Author: Choose Happy

The school bus came to get my children, and they didn’t get on it.

Instead, I watched through the window as the driver rolled the window open and through the megaphone spoke the words, “Bus 52, here for pickup”. I looked over at my five year old daughters sitting at the counter, finishing their cereal in blissful ignorance.

This was supposed to be a big year for them – the biggest yet, actually. They were ready for Kindergarten, their first year of school. Their backpacks had their names embroidered, their lunch boxes were washed, waiting on the counter to be packed with delicious lunches and snacks. We talked about making so many new friends, and wondered what their teachers would be like.

We moved to this town called Hope, in search of exactly that: hope. We saw what was coming and we took a huge leap to a small town that we hoped would provide freedom and a better life for our family.

We bought a quaint little modern farmhouse, with lots of room for our babies to run free. I held the “SOLD” sign with one hand for a picture, while rubbing my pregnant belly with the other. I looked down at my belly and then over to my sweet babies + husband, with the most beautiful sense of completion, as we had found our forever home. I thought to myself, “How could it get better than this?”.

It had a couple of cozy wood stoves and a pellet stove, perfect for cozy winter nights. It had a giant playroom that welcomed a million memories, and even more to be made. We spent hours and hours and hours up there, singing and dancing, loving and learning.

We bought a small coop’s worth of chicks, who grew into our sweet friends that roamed the yard freely, morning and afternoon. They gave us fresh eggs for baking muffins and pancakes on Sunday mornings.

There were many nights by the fire pit , with nature-made s’mores sticks and golden marshmallows. We even camped out there sometimes, cuddling up with cozy blankets, listening to the crickets and the owls nearby, looking up at the stars talking about all the fun we’d had that day; talking about what adventures would come tomorrow.

Our days would start out on the front porch, enjoying the peaceful quiet of the morning with tea + coffee on the wooden rockers that greeted us when we first bought this place. Sometimes we’d be lucky enough to get a visit from the deer that would wander through the yard.

We welcomed a sweet puppy into our lives, here. A Saint Bernard pup that came out of nowhere, who ended up becoming the biggest blessing in our lives; the blessing that continues to give so much love and light.

It was springtime of 2021, and time was moving quickly toward the girls starting school. We had prayed day in and day out that by the time it was their first day of school, masks would be optional for them. Weeks and months went by, and there was still no word that this would be the case. We had briefly discussed the idea of homeschooling, but never really considered this prior to everything that was happening with the world. I wanted my kids to have a “normal life”; I wanted them to see their friends everyday, meet new teachers, learn, explore, grow.. I never imagined that I could even give them a quarter of all of that if I were to homeschool them. The concept completely engulfed me. I thought about it all day, every day; every. single. day. Until August came, and reality slapped us hard in the face. Hard.

My husband attended the one school board meeting where parents would be allowed to voice their concerns and opinions on the matter. There was a small group of women, and one man. My husband.

Where were all the other parents?

Each person voiced their opinion. My husband poured his heart out, desperately pleading for the chance to be able to make this decision on our own terms. There were families tuning into the meeting via Zoom, insisting that mandated masks were the one and only way that children were able to remain safe at school. Basically, their way or the highway, like it has been all along.

All the mic’s were turned off, as the board members began to stand and put on their coats. Their decision was made before the meeting even began. One of the members proceeded to tell my husband that if they did not implement a mask policy, they’d lose $1.7 million dollars in funding for the school.

My husband was completely distraught; my husband, who’d worked in a prison for almost 9 years with the worst criminals in the state, was on his knees in tears.

I don’t want my kids silent at lunchtime.

I don’t want my kids in masks at recess.

I don’t want them outside on the sidewalk, 3 feet apart during story time.

I don’t want the National Guard driving their bus to school.

I don’t want a swab in their nose every week to “see if they’re sick”.

I don’t want masks on my kids for their holiday choir performance, while we watch via Zoom.

We felt completely defeated. Like we were standing in a room full of thousands of people, screaming at the top of our lungs, but no one was listening. It didn’t matter what we said. Money spoke the loudest. It always has, right?

So, on the day that the school bus came to get my children, they didn’t get on it.

Instead, we started our first day of homeschool.

I have a Master’s degree. I’d like to say I’m a pretty intelligent person, I’ve done a lot of things in my life, but when it came down to mapping out how I was going to be solely responsible for the education and growth of my children, it paralyzed me. Every single move I’d make moving forward, would either benefit or hurt them.

And if I’m being completely transparent, when we were family planning, we pictured the twins starting school a little bit after the baby was born, so one child at home would be super manageable. But we also got a puppy, and then out of nowhere, I became an at-home educator.

This was a very humbling time in my life. Cut me right down to size.

A lot of people will say, “well, lucky you that you [get to] stay home and homeschool”. Well, yes, you’re absolutely right – I am damn lucky. I don’t take a second of that for granted. But the sacrifices that have come before all of this, were massive. People say these things to me as if I don’t drive an ’05 Chevy and wear the same ripped leggings for years, just so that I can feed my children organic food.

People also have said, “Just have them wear masks, it’s not a big deal”. Have them wear masks for how long? “Until the virus is over”. Viruses don’t just “go away”. So will our kids be wearing masks for 5+ years? Until not a single child comes down with a cold each year when flu season rolls around?

I’m not dismissing the fact that people have been severely effected by COVID, and have passed from it. I’m absolutely aware of that, and my heart breaks for those families. But I’m also abundantly aware that the CDC has announced numerous times now (about time) that 90% of all COVID cases reported at hospitals were from people who were there for other reasons, and also had COVID. They weren’t admitted for COVID. And that a large percentage of the deaths due to COVID were of people with underlying conditions, obese, or unhealthy to some other degree. The CDC is finally starting to report things somewhat accurately, which they’ve failed to do thus far.

None of this warrants or validates any reasoning for me to put a mask on my child.

When there are football stadiums FULL of people unmasked on the weekends, politicians partying together maskless, etc. – why are these kids half-ass masked at schools full time? When I say half-ass, I’m referring to the two year olds who are expected to keep masks on, but in reality they’re half off their faces, falling off, falling onto the germy ground and then replaced with dirty fingers back onto their faces.

Kids are still sick constantly at school, constantly – are they not? If the masks are working, how are these kids still getting sick?

There are children in speech therapy – with masks on – with their therapists with masks on. Please explain to me how this is effective or beneficial for that child? My children were in speech therapy, and they needed close-contact, facial expression-type learning techniques. If they had come to the house in masks for this, I would’ve told them that they’re wasting their time.

The CDC has also announced that cloth masks are not an effective source for protecting against the virus, that instead, N95’s are the way to go. Has anyone researched the effects that N95’s have on children for long-term wear?

It’s not my job to do research on the best health decisions for anyone else’s children but my own. Which I have, endlessly. If someone’s mind is set, they’ll look the other way no matter what is presented to them, even if it’s clear as day. People will say “well it’s your choice not to send your kid to school/not to mask them/not to bring them to the museum that now requires masks”.

Can you say that again, please? One more time? Can you hear yourself?

“It’s your choice”. Is it, though? Is it my choice? There is no choice for parents like me. This is just what we’ve been dealt. I’m pretty sure it isn’t a choice when you’re being forced in a certain direction.

In early September, our homeschool journey began and we got into a good groove, learning as we went. And then another curveball came that had been burning in the back of our minds for some time.

The vaccine mandate was coming.

Some employees were lucky and could make their own choice. Some employers would ultimately get a ruling in their favor and not have to implement these mandates. But as a state or healthcare worker, the odds were the farthest from being in your favor.

The mandate date came and went, and by the week of Christmas, we were cut off from any pay or benefits. We were also ineligible for unemployment. The state did not allow employees to apply for unemployment if they were being fired for not receiving the vaccine.

The reality hit us hard, again. It wasn’t until 12/24 that it really sunk in that we would have to give up our house. The tears streamed down my face as I looked around the home that was already beginning to look strange to me, as I knew we couldn’t be here anymore.

They don’t prepare you for how strong you’ll have to be when you deal with any type of crisis in your life, yet simultaneously working full time to keep a strong face for those babies. The days where you rub their little backs, promising them a beautiful world, all while you’re dying inside.

They don’t prepare you for the moment that strikes you like an oncoming train when you realize you can’t afford your mortgage because of a rule driven by the government that doesn’t make any logical or lawful sense. The moment when your brain explodes into a million pieces figuring out how you’ll manage groceries, bills, what you’ll have to sell, and how quickly you’ll be able to sell your house; where you’ll end up next.

How do you tell your babies that we have to go, again, when we just got here?

What do you tell your babies as you watch their swing set get hauled away out of your driveway; the swing set where your child first learned how to pump by themselves. The swing set where your baby took her first ride down the slide, had her first ride in the swing.

No one can put into words the feeling of leaning down so you’re face to face with your child, looking them in the eye and saying, “There’s so much to look forward to. God has a plan for us, and it’s a beautiful one. The adventure that lies ahead is absolutely way more amazing than any we have had before. I cannot wait to watch you thrive and grow on this next adventure, you’re going to love where we are headed next”, all while your chest feels like it might fall out of your body, like your legs might give out right beneath you.

No one can put into words watching your husband, your best friend, fall apart as the world falls apart around you, as he desperately picks up the pieces to do whatever he can to support his family and get them through this. After losing his career that he gave his entire soul to.

Have you ever worked in a prison? I couldn’t even work there for a day, never mind almost 9 years.

Many, many people have talked down to us saying, “Well just get the shot and it’ll all be fine. Get the shot so you can keep your house and support your family”.

Many people have said to me, “Why won’t he get the shot? Why don’t you just tell him to get the shot so you can keep your house?”.

I don’t want him to. I don’t want him to because he doesn’t want it. If I asked him tomorrow to go get it for us, he would do it in a heartbeat. But I’d never in a million years ask him to do that.

Why are husbands held to these standards that they somehow mean less than the rest of the family? Their feelings are a little less valid, a little less important because they’re “the man of the family”.

My husband is my best friend, he is equal to me. 100% equal. Period.

“Well that’s his choice”. Again – is it really a choice if you’re being forced in one direction over the other?

Regardless, we made our “choice”.

So, the tears were shed. There were nights where I held him up. There were nights where he held me up. And now we move forward.

The house will be sold, the boxes will be packed. We’ll say goodbye to what we thought was our forever. With our days in our sweet home being numbered, I’m ever-so-conscious of each time that could be the last.

There was a last time the girls competed to see how high they could swing; they hopped off the swings for the last time, and we didn’t even know it.

There was a last time we kicked the soccer ball around as a family. It rolled and came to a complete stop, for the last time.

There was a last time we sat around the fire pit, roasting marshmallows, looking up at the stars. Matt poured the water to put the fire out, and we had no idea that that was the last time we’d ever do it. I wish I had known.

There’ll be a last tubby for the girls in their special bathroom. A last time we read books in their cozy room before bed. A last time I make them pancakes in our kitchen. I’m going to soak these moments in with everything I have.

Our sweet chickens, who’ve become family, will have to go to another forever home. I never thought I could love chickens so much.

A lot of people ask how the girls are handling all of this. “Aren’t they sad?”. Well, no, they aren’t sad. We lead by example, with positivity. We don’t lie to them, we tell them what’s goin on, but it’s always in a positive light. They continue to thrive just as seamlessly as all sweet five year olds should. We would never have it any other way.

I don’t really know where we’ll land, but I know we’re getting out of here. We’re getting our children out of a place that doesn’t welcome them. We’re picking up everything and starting over. Not because it’s easy, but because our children come first and we’ll do anything in our power, in our lifetime, to ensure that their future is bright and they are welcomed with open arms wherever they are. Nothing in this lifetime or any other will come before my children. I want a brighter, better future for them, whatever that may look like.

I’ll continue to fight for them. Always. I won’t accept a medical passport/QR code/masked gridlocked society for my children.

Life is really hard right now, but it won’t always be this way. We’ll end up on top no matter what because with this crew, I’m wealthier than I could’ve ever imagined, and how could I ask for more than that? At the end of each day, I hold my children in my arms and count blessings endlessly in pure gratitude that they are healthy, and here, and magical. They’re all the magic and hope we’ll ever need.

I’m not sure what comes next, but I know that it isn’t about the four walls of a home, it’s what’s inside them that makes life beautiful. And wherever we land, I’ll know that one day when my children ask, I’ll be able to tell them that everything we did, every leap – big or small – was for them.

Here’s to our biggest adventure yet – for them.

Every year we take the kids on a trip up to the White Mountains with our amazing family friends + their kiddos. We always book tickets to Santa’s Village, but this year we added a day at Story Land for the first time. We’ve got kids ranging in ages from under a year to 5 years old, and these ages are perfect for these types of parks. But which is better?

We spent a full day at Santa’s Village and a full day at Story Land, and here’s what we found:

Santa’s Village:

• Tons of rides geared toward the younger ages
• Rides that allow lap infants
• Amazing food; their main food court includes a wrap station and these wraps are delicious! I look forward to them every year. There’s also hot dogs, chicken fingers, grilled cheese, etc. for grab + go
• Maybe it’s just our luck, but each time we’ve gone the kids have been able to basically run on the rides, there are barely any lines, and if there are they go very quickly
• Their water park is incredible! There are two parts: a bigger kid area that includes a small section for infants, and then a smaller area across the way that is specifically geared toward ages 1-5 with little kid slides that go into a kiddie pool (only 2ft deep). I’d literally go to Santa’s Village JUST for the water park, we love it that much
• Plenty of shaded areas to rest
• Easy to navigate
• Reindeer! There are live reindeer that the kids can feed themselves – so adorable
• A Ferris wheel that overlooks the mountains

Overall, we really, really loved this park. It’s perfect for younger kids, offers great food, and just a clean + friendly place.

Story Land

• Some similar rides to Santa’s Village, but longer lines
• Barely any healthy food options (couldn’t find a banana/fresh fruit for Isla)
• No water park – there’s a small splash pad area, but not great in my opinion
• Not many areas for shade
• Not many rides with lap infant accessibility

If you didn’t catch the vibe, we really weren’t into Story Land. We might try again when the girls are a little older, but it just wasn’t for us right now. My main issue was the food situation. Tons of artificial, unhealthy options and not really any healthy ones.

If you’re planning a trip to the White Mountains, you definitely need to stay a night at The Common Man Inn in Plymouth, NH. We stay there every time we’re up, it’s our favorite! While you’re in the area, enjoy the yummy food on Main Street and go take a hike up Rattlesnake Mountain. This is also a good place to stay the night to take a break from the road trip up – it’s only about 50 minutes to Santa’s Village from there!





T h e r e  w a s  a  t i m e where I was so pregnant, that I couldn’t lie on either side without my big belly pulling on my rib cage; thus, I had to “sleep” sitting straight up. I “slept” at a 90 degree angle, on my couch, in the living room, for about 3-4 weeks. I remember being so stir crazy, nesting like a maniac, getting everything ready for these babies. I would binge watch entire seasons on Netflix, to the point where I’d thought I’d literally watched every show they offered. It felt like I had literally eaten everything you could think of. I counted down the days, minutes, seconds until it was time to hop in the car and head to the hospital. Those last few weeks seemed like an utmost eternity.

T h e r e  w a s  a  t i m e where I closed my eyes, squeezed my husband’s hand and suddenly heard my doctor say, “Hi beautiful”, and then heard the most beautiful sound my ears had ever known – the first cry of our very first baby. And then – the very first cry of our second baby. I remember my heart melting deep into my soul, as my babies were placed into my arms for the first time. They wriggled around, opening their eyes to peek up at me – probably saying in their little heads, “hi Mama, sorry about your ribs and your bladder”. I could’ve stayed lost in that moment forever; the moment I met the two little souls that would change my universe forever.

T h e r e  w a s  a  t i m e where I was so incredibly worn down, sitting at the kitchen table, tears running down my face; feeling so defeated as I had just attempted to nurse for the 546th time, but they couldn’t latch. I remember having to use shields, that were actually more painful than nursing itself. But they worked – so that’s what we did for the next 4 weeks until we miraculously latched. But man, those 4 weeks felt like 4, long, agonizing years. I remember the immense pain all over my body, as I attempted to walk up the stairs again for the first time since delivery. I remember the high waisted undies, the robe that became part of my permanent attire, the countless bowls of oatmeal to boost my supply, and the million times of staring at the clock at 10pm, 2am, 4am, as I turned my pump on and began pumping – after I had already nursed and gotten both babies to sleep. I had to choose wisely what to do with the next hour and half that I had before the babies would be up again – sleep, eat or shower?

T h e r e  w a s  a  t i m e where it seemed as though the synchronized crying would never end. With a husband with a tough work schedule, I had to learn to do it all alone a lot of the time; after 2pm, it was all on me. I remember changing baby after baby after baby. Picking up each baby and swaying, and rocking, and swaying, and rocking. I remember trying so desperately to get inside their minds to try to figure out what I could do to soothe them. I remember that blissful moment of silence as I tip-toed out of their room as they began to finally sleep silently and soundly – and that overwhelming feeling that made me want to tip-toe right back in just to watch them sleep so sweetly.

T h e r e  w a s  a  t i m e where I held both of my sweet babies on my chest, skin to skin, as they fell asleep. I kissed their little heads, over and over. Their skin felt like rose petals, and smelt like angels breath. I held each of their little hands, as they wrapped their tiny fingers around mine. I remember telling myself over and over again, “They will not fit on your chest together, forever. These moments are gold.” I remember closing my eyes and breathing them in; thanking God for blessing me with these precious babies. I remember my heart being so full in these moments, that tears would run down my cheeks as I wondered how I could have ever gotten so lucky; I tried so hard to make these moments last..

T h e r e  w a s  a  t i m e where my babies became toddlers, as I watched them start walking, sounding out words, reading books and using forks and spoons on their own. I remember the very first time they hugged each other. I remember those moments as my little girls used all their might to take their first steps toward me, and tumble into my arms. I remember the first time they looked at me and said, “Mama”, and then “Mommy” which was bittersweetly become “Mom”. I remember every new food we’d ever experimented with. The ones they loved, they ones they tossed on the floor. There was a time where they turned around and looked at me, and suddenly they didn’t look like babies anymore.

T h e r e  w a s  a  t i m e where I brought my freshly bathed littles into their room, all wrapped up in their teddy bear towels. My husband and I would read their favorite books with them. We’d rub their little silky feet and put their soft jammies on. I’d always make sure their sheets were fresh, after they’d had a bath. They’d run around their little room, picking up the toys they’d just thrown everywhere. My husband and I would lie on the plush rug (that took up most of the room), as the girls toppled over us and used us as jungle gyms. We’d listen to music and ask each other over and over again if we could even believe that we had two babies. I’d remind him time and time again to soak up every single second, because these golden moments don’t last forever. I’d look up and admire the painting of, “The Cow Jumped Over The Moon” that my Father had painted for my sisters when they were little. If he only knew that this beautiful painting was now hanging up in his Granddaughters room – the first thing they see when the sun rises. We’d spend hours in this room, the room they’ve spent time in since they were born; hours that seemed like they’d last forever. Hours that we hoped and prayed, would last forever.

Now, I’m standing in the same doorway, looking into an empty room. The beautiful wooden cribs are gone from each corner. The plush rug is gone, leaving a lifeless dusty carpet. The pink sheers no longer hang in front of the windows. The beautiful floral letters that I spent hours making while I was 9 months pregnant, anxiously awaiting their arrival, that hung above their cribs since they were born, now leave behind bare, ordinary walls. My Father’s painting no longer hangs on the main wall. No more toys, no more books, no more teddy bear towels. It’s silent in here, in the absence of the sweet sound of the music we used to play before bed. I close my eyes and hear the echo of their tiny laughter, remembering all the tickles and giggles.

I stand here, playing back all of these beautiful moments and memories we made in this room. Remembering the first time we walked through that doorway with them in our arms, as they were just days old. They’ve now walked out of that doorway for the last time.

As we pack up the last of our things and prepare to start our next journey in our new home, this is the room I’ll miss the most; the room I thought we’d be making memories in forever. I stand here, rubbing my belly as we anxiously await the arrival of our third sweet baby. There’ll be many rooms in our new home that will bring us a lifetime of memories, but I’ll never forget this room; the room where being a Mama made me the happiest.

T h e r e  w a s  a  t i m e when someone told me, “Don’t blink”. Now, more than ever, I truly understand what they meant.

After so much anticipation and pacing and waiting, it was finally time for baby Isla to join our crazy little crew – we were about to become a party of 5!

Before you have a baby, I feel like you’re just dying for someone to tell you the dead honest truth about all the little details of labor and delivery – at least that was the case for me – so now that I’ve experience both types, I’m going to share it all!

This pregnancy was so drastically different from my pregnancy with the twins. It’s not that their pregnancy was bad, necessarily, but this one was just so seamless and enjoyable.

Identical twins are considered high risk, so that comes with all types of high risk appointments, check ups and first-time-Mom worries. All the madness aside, both of those babies were happy and healthy, and I swear they could’ve stayed in my belly for 3 more months!

Also with ID twins, it is recommended to deliver them by 37 weeks for safety precautions, as they share the placenta. When I had my final check with them, Raeia was breech so we were faced with the pretty tough decision between a vaginal or c section delivery. Although my doctor said I was a good candidate for a vaginal birth, we were also fully informed that baby A could come vaginally, and then baby B could need to be delivered by section (Raeia – breech). All I cared about was their safety, and I felt that doing both styles of delivery at once could be pretty traumatizing, so we ended up opting for the section. As a first time Mom who didn’t know what to expect, I felt that the experience was pretty smooth, overall!

I had always said, however, that for my next baby I absolutely wanted to try for a VBAC (Vaginal Birth After C section). While all births are special and beautiful in their own way, I longed for that experience of pulling baby onto your chest, instant skin to skin and a better recovery afterward. So, that was my goal for baby Isla and I was so anxious to see if we could actually make it happen!

Since we had a planned section with the girls, I literally had no idea what to expect with any signs of labor or anything like that. I also had no idea if or when I’d actually go into labor on my own. With buying a new house and the whole moving process on top of Mom life to twin 4 year olds, I swore she’d come early! But the days went on and on, and before I knew it, I was past 40 weeks. She was just way too cozy in there. I had my weekly check ups with my doctor, and each week we both just laughed because there was just no progress. I wasn’t dilated, no pelvic pain, no swelling – nothing.

So since baby girl was so comfy in there and not showing any signs of coming any time soon, we scheduled an induction for 7/14, when I would be 40 weeks and 3 days pregnant. Since I’d had a previous c section, I had to sign a waiver (basically signing my life away) acknowledging the potential chance of uterine rupture during birth – which means your c section scar could tear while pushing. With there being a 1% of this happening, I decided it was in my best interest to move forward with the VBAC. The benefit definitely outweighed the risk for me!

As the days lead up to induction day, I felt a little defeated and upset that my body wasn’t doing its thing on its own. I wanted so badly to go on my own because I wanted things to progress organically, and I’d read that the path of least intervention results in a faster, easier labor. But sometimes (MOST times) God works in mysterious ways – the morning of induction, at 5am on the dot, I started having contractions on my own! I was so excited but also like okay, WHOA, maybe this could slow down a bit because OUCH, haha.

I had Braxton Hicks (practice) contractions very early on with both pregnancies, and they lasted all the way until I had the babies. Toward the end of the pregnancy they got tighter, but these contractions were definitely different. The Braxton Hicks weren’t painful – these definitely were, to the point where I had to crouch down and hold something.

We headed to the hospital around 7:30am, were admitted, and by the time we got upstairs and settled it was about 9am. I had to take a COVID test, which came back negative (yay!) and was able to take my mask off for the rest of my labor. My contractions slowed a little bit, I think because I drank water and became a little more relaxed now that we were settled at the hospital (our new house is about 30 minutes from there). After talking with the nurse about our plan, we decided to wait it out and let me progress on my own for as long as possible before starting any pitocin. I walked around and bounced on the birthing ball for about two hours, and then it was time to start!

They were going to start the pitocin 2ml at a time. I got up to 6ml, and 4cm dilated and then I decided that it was time for an epidural (OUCH). I commend all Mama’s for all birthing types and plans, but man – I really give it to those who go med free because I. couldn’t. do. it. At just 4cm I was squeezing the bedrails with my eyes squeezed shut, laughing anxiously with Matt in pure fear of how much more it could hurt.

So let’s talk epidural. I had a spinal with my c section, where they just injected the medication and I was numb from below my chest all the way down. With the epidural – holy moly – much more of a process. The anesthesiologist placed the numbing med, which wasn’t too bad, but definitely didn’t tickle. Then she started poking around, it seemed like. The nurse had me hold her hands (Matt wasn’t allowed in the room during this part, he wasn’t for the spinal, either) and tuck my chin to my chest and lean forward. “Okay, going to the left, let me know if you can feel anything”. Oh, I felt it alright! Then she went in to the right (with the needle) and then the center. She placed the tube (I never knew that an epidural was a tube placed, rather than an injection) and then they taped the tubes up my back, which was so awful when they ripped them off after delivery!

So, all in all, definitely an uncomfortable experience, but once it was done, I was so relaxed and comfortable. I could still feel the tightening of the contractions, but no pain.

About an hour after, the doctor came in and said that the next step would be to break my water, but she’d give me a little bit longer to contract before doing that. So, more waiting. There was a lot of hurry up and wait throughout the day, it was exhausting, haha.

Around 7pm during one of my asleep-but-awake naps, my water broke on its own! I was so excited because it was another sign my body was progressing on its own. It was the wildest feeling, it felt like a water balloon popped and I peed the bed. But again – hurry up and wait.

Around 9pm, the doctor came in to check me. “10cm+1, time to push!” I was so relieved that I made it to 10cm (and that I couldn’t feel a thing), and baby was ready to come.

I was so ready to meet this baby, but was so overwhelmed with all these emotions. I loved feeling her in my belly, and dreaming about what she’d look like for 9 months. I put my hand on my belly and felt her little kicks for the last time. Pregnancy is so special to me, as you have your sweet babe with you wherever you go, the last one you snuggle with each night, and the first one you think about in the morning. Every morning when I woke up, I’d feel her rolling around, all her little hiccups and dance moves. It was the safest I could ever keep her, in there. But it was finally time, and my dream of a VBAC was coming true. Baby Isla was about to no longer be a dream, but a beautiful bundle of reality.

The nurse came in and explained how it would go. I was still able to feel my legs, so I could hold them and utilize them for pushing. Matt held one leg with me, and the nurse held the other. She told me to take a deep breath and hold it/push for 10 seconds, breathe out, and do it again 3 times, then take a break. She said she’d let me know when I was having a contraction, but I could actually feel them on my own, minus the pain, just tightening.

It was time for my first push, and I was so damn exhausted. It was the longest day – starting at 5am, and I wasn’t allowed to eat the entire day so I was just flat out famished. I was like, okay, I. Can. Do. This. I just closed my eyes, and pushed as hard as I could, channeling my energy and focusing on pushing down.

There were a few times where I opened my eyes and saw stars because it was so exhausting and HARD. Pushing is HARD. In the movies, they push twice and baby is out. That’s the case for some people, but definitely not all. My rib cage hurt, I was so, so hot, and I could barely keep my eyes open because I was so tired. But after 59 minutes (which felt like 15 and 3 hours all at the same time) at 10:08pm, I heard Matt say, “Oh my God, there she is”, and then heard her sweet cry. The doctor lifted her up onto my chest, and even though I felt like I was going to pass out, I held her so tightly. Her little head nestled up under my chin. I missed this skin to skin SO much. We did delayed cord clamping, and then Matt cut the cord.

This experience was so much more intimate than it was with the girls, which will forever make me sad. They were whisked away from me because I had to be stitched up and sent to recovery. Matt was the first to do skin to skin with them. With Isla, I had her with me, basically on my chest, from the moment I had her until the moment we left the hospital. I wasn’t able to breastfeed the girls right away, either, but Isla was able to latch almost immediately after she came out! We chose not to have her bathed there, as we wanted her vernix coating to stay on and nourish her skin as long as possible.

We were then taken to our room, and the snuggling began. I didn’t care how tired I was, I didn’t want to let her go. Matt and I just snuggled and stared at her. It was such a relaxing experience, and instead of both of us frantically caring for two babies, not knowing what the hell was going on, it was so much more calm. One of our favorite parts of having her was being able to enjoy each other. It’s not every day that you get to bring a sweet little angel into the world and just focus on the love, living on cloud 9.

Since we had the girls at home and the baby and I had to stay for the full 24 hours (wouldn’t be able to leave until the next night at 10:08pm so we had to stay until Thursday morning), we decided to have Matt head home to be with the girls, so he left Wednesday around dinner time so I’d only be there that night and he’d pick me up in the morning with the girls. I was a little nervous for him to leave, especially since they told us that with the COVID restrictions, once he left he wouldn’t be able to come back – a little stressful. But it was really nice having one on one time with the baby, and taking it all in.

I brought a million and one outfits to the hospital for her, but ended up keeping her in her long sleeved cozy outfit that was provided, because I just wanted her to be cozy and comfy. I bought a matching robe and onesie set specifically for photos – that we didn’t end up taking, haha. Mom life, to a T!

We’ve been home and settled now for a month. How it has been a month? I couldn’t tell you! I swear, once you have kids, time slips away from you at lightning speed. Being a Mama is so overwhelming, even suffocating at times, but I can tell you that there’s nothing in this world or any other that I would trade this for. It’s the hardest job, a 24-7/3-6-5 job that can rip you to shreds and bring you to your knees, but those little smiles and tiny hugs; the “Mama, I love you”‘s and the way they run to you and say they need you – and only you, the way their little hands fit inside yours as you watch them drift off to sleep in the most comforted way knowing that you’re there with them. It’s the way you get to watch them grow, and have them as your little best friends forever; the fact that no matter the type of day you’re having, you can always count on them for those one-in-a-million snuggles that solve all your problems instantly.

There’s nothing I love more than being a Mom. I don’t care about fancy things or having luxurious items. The only thing that matters to me is time; any second, minute, hour that I get to spend with my babies, is gold.

So, not to flip the topic (and apologies in advance for some oversharing – I told you I’d be candid!) – but that ever so popular question, “Does everything go back to normal?”. I think every girl wonders this and has fears about it in one way or another, I know I did, for sure! But, I can tell you that in my experience, it did! Everything feels exactly the same as it did before (with a big help from daily kegels/pelvic floor exercises). I also didn’t feel like the postpartum experience in that area was as bad as I thought it’d be. Padsicles (frozen maxi pads) and Earth Mama Peri Spray were my best friends! There was a lot of pressure for a couple of weeks, but at 4 weeks postpartum today, it really feels like nothing ever happened down there. Hooray!

It’s wild to type all of this as I sit here, watching my baby sleep soundly in her bouncer; sitting in the same spot that I’d sit in every night, rubbing my belly. I’m so relieved that we had such a good experience, despite the COVID chaos that I was so incredibly stressed out about for months. She is here, she is healthy, and we are so, so grateful.

If you’ve gotten this far, thanks for reading! If you’re an expecting Mama, I wish you the very best of luck with the upcoming arrival of your sweet babe, and I’m SO excited for you to experience this type of love!

 

So here I am, nearly 28 weeks pregnant, JUST writing my first blog post about my pregnancy. *Shaking my damn head*. I had all these elaborate plans for when I got pregnant again; I was going to take the cutest milestone pictures – starting super early, I wanted to start a VLOG, I was going to post my mini pregnancy workout videos including the girls. BUT here I am – tip toeing into my third trimester, and I’ve maybe taken two milestone photos, to date. Cool.

I’ll try to rope it all into a nutshell. I’m mainly doing this so I can look back and remember what this whirlwind was all about, since I slacked big time documenting the girls’ pregnancy, too *shocker*.

For the longest time, Matt and I literally went back and forth CONSTANTLY about whether or not we wanted more babies. One day he’d want more and I wouldn’t, and then the next day I’d get baby fever and he’d be on the fence. It’s just that when you have two at once, your hands are so damn full that getting pregnant immediately just isn’t the first thing on your list (or maybe that’s just me). And honest to God, time has never flown faster. I always said I wanted all of my kids by 30, and all close together in age. Well, here I am, 30, pregnant, and possibly wanting more after this one.

As the girls were getting older, I kept telling Matt that time was flying by and explaining the age gap if we were to wait longer. But he kept reassuring me about the fact that we have two the same age and if they were different ages, it wouldn’t be weird for us to have waited this long. So, we continued to straddle the fence, neither one of us making a decision. UNTIL, the first day the girls started Preschool.

One day after dropping them off, we got home and sat on the couch and it was silent. No noise in the house, no mess, and we just looked at each other like… this is so weird. We freaked out and knew instantly that we were not ready to give up diapers and baby giggles just yet.

I kid to you not (and sorry for the TMI) the girls started preschool, and that same month we started trying for baby #3 (and low key hoping it wouldn’t be babies number 3 + 4, not that we aren’t completely and entirely grateful for our set of twinnies and know that all babies are absolute blessings, we’ve just lost many years of our lives after having two at the same time *insert Mom with gray hair emoji*). Anyway, we started trying on October 1st, and I had a positive pregnancy test on November 4th.

I was so sick in the beginning of my pregnancy with the girls, but it wasn’t morning sickness. I had severe flu like symptoms that just lasted forever. I got morning sickness maybe 5 times. With this baby, it was smooth sailing until about 7 weeks and then BAM, it was hell on earth.

Let me just tell you this, I’ve experienced some hard situations in my life, but being pregnant with severe morning sickness AND taking care of one or more toddlers is hands down the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I cried daily (in hiding, of course, so the girls wouldn’t see me) because I felt so damn guilty that I couldn’t be at 100% for them as I normally was every day. I was couch ridden, running to the bathroom at all hours of the day, couldn’t keep a thing down. And then the Norovirus hit our house, and I really thought it was over for me at that point.

The girls had it, and then Matt got it, and then it hit me. At first I was like well, I get sick all day anyway, what’s the difference? But this was so, so different. I couldn’t keep an ounce of fluid down. I ended up needing to go to the ER, I had passed out during blood work from dehydration, and literally wanted to die. I just kept praying and praying for strength to get through it, and wanted to find the light so badly. The struggle was REAL.

So we got through all of that, and I had to continue through one of the busier seasons of my photography business. Turns out trying to photograph with a steady hand while you’re trying not to vomit your face off is actually quite difficult. Week 13 rolled around and I was still sick everyday with my Sea Band nausea bracelets still on my wrists and I was just like, okay, how long we doing this?

I think it was around 15ish weeks that the nausea began so subside, and I could eat like a normal person again. I could finally get back to being my normal Mama bear self.

I popped SO early with this baby, but they say your second pregnancy you tend to show a lot sooner, especially after having multiples. I can’t quite remember what I felt like around this time, and I’ve been trying to find photos of me pregnant with the girls at the same amount of weeks (but obviously there’s no time for that when you have toddlers).

So after the hellish first trimester I had, second trimester came in like a sunny day. I felt SO good, eating great, baby kicks and hiccups galore. I was looking forward to so much – so many fun things with the girls, as I want to spend as much quality time with them as I can, as it’ll never just be the 3 of us girls again. This was the first year we actually booked their birthday party at an establishment, and placed a hefty downpayment. I had already started ordering personalized items for that and placing and order for their cake/cupcakes. Their birthday is like a holiday to me – my favorite holiday of all time. I was like a kid on Christmas sending out their invitations.

But then, Coronavirus.

I’ve been a stay at home Mom since the girls were born, so staying home hasn’t been a huge shock for us. It’s more so not being able to go out to parks, play places, or even a stroll through Target (which was a regular outing for us).

And then the talk of the protocol changing at the hospitals for women in labor and delivery surfaced, and I started to freak a little bit. I cannot even fathom the idea of having to have this baby alone, and women are now doing it everyday. I can’t actually wrap my brain around it, so I frankly try not to.

When the lockdown advisories started to hit, it was extremely overwhelming. Social media can absolutely drown you, if you let it. I truly believe that it isn’t social media as a whole that’s detrimental, it’s who and what you’re following. So, needless to say,  I’ve unfollowed a TON of negative sources on my newsfeed, and it’s been really mentally refreshing. I’m all set with people sharing fear mongering articles that were written by 10 year olds with no legitimate sources. All. Set.

So, here we are! 27 weeks pregnant, staying as optimistic as I can. Enjoying my sweet baby kicking and rolling around, and spending tons of quality time with my other sweet girls (and my wonderful husband). The world is kind of standing still right now, and as horrifying as some aspects of it are, there are also some really beautiful things happening, too. I’m doing my best to stay positive (and continue to pray that I won’t need to have a home birth) and praying for everyone around the world who is struggling right now. I’m grateful that baby girl isn’t due for another 3 months, and that hopefully by then, we’ll have a better grip on how things are running in the hospitals.

Goals for the next three months:

• take more milestone photos
• keep this blog updated more than once a year
• BREATHE

 

We. Have. All. Done. It.

Looked over at another Mom and had those “judgy” thoughts in our heads, going over all the ways that we could do what they’re doing better.

Before kids, I had all these fairytale notions about the picture perfect Mom I’d be; no screen time, no pacifiers, organic errythang, 3 different languages by age 3 – the mystical list goes on.

But reality slapped me real hard when two babies [who turned into two crazy adventurous monkeys] were plopped in my lap.

There have been a handful of things that I have somehow been able to follow through with but let me tell you, at the end of the day over here, our motto is “Whatever works”.

What. Ever. Works.

Honestly, I don’t even know how people have the time or mental space to be worrying about what other Moms are doing with their kids. I’m so worried about my own kids – eating, sleeping, biting, blinking, breathing – I don’t even have a minute to look to see if Sally is over there cutting her grapes and blueberries in half.

There have been so many times where I’m like wow, they probably think I do [this, this, and that] all the time and start judging me based on what I’m doing. Example: I don’t have sweets in our house; we do fruit as dessert and on occasion they’ll get chocolate chip Mickey pancakes. I’m not damning those who give dessert at home, I just choose to avoid it – for now.

Anyway, when we go to restaurants or birthday parties, I let them go buck-wild and get whatever their little hearts desire. When we’re at a restaurant and they’re eating ice cream, I can feel the eyeballs rolling all around me – I can imagine the thoughts racing through all the busy-bodies’ minds. These people have zero idea that the most sugar my kids get at home are strawberries.

Ahh, the iPad epidemic. The horror! Listen, BOTH of my girls have an iPad. However, the only thing they use them for is ABC Mouse, or the matching/color/number learning apps that are on there. We do not use them at home, only in emergency situations (like Mommy needing to eat food for 5 minutes before she passes out). But you bet those eyeballs be rollin’ when my kids are eating ice cream WHILE using their iPads. IMAGINE! And again, these parenthood critics have zero clue that my kids don’t see either of these things except maybe 1-3 times a month.

Point is, you can’t please ’em all. I’m not going to turn around and sheepishly explain myself to irrelevant people I’ll never see again. Your food must be that gross or your company that boring to the point where what my kids are doing is more interesting to you. We’re naturally alert to what people think of us because we are only human but as Moms/parents, we really need to shake that off because there will ALWAYS be at least one person that has something to say, and I’m just not here for that noise.

It’s so easy to cringe a little bit while scrolling through social media when you see something a Mom is doing that makes your eye twitch a little bit. But guess what? You have ZERO clue what their home life is like.

Some kids are just born easy; born easy sleepers/eaters, no issues, love life and everything that comes with it. But not ALL kids. Some are picky, some are moody, some need extra snuggles, some just. won’t. sleep. So before being like, “well, you should’ve put them on a sleep schedule from the start” take a step back and tuck your opinion back into your pocket because no one asked and no one cares. Some of us haven’t slept in three years so BACK OFF, Sally.

We are all doing exactly what we need to do to literally survive and keep the kiddos alive. That’s all there is to it. No one intentionally hurts their kids or wants bad things for them (I mean, there are some devils who walk the earth but we won’t go there). We all love our babes with everything we have. We’ve gotta team up and lift each other up, which I do honestly feel like the world is doing a lot better at. Aside from the psychopaths who infect social media with negativity because they’ve got nothing better to do, most of us have hopped on the positive support bandwagon – and it’s awesome.

Another Mom came up to me today at the play place we were at and literally gave me a high five – just because I have twins. She commended me for raising two babies at once and “making it to age 3”. Amazing! It literally made my day. I feel like there’s an unspoken understanding between us Moms, we just know when someone needs a high five, and I guess today was my day!

Straight up – minding our own Mom life isn’t just beneficial for the other Moms in the world, it’s what best for us and our Mom-sanity. Since having the girls, it hasn’t been so much about “judging” for me, it’s more so being concerned about every other child around the world.

I am that Mom that kind of freezes and heart sinks to the center of the earth when there is a screaming child at the store. I can’t think about anything else, I just want to go pick them up and rub their little backs and tell them it’s okay, and also give them a snack (is that creepy?). With all the sickening stories in the news, and the occasional child abuse you see in society firsthand, it literally got to a point where it was consuming me; I was so sick to my stomach on a regular basis worrying about the less fortunate children, how kids are being raised these days, how some kids don’t even get ONE single hug a day. But it came to a point where I had to mentally stop myself from allowing these thoughts and concerns into my head because I was drowning in them. I am doing the absolute BEST I can for my babies, while donating to great causes for other children when I can, and that is all I can do.

We have enough to worry about, let’s not add yet another uncontrollable worry to our plates. Feel empowered. Stop questioning if you’re good enough because [you are]. You are those babies’ entire world; you are irreplaceable. The pressure of Mom life is IMMENSE, but keep reminding yourself that we are all in this together. Keep up the great work at being the best Mama you can be – that’s the best you can do and it. IS. enough.

In the beginning, it was like running on fumes of adrenaline and distraction. In the initial time period when you lose someone, you have people checking in on you every week, every day, every second. But then, the check ins slowly go from every second, to every day, to every week, every month, and then time begins to pass, and the reality starts to set in that people begin to “forget” and sort of move on; but you’re not moving on. You’re never moving on.

You’ll never move on from a pain that shattered you in a way you never even knew you could be shattered. A pain that becomes a gap that will never actually be filled; and how can you rebuild from that?

When you’re little and you get hurt or you’re sad, the only thing in the world that can calm you and make everything better is that big, warm hug from your Mom or Dad; that hug where they wrap their arms entirely around you, and squeeze you until you can’t remember why you were ever sad.

That’s all I need now, that’s all I’ve needed for the last 5 years; but I’ll never get one of those hugs again.

This is how I’ve learned that the only person who can save me from myself, is me. If I was going to wait for that hug that would heal me, I’d be waiting the rest of my life. After you’ve dwelled in that painful darkness for so long, you find that you simply can’t stand to be there anymore, so the only thing to do is to pull yourself out.

In the beginning, I had so much going on that I was able to keep my mind busy and stay focused on so many other things. I had cheer, finishing my Master’s, planning a wedding and then getting married.

For years, the only way I was able to cope was by simply blocking it out. And as “bad” and unhealthy as it was, it was literally the only way that I was able to get through it. Any single moment where any thoughts about my parents began to creep in, it was, “Stop. Block it out, block it out, block it out”.

It’s almost like I completely erased them from my mind altogether. Not only the darkest times, like watching my Mom’s heartbeat race to 151bpm on the monitor and hear that machine beeping in my head, over and over again to the point where I couldn’t sleep at night without it pounding in my mind; or seeing my Dad for the first time after his surgery, with 75 staples across his skull. But it was the good times too. I couldn’t even picture their faces. Block it out, block it out.

In the very beginning, I was so emotionally destroyed that I was physically sick. My bedroom at my Mom’s house felt like it wasn’t mine anymore; it felt like I had never even lived there. The first time walking into that house without her there, was cold and cryptic. She was never coming home, so it felt like I shouldn’t be there either.

Every single thing I looked at was a gut wrenching reminder of what was, and what never will be again; the kitchen table, where I’d come home late and we’d have tea and stay up into the late hours of the night talking about anything and everything, as she’d magically solve all my problems – as she always did. She was the only one in the world that could make me belly laugh until I couldn’t breathe, over the most ridiculously hilarious things. The only one who understood me, and cared about all the weird and crazy and silly things about me, that no one else in the world cares about. The only one who could cheer me up, any time – anywhere. The kitchen counter, where we used to cook together and laugh at how shameful our cooking skills were. The phone, that she used to call me 45 times a day with; the one she used to answer my 45 calls in return, calling her for all types of crazy reasons, and for no reason at all.

If ever I was at work or missed her call, she’d leave a voicemail saying she was worried and to call her back as soon as I could, and that she loves me so much. I used to roll my eyes and get frustrated when she’d constantly check up on me.

Do you know what I’d do for her to check in on me just one more time?

One night the week after she died, I was drowning so deeply in a state of shock that I desperately sent her a text message, praying with everything I had left that she’d somehow miraculously respond. Obviously, she didn’t.

My Dad and I didn’t get to catch up as often because he was constantly traveling for work. Our phone calls were few and far between but the ones we had were gold. Each piece of advice he’d give me seemed as though it was taken directly from an inspirational novel. His life advice was like no other I’ve ever been given. He had a way of making me feel like no matter what, it’d all be okay. He was British, so every time I was hurt or upset – ever since I was a baby – he’d always pull me in close and squeeze me and say, “there, there, Daddy’s here”.

My two pillars of strength, solitude, clarity, love, inspiration – gone.

How do you come back from that?

I didn’t even consciously realize the way that I was handling it all, up until about two and a half years ago.

I got pregnant, and everything changed.

Getting engaged, planning a wedding and getting married were time periods that were indeed difficult with the absence of my Mom and Dad, as I’ve previously blogged about. But the insane rush of hormones and emotions that came with pregnancy and becoming a Mom, threw me into a whole other dimension.

When I was getting married, I found myself constantly looking up and looking for my parents. The night I got engaged, the first person I wanted to call when I took out my phone was my Mom, but I couldn’t. I imagined how loud she’d scream and how tight she’d squeeze me when I first showed her my ring.

Matt never had the chance to officially sit down and ask my Dad for his permission to marry me, but I knew he had my Dads blessing. About 6 months before my Dad died, we were driving in the car one day and he said to me,

“I have a lot of respect for Matt, I respect his integrity and who he is as a person. He takes good care of you and loves you, I can see it in the way he looks at you. Do you think you see yourself marrying him one day?”

“Yeah, I think I do.”

“Good.”

It was a very sensitive topic – talking about the future – because we both knew that only one of us would be there to see it. It killed him to tell me he was sick in the beginning, and then when he had to ultimately sit me down toward the end to tell me that he was no longer responding to treatment, and that there was nothing left to do. He could barely bring his eyes up to look at me.

Now, as a parent, the thought of having to look my child in the face and tell them that I won’t be with them anymore is nothing short of crippling. My heart aches for him, I wish I could go back and tell him all that I know now, and tell him over and over that it’s okay; that it’s not his fault.

My Mom became ill so quickly that we never had any type of closure; no conversation about the future or any advice on how to put back together the million pieces that would be my soul and existence in the coming months. Our last conversation was on Monday, and as the words came out of her mouth, she started to cry for a split second but then pulled herself back together – to be strong for me, as always – and told me that she had at least 6 months and could possibly go into remission. She told me we would make tons of videos and she’d write me lots of letters to cherish. She told me she was “So sorry Aly, I’m so sorry”. But by the next day she was put on oxygen, and there were no more conversations.

I didn’t know then, that when we checked into the hospital, I’d be leaving without her.

When I found out I was pregnant, it was the first day of a long road back through a dark memory lane. But it wasn’t supposed to be that way.

When you find out you’re pregnant, you first start excitedly brainstorming on how to tell your family members – most importantly, your Mom. And this time, it was different than the feeling I had when I couldn’t call my Mom to tell her I was engaged; different from when she wasn’t there to button up my wedding dress or help me fix my veil.

It was needing her more, in one moment, than I’d ever needed her in my entire life.

When you find out you’re pregnant, you’re swallowed up by a range of emotions from crazy-excited to terrified, to optimistic to clueless; and on top of all that, I had this unsteady feeling take over me like the plague. And just like that, the flood gates that had been sealed so tightly, burst open and unleashed everything I had worked so hard to forget.

We had some complications during my pregnancy between 13 and 17 weeks (that’s a blog for another day) which caused extra, unnecessary anxiety. We chose to wait to announce the pregnancy until I was 5 months along, for this reason.

I spent each and every night, rubbing my belly, thanking God for another day with those sweet babies. I was blessed with not one, but two gorgeous baby showers, surrounded by my incredible friends and family. There were so many exciting things to do, like build the cribs and buy my very first baby clothes. It was all so exciting, but as always, something was missing. My biggest cheerleader wasn’t in my corner, like she had been, for each and every exciting milestone in my life.

Although these emotions became harder to manage during my pregnancy, it still wasn’t the worst it was going to get.

I remember the morning we were in the hospital, ready to have the babies, and I couldn’t stop thinking in my head, “You’re supposed to be here. I’m so terrified, and I need you here. Why can’t you be here.”

When I was in the room getting my spinal, I was so nervous that it felt like my brain was numb. The nurses were so incredibly sweet, trying to get me to relax as much as they possibly could.

“So, is your Mom so excited to be a Grandma?” one of the nurses asked, with a big smile on her face.

“My parents died a few years ago”.

Looking back, I feel so guilty that I said it so bluntly and so monotoned, but I truly couldn’t help it – I just blurted it out. I had no control over my mind or body in that moment because I was so nervous, it was like an outer body experience.

Her eyes darted over to the other nurse and her face dropped, as she quickly changed the subject. “You are going to be such an incredible Mommy, not much longer now and you’ll get to hold those beautiful babies in your arms!”.

I wasn’t mad or upset at her – how could I be? Most people still have their parents at 26 –  heck, most people still have their parents at 40 – so it was a completely reasonable question.

To this day, I’ve gotten questions like that over a hundred times. “Your Mom must love those babies”, “Your Mom must be babysitting those babies every chance she gets”, etc. It’s tough, but it’s reality, and I try not to crush people’s souls in return when I tell them that she isn’t here; that she hasn’t gotten to spend one single minute with her Grandbabies. She watches over them from heaven, and visits them in their dreams, but that’s it.

The newborn days were really tough, but they kept me extremely busy and exhausted – too exhausted to even think. And looking back now, that was probably for the best. I was so exhausted in that first year that I didn’t even have enough energy to cry (that isn’t supposed to be as dramatic as it sounds, I’m just being honest – I was probably so tired and dehydrated that my body didn’t have enough energy to make actual tears).

When the girls were 7 months old I choked, like literally, on a prenatal vitamin (I continued to take prenatals for the duration of the time that I nursed them). The vitamin (which is like a horse pill – I know all of you Mama’s know what I’m talking about) somehow lodged sideways in my throat, and I was only getting a tiny amount of air in and out, it was like pinching a straw and sucking air through as hard as you could.

It was December 29th, 2016, the day the girls turned 7 months exactly. I had just posted a nice milestone post with a beautiful picture of them on Facebook. We were home alone, Matt was at work. The girls were crawling around on the living room floor and I was in the kitchen about to make dinner. It was 6:48pm. I remember this, because right before I threw my head back and popped the pill in my mouth, I glanced at the clock. Instantly I felt the pill lodge, to the point where the water I took with it spattered out of my mouth onto the floor. For whatever reason – most likely motherly survival instinct – I immediately ran out of the door and to my next door neighbors house to get help. I slammed on the door, praying it would open and there’d be someone home to help me.

One of my neighbors is a nurse, so I had faith and knew she’d know what to do. One of my neighbors slammed on my back as hard as he could. They tried giving me the heimlich, but nothing. It was nearly impossible to get any air in, and I knew that I didn’t have a ton of time before eventually passing out from lack of oxygen. I couldn’t speak to tell them that they couldn’t call Matt because he works in a prison and they don’t have access to their phones while at work. They frantically called 9-1-1.

It was a rainy, freezing day in December, and I was outside in a t-shirt and pajama pants, frantically pacing up and down the driveway, trying desperately to get into my own head to calm myself down and focus on getting as much air as I could into my lungs.

I hear the sirens from the firetruck and the ambulance. I turned my head to see them driving up the road, but then they turned into the wrong complex. My neighbor ran into the middle of the road waving his arms frantically, screaming for them, telling them they went the wrong way and to turn around.

In this very moment, I came to terms with the fact that it was over. I was on all fours in the freezing rain, about 50 feet diagonally from the open door to my house, where my babies were inside crawling around on the floor, with no one watching them. For a moment, everything went silent.

This was it. They went the wrong way, and there’s no time. I can’t breathe anymore. And this is how my Mom must have felt right before she died. My babies are only 7 months old, I barely had any time with them. And I’m leaving them. This is the fear my Mom felt, as she looked at me leaning over her in the hospital that night, squeezing her shoulders with tears streaming down my face. She was leaving her baby, and I was about to leave mine.

In the next moment, I heard, “Aly!?” as I looked up to see a firefighter running toward me, who happened to be one of Matt’s best friends. He instantly began doing everything he possibly could. He tried the heimlich a few times, at one point I was back down on all fours, spitting blood onto the ground; with all of the commotion and force from trying to get the pill to move, it was cutting the inside of my throat.

I kept motioning for him to cut open my throat to get the pill out. It sounds absolutely crazy as I look back on it now, but in that moment I was desperate to do anything it took to stay here and be with my babies. I remember thinking, if I pass out, I’m dead. I was working so hard to squeeze even an ounce of air through my throat; I knew that if I passed out there would be no oxygen passing through to my lungs, and that would be it.

I was rushed to the hospital, and given an IV of muscle relaxers. When we first got there, I had to write on a piece of paper anything I was trying to communicate. I did everything in my power not to swallow, because every time I did, the pill would become more lodged. The muscle relaxer helped make it so I swallowed less and less.

After two hours of struggling, leaping off of the hospital bed in fear and praying to God, the vitamin had slowly dissolved more and more to the point where I was able to get a substantial amount of air in and out. Matt was notified and he eventually made it to the hospital. I’ll never forget the look on his face when he turned the corner.

This was a turning point for me. A major, life-changing turning point.

Coming to terms with dying isn’t something that a lot of people go through, especially at such a young age. It’s almost like once you accept it, it’s difficult to come back from that.

When I came home from the hospital I cradled my babies in my arms like I hadn’t seen them in years. The next day, Matt had to work so I was alone again. And it was different. My mindset was completely different, and everything just seemed darker. I remember looking up at the wall at all the happy photos and thinking, this isn’t real, I’m not supposed to be here. I couldn’t stop crying on and off for days, the tears just kept coming. My birthday was a couple days later and I didn’t even want to acknowledge it.

I’m one of those people that never, ever stops looking for the sunrise; that without-fail always finds the good in everything, the light in everything. I’m that person that says, “You’re just lucky to have another day on this beautiful planet”. But this time, I couldn’t. Why couldn’t I pick myself back up from this? Where was the adrenaline that I had when my parents died? I remember thinking, how much can one person take? And I remember looking at those babies and thinking, my God, I am immeasurably blessed beyond reason, and I got a second chance – all I wanted was to come back home to them and here I am. So why can’t I come back from this?

Once you’ve experienced so much darkness, it becomes harder and harder to come back from it. The energy and motivation to pick yourself up becomes more and more difficult to find. When I lost my parents, that time in my life took a part of my soul with it. A huge part. But I was able to keep going. But this time, the darkness hit me directly. This time, I didn’t have to be strong in a situation where the tragedy struck someone else and I had to pick up those pieces. This time, it struck me personally.

Once again, she wasn’t here. They weren’t here. I needed her to come down and stay with me for a few days, until I was able to eat solid food again and get back on my feet. I needed her to sit with me on the couch, cry with me, sip tea with me and share her scariest experience, telling me how she got through it and that I’d get through this too. I needed one of those life talks from my Dad, and for him to tell me how grateful he was that I was okay and that he loved me more than anything.

But none of that happened. And once again, I had to mentally heal myself. That support system is gone, and has been gone for all of these important things in my life that I needed them for. That does something to a person over time. You work overtime to stay strong for so long, but at some points, you just can’t do it anymore.

Some say that it gets easier with time. And I can agree to a point – not necessarily that it gets easier but, like I’ve mentioned, it becomes more manageable. But I also think this depends on what happens after.

When you become a Mom yourself, that doesn’t mean you stop needing your own Mom. In my opinion, you need your Mom more.

As a Mother now, I’ve found myself becoming more and more bitter over time that she, they, aren’t here. For the longest time it was sadness and healing. But as time passes and the more times I find myself needing to call her or pack my bags to go spend the weekend with her and I can’t, it’s just anger; every Mother’s day, every holiday, every milestone, every happy moment missed, I find myself on the verge of tears just asking, why? Why can’t you be here. I need you, here.

I am an extremely happy, positive, optimistic person. I have so much to be grateful for. I am indescribably grateful for each and every blessing in my life. I move forward every single day for those beautiful little angels that look up at me every morning. I am a Mother first, before anything else. But I am also human, and it’s okay for us to not be okay sometimes. It’s okay for things to be imperfect. Sure, we’re all grateful and we all count our blessings and do the best we can – of course we do – but it’s okay to exhale and identify the demons in our closets every now and then.

Although in the beginning I found it more manageable to completely block it all out, maybe it’ll be best in the long run that I’m just now identifying the pain and reality, and perhaps it’s just going to take a while to manage and overcome it in a more mentally healthy way.

August and November are and always will be difficult months for me. It’s like a never ending crippling flashback that plays twice a year, every single year. It never helps that my Mom’s passing anniversary always falls around Thanksgiving, and this year – on Thanksgiving. Years 1 + 2 were a chaotic blur. Years 3 + 4 were years of transition. And here we are, year 5.

5 years ago, I stood at the edge of your grave as they lowered you into the ground. I stood there in that moment, surrounded by a crowd of people, yet I had never felt so alone. I stood there in disbelief, wondering what tomorrow would bring, if there would even be a tomorrow.

Today, I stand at the edge of your grave, holding my sweet babies hands as they place flowers down for you. They don’t understand yet. They don’t realize that the most important person in my life, lies before them; a person that they’ll never get to know, except through stories and pictures. A person who’s painting will only be created by the colors I share with them. When they’re older, I’ll tell them all about you; all about the 23 incredible, loving, fulfilling, beautiful years we had.

5 years ago, I felt so lost and defeated. Today, I stand here surrounded by love and warmth; with the two little blessings you sent down to me, who have turned my world upside down in the most beautiful way.

I’ll never stop talking about you, Mom. I’ll never stop reaching for my phone to call you. You’re always on my mind and in my heart. I feel you all around me – always. I’m sorry we’re missing out on all of the things we used to love. I’m sorry you can’t be here to snuggle your sweet Grandbabies. I’m sorry our time was cut so short. I’ll never stop being strong for you; year 5 or year 25.

Here’s to year 5 being the strongest year yet – just for you.

 

 

 

 

 

These days, all I keep hearing is, “Ohh terrible two’s! Good luck with that”, “Yikes, terrible two’s times two”, etc.

And do. not. get. me. wrong – we sure do have some crazy moments where I feel like I’m drowning in toddler land.

But amidst all of the chaos, I am constantly reminding myself that these little people are, well, just simply that – little people. They are itty bitty geniuses trapped in bite-size bodies, unable to accurately communicate what they want [because let’s face it, most of the time they don’t even know what they want]. However, I have learned through Mommy-goggle observation, that 9 out of the 10 tantrums, they’re freaking out for pretty legitimate reasons.

For a quick example; I was in the kitchen the other day, running back and forth from counter to counter trying to get lunch ready for everyone, and one of my little ones kept coming over and tugging on my shorts saying, “Mease, mease” (which is her attempt at “please”, we just don’t have the “pl” yet) and I kept saying, “Just a minute honey”. As I continued to do my thing, she started whining and freaking out a little bit, so I looked down and she had her shoes in her hands – she wanted me to help her put them on. Had I continued to brush her off, the more frustrated she’d [of course] become.

Now, most people would look at the whining and jump to assume it’s a symptom of the “terrible two’s”, instead of looking into the situation and asking themselves, “If I were [insert toddler name], what would I be whining about, what would I be asking for or trying to communicate?”. This has worked so, so well for me.

I kneel down so I’m at their level and try to read their body language and see what they could need in that moment. If it’s something they’re not supposed to have/be doing, I calmly explain why not and hey, sometimes they freak out even harder but honest to goodness – most of the time they are equally as calm with the result because they feel like I’m hearing them and understanding them.

I’ve found that the root of most toddler tantrums is that they feel like they aren’t being heard.

Here’s what – isn’t – effective:

*toddler motions that they want/need something*

Parent: “No. Don’t do/touch that”.

*toddler freaks*

Parent: *ignores*

Also:

*toddler uses words to communicate they want/need something*

Parent: “No”

Toddler: “How come?”

Parent: “Because I said so.”

— Because I said so —

Imagine, as adults, if you asked someone something – whether a friend, boss, whomever, and they just flat out said “No” and gave a simple “Because I said so”, imagine how frustrated you’d feel?

Try being a tiny, vulnerable person who doesn’t understand adult behavior to begin with, and then constantly being told “No” – “Just because”, all the time? It’s one of my biggest fears to be trapped inside a 2 year olds body, I swear.

It makes my heart sad seeing parents respond to child emotion with adult emotion. Children don’t yet understand the magnitude of adult anger, so when an adult gets frantic or shows anger or hostility, the child becomes confused and even more frustrated than they were to begin with.

Imagine being yelled at in a foreign language? That’s what it’s like when you yell at a toddler. They know you’re upset, they get the vibe, but they don’t know why or how to handle it.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I completely stand behind firm parenting and structured discipline, and I do feel it’s imperative for the parent to teach the child the importance of respecting and obeying. However, I feel that it’s just as important – and most beneficial – for the child to feel that they’re equally respected and understood. They deserve to be treated like their feelings and opinions are just as important – even at 2 years old.

So call me crazy, but I just can’t jump on the “terrible two’s” bandwagon. As crazy [and sometimes difficult] as this stage is, it’s the most energetic, adventurous learning experience – for me and my little munchkins. Having a curious, driven child isn’t the worst thing in the world!

Moral: want to understand and connect with your toddler a bit more easily? Take a walk in their shoes – I promise it’ll be worth it!

Another deadly shooting.

Another devastating event, ruining hundreds of lives, that has us up late with our minds racing.

These days, you’re more likely to see something devastating like this on the news rather than anything positive. How sick is that?

How sick is it that we are all TERRIFIED on a daily basis, that tomorrow, it could be us. It could be you or I. At school, in a store, at a concert, walking down a busy street, on a bus – we’re constantly wondering if we’ll be next; what devastating event will happen next.

And this is the kind of world we live in now? This is kind of world I’m supposed to raise my children in? I get crippling anxiety thinking about how if (God forbid) something happens to me, my children are left to grow up and fend for themselves in this type of world.

I’m supposed to be excited for my children’s future; excited to see them excel in school, and watch them grow.

How can I be excited, when I turn on the news to learn that the 18th school shooting (within just two months) took place yesterday? I cannot even begin to fathom the darkness that has plagued the hearts of these parents.

We can read article after article, ask question after question, watch the news updates for hours – but we’re all still left wondering, “Why?”

I am a firm, firm believer that the media plays a massive role in the way society is today.

Social media is wonderful for being able to connect with long lost family and friends in an instant. It’s incredible for creating awareness and utilization for fundraising and relief efforts for various causes. It is extremely useful for obvious reasons, allowing the world to function in beneficial ways we’ve never seen before.

But I also believe that the media has a dark side.

Children as young as 5 years old are able to “express themselves” on social media. Young children are able to “Google” things; words or actions that they will be able to view, but not even remotely understand. They’ll then show their friends at school, subjecting more kids to things they normally wouldn’t learn about until their teen years.

For (a totally random) example, the Netflix series ’13 Reasons Why’ was huge this past year, bringing awareness to suicide prevention and bullying. A young child hears about this movie and does a quick search on the internet, curious about the show. They type ‘suicide’ into Google, and are then immediately subjected to videos and images that their minds will not even be able to process, but it’s deep and terrifying for them.

Should we shelter our children from the “scary” things of the world? Absolutely not.

But unfortunately, not every child has a parent that will be able to properly and supportively guide them and appropriately teach them about things like this. Thus, children are being exposed to things that their minds cannot process, leading to behavioral changes that they aren’t mentally capable of managing.

And this has major lasting negative effects.

Not every child has a parent that will teach their child that the purpose of ’13 Reasons Why’ is to create awareness in effort to prevent suicide – not to glamorize it.

Social media is an incredible tool for raising awareness for positive organizations and acts of kindness. But something else social media is good at raising awareness for, is fear. And this plays as a motive for those who choose to partake in terrorism. They know that their name will be plastered across news stations everywhere, and they’ll become “famous”.

[Personally, I don’t think we should give them the time of day by sharing their picture and story on the news. It’s as if these individuals who perform acts of terror are given a sort of ‘satisfaction‘ when they see fear stricken communities in the media – this is simply my opinion.]

Imagine what kind of a world this would be if the news and media were used solely for positivity? If everyday you read about something heroic or inspiring; something that made your day.

Don’t get me wrong – utilizing media to seek help from the community to find a criminal, end a manhunt, create awareness for safety, etc. is something I stand behind (obviously).

Rather than becoming isolated from society and giving up hope on the good in people, we need to consistently remind ourselves that there ARE good people out there – you’re one of them.

It’s those who still hold the doors for people behind them. Those who lend a hand to the homeless person on the side of the road. Those who volunteer endless hours at charitable events. Those who still stand to give up their seat for the handicapped or elderly.

We must focus on these types of people, and not let the negative social media highlights tarnish our vision of the beautiful country we live in. We’ve become cold toward, and afraid of, our very own neighbors, and it’s wrong.

There’s that constant begging question of, “How could anyone possibly do something like that?” “How are these people so evil? It’s like they have no soul.” “What kind of person could do something like this?” “What is wrong with the world?”.

I find that it is easier to cope and manage emotion when you understand the root of the cause; if you attempt to understand “why”.

It all comes down to the apple and the tree.

All children are born equal. They are born with a clean slate; a canvas of innocence.

They do not know bad from good, mean from nice, respectful from disrespectful. They do not know racism, terrorism. They do not know discrimination.

They do not know, until their parent teaches them these things – or until their parents don’t. Their parents either teach them wrong from right, or they don’t. Children are either raised with love and respect, or they are neglected and forgotten – to grow up without guidance.

There are ZERO excuses for terrorism, or the ugly crimes that are being committed. That goes without saying. However, when someone acts out negatively, it’s important to understand where the hate stems from, to alleviate the pain of the state of confusion and darkness we find ourselves in.

People are so quick to judge and dismiss each other, without attempting to understand or use compassion.

By choosing to understand the root of the cause, DOES NOT dismiss the behavior (my God, that goes without saying – and I hope no one dares to confuse that statement with one that implies that lack of mental health dismisses terrorism).

We need to start realizing that not every person had a perfect childhood. Not every child has a pair of loving parents. Not every person had a solid, quality upbringing like you did. Not everyone shares the same morals or mind set that you have.

Changes. Need. To. Be. Made. This is blatantly obvious.

YES – major changes need to happen in specific areas within this country, within higher power that is out of our immediate control.

But what IS in our control, is how we are raising our children. How we are implementing, “See something, say something“. How we continue to practice AND preach, “Love WINS“.

The sooner we learn to understand the motive behind the behavior, we can start making effective changes – beginning with how we are raising our youth – and chip away at the hard line that divides us; creating a brighter, and I pray to God – a more unified future.