insurance required. We felt we had no other option than to either pay out of pocket (which, really, wasn't an option) or... to pray. (Side note: Its funny how, so often, we forget that prayer should be our first option instead of our last resort.)



Anyway, we prayed. We prayed that God would bless us with a child that we would love and raise up to worship Him as He intended. We prayed for guidance, wisdom, and strength. At least, I know I did. I was an emotional wreck. My whole life, I never wanted a baby. But when I married The Hubster, all that changed. Suddenly, all I could think of was snuggling a tiny, precious infant. Of that infant, when he/she became a toddler waving at the door greeting The Hubster after a long day of work. Of making Rice Krispy treats like the commercials on television, of toting him/her to swim practice, football practice, ballet class, and summer camp. Fixing my baby girl's hair on the evening of her prom. Kissing my sweet son as he graduates from high school. Driving back to Auburn after so many years and helping my child unpack his college dorm room. Standing on the steps of the church while my precious baby drives away with his/her beloved to begin a life of their own...



I told you, I'm emotional.



Anyway. When people say that prayer works, they are not lying. My husband and I prayed and prayed and prayed as hard and as much and as diligently as anyone could ever possibly pray. In April 2009, we learned not only were we pregnant, but we would be expecting twins! (The old addage of "Be careful what you wish pray for..." definitely applies!) And in October of last year, we found we would welcome another precious blessing this July. And I can assure you, these children are natural (whatever that means).



(Another side note: I'd like to find those doctors that said we would never have children and slap them with a child support lawsuit and hold them responsible for 3 college tuitions!)



So, I suppose the moral of my story is that I just want you to know that those of you that do struggle with "infertility" to please do not ever give up hope. And to those of you that have been blessed to get pregnant "naturally" on your first, second, third and subsquent tries: Please consider yourself lucky. I know I definitely do.

Don't Laugh at Me, Please.

(My mom came to visit last week, so I wasn't able to write as much while she was here because, well... I was busy enjoying her company.)

We had a pretty bad storm one evening last week. Thunder, lightning, howling, vicious wind. The power went out (a few times), the rosebushes were ripped off the side of our house, trash cans (not ours, luckily!) went rolling down the street... you get the idea. Anyway, in one of our wall-climbing rosebushes, there was a bird's nest. The morning after the storm, I went outside to inspect the damage and found the bush torn from the side of the house, with the nest thrown to the ground. There were 5 small bird eggs smashed on the driveway below.

I don't know why, but for some reason this made me sad. Very sad. So sad, that I almost started crying. I don't know if it's because I am hormonal and therefore, every little thing seems to send me into tears, but I honestly felt the waterworks coming. Or maybe because I am a mom, and I know how precious babies (I mean, eggs?) are. I was sad for that poor Mama Bird that lost her "babies" to that big storm.

I just looked at those tiny cracked, broken shells on the concrete and cried. And I'm still not sure why. I know it's nature, and that's the way things go sometimes, but it still hurt my heart to see them there.

And so it goes...

Wordless Wednesday -- Hooray for Twins!

Enjoy. :)