The Stretch Mark Post

"...and HER stomach looks like a road map."

I nodded in a polite way, maybe raised my eyebrows a little, as if to meet his displeasure of what this woman's stomach apparently looked like to him.

It was my husband's boss after all.  The first time I was meeting him, right after I had finished a delicious, expensive dinner on him.

He had just found out I was pregnant with triplets and after the normal oohs and ahhs about how crazy our life was about to become, he was suddenly concerned about how I was going to keep stretch marks at bay.

He mentioned coconut oil and how one of his daughters (I think...I don't remember the relation to the women he brought up, I just remember it made me uncomfortable) had used it during her entire pregnancy and didn't get one stretch mark.  But his daughter-in-law (???) didn't do one thing and HER stomach looks like a road map.

He then told Chris he would pick some up for me at this health food store he frequents and bring it to the office the next day.

First of all, let's just skip the part where he has intimate details on the condition of these women's midriffs.  Really.  Weird.

But can we focus on the fact that a MAN was having this conversation with me?  Remember how men don't get pregnant?  Remember how a man has never experienced labor pains, child birth or the lovely weeks after delivery where every place on your body that is able to leak some kind of fluid does?   Or being so large where you can't get up without rolling from side to side to gain momentum.  Or your extremities going numb.  Like unable to pour a gallon of milk numb.  Or the swelling that causes your face, feet and hands to be unrecognizable.  Or being so chock full of hormones you cry and accuse your clothes hamper of trying to sabotage your life because it is never empty. (There are literally hundreds of pregnant maladies I could list...)

Remember how a man doesn't feel the extreme highs of creating another life followed by the lowest lows of not wanting to leave your house for weeks? Remember how men don't experience that societal pressure of being sexy before, during and after pregnancy?  Tabloid headlines will never have pictures of how great DAD looks only weeks after his wife gives birth.  Remember?

But Sir, let's make this conversation about being pregnant with triplets all about the worry of stretch marks. Please.

Present tense Kara is writing this rant.  Kara of September, 2012.  Kara of September 2009 was a little less brash. 2009 Kara was not bombarded with the craziest comments from friends and strangers about the experience of having triplets.  Before comments of people telling me they would rather die than be pregnant with triplets.  Or have three toddlers.  Or say "oops, I bet that wasn't supposed to happen," when referring to my latest pregnancy.  Or say, "isn't there some kind of rule that you are supposed to stop having kids after triplets?" (The guy cracked himself up at that one.  Hilarious, tactful stranger. So funny.)

2009 Kara was before I found my voice of bravery for the sake of my children.  They will after all, hear and read these stories and no doubt have things said to their face when people find out their unique birthday situation.  They must always know how grateful I am for every single day I have with them.

So if Kara 2012 was sitting at dinner in 2009, I would've said, "Yea, everyone is concerned about different things, but I'm just hoping that all my babies are healthy and I can carry them as long as I can."

Or maybe, "Every stretch mark that every woman has or will have is a Purple Heart in the complex world of being a woman.  We are bombarded at every angle about our body image and what we think we should look like, what the world thinks we should look like and what we think the world thinks we should look like.  We are told we don't have enough kids.  We are told we have too many.  We are told we are too fat, too thin, too ugly, too pretty and usually by people who don't know or care about us.  But some broken switch in us takes in every criticism and compliment with a giant magnifying glass.  We are never enough.  So for you to turn this conversation about me housing three miracles of God's creation into how my stomach is going to look after, is borderline blasphemous and undoubtedly insulting. (dramatic pause) Thanks for dinner by the way."

But Kara three years ago, nodded and smiled and thanked him for his concern.  (Gag.)

Full disclosure: (because you always deserve it) I did accept his coconut oil gift and used it.  And I actually never did get stretch marks with the kidlets, although I thought I did.  But really, I'm not convinced it was the coconut oil, nor do I want this post to be about stretch mark prevention.

Because I have stretch marks now.  I carried this new baby of mine to 39 healthy, sometimes miserable, always exhausting weeks.  He was 2 pounds heavier than the triplets combined weight at birth. And although I winced a little when I realized these purple lines were here to stay, (those societal ideals are tough to shake)  I thought of that conversation at dinner years ago.  It made me refocus where my priorities really are and, in a way that only a healthy, big baby, born to a once quivering mother of three pre-mature infants can do--I was grateful for those permanent scars.

I don't see a road map.  I see life and hope.  I see an able vessel where four separate and beautiful miracles have occurred.  I don't have a road map.  I have a reminder that I'm one of the lucky ones.

Did she really just this picture?  Believe it.  Just doing my part to free women everywhere of the irrelevant concerns we should have during pregnancy and focus on what really matters.  After all, I know plenty of women warriors who would move heaven and earth, go to hell and back and be covered in stretch marks if it meant the end result was cuddling a little one of their own.

Believe it.

Motherhood

I wrote this essay around Mother's Day.  Thought I would post it before this baby gets here.  Also, the broken sentences I write about are more complete.  This growing up thing is so bittersweet.  

"Are they ALL yours?"

"Triplets!  Better you than me!"

"You have TRIPLETS!  Oh, I would kill myself."

I've heard all these.  There is something about seeing my family of toddlers in a grocery store that has strangers stating odd and borderline insulting comments my way.  I'm sure this isn't their intention. Casually passing someone in the mustard aisle,  you don't have much to go on.  How can they know about the prayers, the pleading, the hope that there would actually be little ones in my cart someday? 

I'm sure they imagine a scenario where I am in my garage, bawling, trying to dial my husband through stinging tears of fatigue while a two-year old tantrum times three is happening in the upstairs play room.  Maybe they think about six curious hands getting into their own messy diapers and finger painting foul-smelling works of art on crib rails.  Or dinner time, where rice and vegetables are thrown on the floor with disgust and disdain by all three food critics.  

Because in truth, all these things have happened.  

But what I wish they would imagine is the joy.  The laughs.  The chubby hands and quick feet running armloads of last night's pajamas to the hamper with delight.  The broken sentences as they try to put their world together.  "Hold you mommy?"  Yes, I can hold you darling.  "Hand. Oww.  Kiss it."   A mother's kiss on a wounded pinky is like elixir for both souls. 

They should imagine an oversized chair, perfect for a mom with not enough lap space to go around.  Three little heads and bodies cuddled up to read their favorite book.  Again.  They should imagine the four of us playing a favorite game, Run.  The rules are simple, run around in a circle and laugh. When you're tired, stop and have a break of milk and orange crackers shaped like fish.  

Because these things happen too.  These are the moments that make the tantrums hazy and distant.  These are the moments that shine brighter than meltdowns, and weariness.  These are the moments that fill my battered void with a light and wholeness I've never known.  As their mom, I feel the weight and pressure of teaching these three little souls how to be good people.  Yet these little ones, not even able to talk in full sentences yet, teach me lessons of strength, courage, patience (oh the patience!) and love with a clarity and conviction I can only pray for.    

Motherhood is not easy.  There are times when I am brought to my knees, pressed down with feelings of inadequacy and doubt.  But there are times of sacred harmony, when I know, with the core of my being, that I was meant to nurture.  Meant to love.  Meant to be a mother.

The other day, a stranger stopped me, noticed my triplet toddlers, noticed my pregnant bump and said with a sincere smile,  "Oh, God bless you!"  

Yes. Yes he has.        

Baby Makes Six

The windows are down on a warm summer day and we are cruising to some little lunch spot we've been wanting to try.  Just the two of us.  A comfortable silence settles when a favorite song comes on the radio.  He looks over at me and smiles during the chorus.  The words remind him of us.  I smile back.  We are happy.  And so in love.


This little vignette with my husband of six years popped into my head last night as I was getting dressed and kind of in shock at how big my belly has grown.  I'm 3 months pregnant.  (Go ahead and read that last sentence again.  It's not a typo.)  I'm not sure why that particular memory came flooding to my tired mind with such clarity.  


It's probably because I really loved those days of just the two of us.  But I also really couldn't wait for them to be over.  I feel lucky to have been so aware of how wonderful it was to go out to dinner on a Tuesday just because.  Or take a 2 hour nap together on Sunday.  Or sleep in until 10 on the weekends.  But those days are over.  For now.  Maybe my subconscious has been looking forward to when they will start up again.  Or maybe just reminding me that what we have together, both then and now is really, really great.  


Because we just extended our delay of sleeping in and Tuesday nights out a little longer.  The little bean that is cooking inside me right now was a serendipitous, spontaneous surprise.  Really a miracle, given our history.  


So I won't waste one minute (I already had my moments of panic and fretting two months ago - I'm done) complaining about having a baby in the middle of two-year old triplets.  Or waste one second wondering where I'm going to have the gumption, where-with-all or energy to do this.  Because I've already shed too many tears in the past over other women's comments of this very nature.  When it was just the two of us.  I hated to see even a hint of disappointment when a pregnancy announcement was made, whatever their reason.  It turned my heart to cement.  It was too much to ask to be forgiving of their fertile womb.  (I've since mended ways of this kind of thinking.  Before the kids got here, thank goodness!) 


I asked for this.  Not this EXACT situation, granted.  But I pleaded, none the less, for a little family to love and cherish.  I put my heart and soul on the alter and said to take it all.  I didn't want to be in charge anymore.  I was willing to go and do what was asked of me.  God heard me.  So how I can be anything less than grateful? 

We're having a summer baby!  

(and just the one.  singular.  confirmed by ultra-sound in case you were wondering.) 

Also, this scripture has been running around in my mind for the last 11 weeks or so.  


  
  

Find Out Anniversary

(Umm, this post is quite long. But there are pictures! And a cookie waiting for you at the end.)

One can't help but chalk up dates, milestones, anniversaries in the process of conceiving, bearing, praying over and loving triplets.

We have their birthday (of course), the day the ventilator was no more, the first day of milk fed nutrition, homecoming day, tell our friends and family day, share it on my blog day, and the day, THE DAY, when we found out our lives we're about to be changed in triplicate.

The day we found out there were three tiny sacks housing three tiny heartbeats inside me was quite significant. I can't say I was jaw dropping shocked. It sounds strange, but in some way I was kind of prepared for what the sonographer found. It's really not something I was expecting. Of course I was surprised! But there were a lot of little things that happened the past four years that kind of prepped me for this potentially heart stopping news.

I know it would be classic and sentimental to remember my exact emotions and how I felt and how I looked at Chris, but I was just, well, thankful.

I was thankful that four weeks after we first found out the IUI worked, there was still a life inside me. Then to find out there were three - gratitude beyond measure. Of course I was worried and anxious and wondered how we were going to manage. But at that moment, when we knew, my heart just felt joy.

The two doctors that helped us conceive were really quite wonderful. We felt they were thorough and competent, had been helping families realize their dreams for twenty years and even sometimes had a sense of humor. However, when one of them called to go over the details of what it meant to be having triplets, he was quite humorless and I dare say a little joyless.

The day he called, my husband and I had talked about everything you can imagine two people in love who just found out they were having three babies at once were can talk about. The nagging anxiety was there (still is, I've learned to live with it) but our conversations and day had been filled with light hearted musings and plans and aspirations of coaching a four year old soccer team. Then the doctor called.

It was a year ago, so I don't recall our conversation word for word. So I'll sum it up in bullets.

• You could lose one or all of your embryos. (We had been calling them babies.)
• One or all could be severely handicapped or have a birth defect.
• One could be in danger because of competition for nutrients.
• One or all could die in childbirth.
• The cost of three babies is alarmingly high.
• One or all could be in the NICU for a while.
• This pregnancy will be extremely hard on your body.
• You could be on bed rest the entire time.
• Raising kids until age 2 is extremely taxing, you will have three of them.
• I don't consider this a successful pregnancy. (That one hurt.)
• You are at a higher risk for developing preeclampsia and other potentially life threatening conditions related to this pregnancy.
• You are a higher risk for premature births.
• Have you ever heard of selective reduction?

Let me first say that I knew he was doing his job. Doctors are supposed to be upfront and honest and realistic. I know he wasn't calling to dish on the latest organic baby clothes, hottest new stroller or suggest baby names like Aden, Braden and Caden. So in that respect, I knew where he was coming from.

However! And I mean HOWEVER!

He didn't know.

He didn't know we had been praying almost everyday for 4 years for a family. And when that prayer was hard to utter again, we prayed for understanding. When we couldn't understand, we prayed for patience. (Warning, be extremely careful when praying for patience.) When we grew inpatient of praying for patience (yes, I know) we prayed that we would enjoy our time together without thinking about what we don't have. I think our hearts were a little prepped. But he didn't know that.

Exactly 33 minutes before everyone was born. This was about hour twenty-one of labor.

This picture was Chris' idea. He loved seeing three bands on each of us. I had not seen the kids yet at this point. He had seen them briefly in the operating room before they were whisked through the NICU window.

He didn't know we had a small army that we called our family that were going to support us. The word 'support' is weak sauce compared to what we have. If support were a landscape, we have the ocean, the Sahara, the Andes Mountains and the Grand Canyon. Every ocean and sea. Even the ones that are dead.

He didn't know that we put the Lord in charge of our lives a long time ago and whatever happened to our family was because He is our master architect. Maybe I would lose one or all. Maybe I would be on bed rest the whole time. Maybe birthing three babies wouldn't go well. But it was okay. It wasn't ours to plan.

He didn't know the millions of prayers that were sent to heaven in our behalf. He didn't know people who had never met me or my husband would pray for us and send good thoughts our way.

He didn't know I had people in my life that would sacrifice time away from their own families and lives to help keep mine together when things were unbearable. He didn't know that I would still find it hard and emotional to put into words what others did for me when things were at their worst.

He didn't know I would end up with the most amazing and caring doctor in the state of Utah who specializes in multiples. That he made sure he was there to deliver our three little miracles and made sure I was okay weeks and weeks after they were born. Who called me at his son's wrestling match because he thought he recognized my own wrestler brother from our conversations. Doctors like Dr. Draper are one of a kind. I'll always be grateful for his kind ways and happy heart.

He didn't know that we would end up in one of the most compassionate and caring NICU units in the world! He didn't know about the nurses who loved my children and did things for them I couldn't. Even some nurses that for some reason or another could not have their own babies. But they loved my three without guile or jealousy. He didn't know about the staff of occupational therapists who despite having many, many babies to help, made me feel like mine were the only ones on their schedule. He didn't know the friendships and bonds I would form with other mothers who had babies tinier and sicker than mine. Friendships formed in the midst of shared chaos and heartbreak are special. He didn't know that would happen.

Christian on day two of life. He still love to sprawl and lounge. I think he is the one who led the charge out of the cramped living quarters inside my body.

Our little Gabe 12 hours after he was born. He was on the vent in this picture. He would go back and forth between the vent and CPAP until he was about 31 1/2 weeks gestation.

Seeing my daughter Sunny for the first time. It would be close to a month before I would be able to hold her. She is on CPAP in this picture but would be on the ventilator shortly after this for a while.

He didn't know that when my heart was heavy and I couldn't find the strength or words to pray that my 2 pound babies would make it through pneumonia and a chest tube and machines to help them breath and stay alive that I would feel the prayers of those that could find the words. That my strength would come from their kind thoughts, words of hope, visits, homemade baby blankets, a clean house, shared tears, meals, little texts, a quiet vigil over my wordless fear, and love. He didn't know the power of all that love.

Getting stronger! I never knew I would love the term "room air" so much.

We both loved our cuddle time together. Even if I was in a hospital gown and she was attached to monitors.

He also didn't know that my hope was greater than my doubt. Because I learned that when you doubt, there is no room for hope. Hope was a lesson that I learned along the way of not knowing why a baby could not survive in my womb for longer than 6 weeks.

But they did survive. Chest tubes and monitors, blood transfusions a giant belly, swollen ankles, sighs accompanied with bad news from NNPs are all in the distant past.

On our one year anniversary of 'finding out' three are on the way, we are still full of joy. We have chubby babies. (Okay, chubby baby. The other two in my opinion are still on the thin side.) We have babies that laugh and cry. We have babies that roll over and grab toys. We have a happy family.

What? I needed a machine to help me breath? Really?

I had an IV in my head? No way!

I weighed how much when I was born? I don't believe it! Have you seen my cheeks?

Yes, raising three children the same age is hard. I am tired a lot. But I asked for this! (Well, I didn't order three, let's be clear. You can't do that, despite what you might hear.) I asked for a family. However that family was going to come to us, it didn't matter. So the permanent wet spot on my shoulder from drool or spit up or snot makes me smile. The constant cacophony of cries at the end of the day is like a symphony. Changing nine stinky diapers in one day is cake. (I bet there are some moms who do that anyway! Without multiples.)

So I forgave him of our conversation before it was even over! Because he didn't know. He just didn't know.

Okay, three little cookies. Thanks for caring about our family.

Our Triplet Journey; Part...Beginning?

I'm going to try to make more of an effort of posting this triplet journey. Even though time seems to be slowly passing and I feel like a beached whale or Jaba the Hut sans metal bikini princess, this whole experience really is going by quickly and before I know it, all three little pink and blue bundles will be here and no sleep will start. Which I am convinced will erase all past brain cells and memory, so I need to back up a little and tell our story.

It will probably be disjointed and possibly out of order, but if I knew someone that was having triplets, I would want to know HOW? WHO? WHEN? WHAT? WHY? HOW? HOW? So here is part of our story with a little commentary and possible soap boxishness thrown in now and then. But I always want to be honest with this process and make sure our little bean sprouts know everything and aren't ashamed of how they joined our family. But instead know they were always meant to be with us!

But first, first. I can't say out loud or in print enough how grateful I am that so many people are praying for and thinking about our babies. I tell them all the time how many people want them to get here successfully and without incident. They think that's pretty cool. Their parents do too.

So our real baby journey starts about 4 1/2 years ago as new husband and wife. Newly married, sharing our dreams and hopes and aspirations for the future, one thing we both agreed on were kids. Right away! Let's not wait! But you don't always get what you wish for. I won't dwell too much on that right now. I know some couples have waited and are still waiting longer than us. But when you are ready, one month of your cycle being closely monitored and checked for four years is an eternity.

Fast forward to a series of events that started last fall that led to a company change and serendipitous change of job location for Chris. There was a little drama involved. (Too much if you ask me - I've never been a big fan of the "d" word.) But despite that, we were headed to Connecticut for the summer where Chris would sell home security systems for 4 months.

Prior to arriving in CT, we both had an experience that we knew, we just knew that there was a doctor for us in Connecticut that would be able to help us. This is probably the most private, most sacred part of our journey. But just believe me when I say that I know I have a loving Heavenly Father that is aware of our family and knows better than me what is best for us.

Enter Dr. Doyle and Dr. Williams of Connecticut Fertility Associates! I was worried how it was going to work with Chris working all the time. But we went early for appointments and I drove myself to a few while Chris worked hard. They ran a series of tests to see if any anatomical problems were obvious that was preventing us from getting pregnant on our own. There were about 5 tests for me, 1 for Chris. (So easy to be the guy in this whole process! Seriously.) A few of the tests were incredibly painful and uncomfortable, but luckily all of them came back with no conclusive results. Meaning, they couldn't see any reason why I wasn't getting and staying pregnant. I guess it was a good and bad thing. Bad because if they found nothing, it could be an 'unexplained' case and we could go in cycles and circles with nothing working and not knowing why.

We decided on the round of treatment that we were comfortable with. We weren't ready for in-vitro. I was just getting comfortable with the idea of western medicine again after a stint of alternative therapies. There were other options before going straight to that. We had already done Clomid (a drug that assists in ovulation) several times without success and wanted to up the ante.

We chose to do IUI (sex-ed terms coming up...just warning you). Which means artificial intrauterine insemination. So, all of the necessary ingredients that are required for making a baby belonged to both of us. Except it was a doctor that put things in place instead of the two of us. Capiche? I should teach this stuff, I'm so clear in my explanations. I'm not going to lie, it's a little awkward being artificially impregnated in a doctor's office. No candles or romance. You know, making a baby is supposed to be a magical, special moment right? This just isn't possible in a clinic. Just you, your husband and a doctor. Yikes. Luckily, Dr. Doyle had a sense of humor. The actual procedure does not take long. In fact, I even said, "Is that it?" when it looked like he was cleaning up his tray. He responded, "Well, most guys don't like to hear that, but yes, that's it!" Funny guy. It helped a little with the awkwardness of it all.

One thing that would go along with this procedure was medication. I had to swallow my whole foods, granola girl attitude of herbs and natural remedy kick I was on and realize that this was a good path for us. We had been brought to this point. I couldn't not try. The drug was called Follistim and it was to be injected every day for 10-14 days during the right time of my cycle. Of course I had to do these injections myself which I was not a fan of. Seriously. It took me 20 minutes to work up the courage to do the first one. I just sat there with the needle an inch away from my skin counting to three. I think I counted to three about a hundred times. I finally worked up the courage and stuck myself. It got a little easier each time, but it was not my favorite thing.

I think it's important to note that the dose the doctor put us on was the bottom dose. He started us at the lowest dose he ever starts anyone. He felt that my tests looked good enough and I was young enough (29) to start where he did. I would also like to confess that I even forgot to do it one night thanks to an impromptu one night stay in NYC. I forgot to pack it. Oops. I had to go in every three days to test my blood levels to see how I was reacting to the medicine. Toward the end, he even cut in half my 'lowest dose'. So you can imagine EVERYONE'S shock, including the staff, that 6 weeks later, 3 little heart beats were beating inside of me.

Geez louise that seems so long ago. I was sick, sick, sick from the beginning. The night we did the procedure, still two weeks from having a positive test, I woke up with such intense nausea, I thought the doctor messed something up. That was fun. (Read sarcasm there.) Then there was the time I almost passed out in my yoga class at the Y. I didn't even get that far into the class. I just started my deep breathing, and I almost blacked out. This was during the two weeks before the positive test as well! Now, today at 26 weeks, I can feel them kick and move around and I have a devil of a time trying to roll out of bed. It's so great. (Sincere. Read no sarcasm with that last statement.)


More later? What more is there? I guess I could tell you about my lemons and necessary 2am snacks. Later...

Genesis 30:22

My heart is imperfect.

It also has the memory of an elephant. Sometimes it's a curse because I can remember every single heartache I've ever had about NOT being round and great with child. But most times, it resonates the healing that has happened. Somewhere along this journey, while still carrying around an empty womb, my heart was healed. All the cracks and fissures that happened because babies were being born all around me and none were mine - were sealed up.

I'm thankful for the memory of my tiny, hurt heart because it makes my new and improved heart that much better. It's stronger, larger and more capable of loving. It became calm and patient. My desperate pleas turned into quiet hopes. The babies being born all around me were wonderful and beautiful and I could hold them and smell them and be thankful that they joined us in this crazy life. It was okay that they weren't my babies. My once smaller, whole heart is now fuller with bulging stitches and cracks filled in with sacrificial cement from a loving Savior.

I'm so grateful for my new, stitched up heart fresh with scars and memory. Because I have a storm coming my way. A blessed, welcome storm. The way I see it, I will need three times the love. Three times the patience. Three times the gratitude. Three times the diapers! Our famine is over. Please pray for our little family. Pray that this new feast of blessings will continue to grow and thrive. We still have a long way to go until there will be sighs of real relief. But for now, I am calm. I am happy. I am blessed beyond what I deserve.

Isn't Chris going to be the best daddy?

December 2006

.............................................................

Day one - joy! We finally did it! Positive! Two lines! Joy! Joy! Joy!

Day two - lots of library books checked out. And still joy.

Day three - spotting. Books say this could be normal.

Day four - still spotting. Phone call to the doctor. Blood test that day.

Day five - just worry.

Day six - another blood test.

Day seven - a lot of blood. Bleeding, bathtub, sadness. It's over. I know it is before the doctor calls to tell me what the blood tests mean. It's over. Within a week.

Sadness, despair, pain. Searching, praying, pleading. Love, support, prayers.

Hope. Faith. Understanding will come eventually. Peace also follows months - well, years later. Because it happens again. Then again.

Quiet peace and budding hope come eventually. Not in the week whirlwind that caused my need to pray for peace and hope, but it does come.

My hope is rooted in the Savior. He heals my hurt. My faith is rooted in my Heavenly Father's plan for me. He hears my prayers.

2 Nephi 2:15
And to bring about his eternal purposes in the end of man...it must needs be that there was an opposition...the one being sweet and the other bitter.