I’m a couple of years into my journey with four kids. Four boys to be exact. Most people instantly want to “bless my heart” when they realize my husband and I are raising an above average number of kids. Some days are really tough, and I collapse into bed wondering how I managed to keep them all fed and safe. But I’ve also learned there are some pretty great things about having four kids too.
The kids always have three other people to play with. My kids range from 13 years-old to two years-old, and I love watching how they spend time with each of their siblings doing different activities. There is no need to stress about scheduling play dates either. They are getting all the social skills practice they need right at home.
The buddy system. Having an even number of children means that everyone has a partner to hold hands with as we cross the parking lot. As they get older, everyone has a built in roller-coaster riding partner, or someone to play catch with.
They are learning independence more quickly. Let’s face it, I just can’t do as much for my kids now that I have four. I remember waiting on my oldest hand and foot. I wanted everything to be perfect for him. I still want everything to be great for them, but they know how to help themselves. Dressing themselves, packing their things, and being responsible for checking their backpacks for homework is helping them to be more responsible. A lesson that will serve them well as they grow up.
I actually spend less time preparing things. When I had one or two kids I had way more time to stress about the details. I packed and re-packed the diaper bag before we left. Now I know that taking the basics is good enough. Being flexible is key. I know that things might not go according to plan, and that’s okay.
They have a built in lifetime support system. Who doesn’t want three super-fans cheering you on as you step up to bat at your baseball game? When the baby reaches a new milestone, one of the big kids makes an awesome shot at the basketball goal in the driveway, or someone rides their bike for the first time without training wheels, the volume of the cheers and excitement that erupts is pretty much priceless. Long after my husband and I are gone, our children will have a team of people surrounding them who have experienced alongside and supported them through all of life’s challenges and victories.
The list of awesome things about having four kids could go on and on. It’s a crazy life filled with trimming 40 fingernails at a time, washing a minimum of 28 outfits a week, and making sure four sets of teeth are brushed 120 times a month…but it’s a life we wouldn’t trade for anything.
Parents of four kids…what do you love about having four?
It wasn’t always like this. There was a time when four little boys didn’t fill our house with noise and laughter. There was a time when the silence was deafening, a time when the worry of never having children sat like a dark cloud overhead. There was a time when we had finally given life to a child, but couldn’t give him a sibling. Then came a time when three little miracles grew inside my womb together, but came far too soon and slipped away. There was a time when one was going to have to be ‘good enough’ because trying for more might not be safe. There was a time before two little brothers came along after years of seeing only one pink line on the stick while trying for each of them. A time before another woman gave birth to our last baby. Those times were grueling. They were filled with defeat, dread, and the kind of heartache that changes you. I turn away from the hurt and sadness we once knew, but it will always be a part of us.
In April of 2008 I looked into his eyes and I knew I had been right all along. I was put on this Earth to be a mommy. Our son, Josey, was a beautiful, healthy baby that had been carefully placed into our lives. My husband, Mike, and I married at 18 years old and although I had my ‘I need a baby’ moments, we waited to begin trying until almost 4 years later, after I graduated college and landed my first teaching job. Struggling for years to get pregnant caught us by surprise. By the grace of God and a little medical intervention, we welcomed our first son into our family.
Around the time of Josey’s first birthday, we decided we wanted to try for another baby. Our plan was always to have more than one child. Once again, my body just couldn’t do what I wanted most. The process was even more difficult and heartbreaking this time, but we finally found ourselves expecting once again.
In June of 2010, at eleven weeks pregnant, we had an appointment to have our first ultrasound to make sure the pregnancy was going well. When the doctor started the ultrasound, I instantly knew I saw more than one baby on the giant flat-screen. As I tried to speak, nothing came out. Finally, I said, “Is there more than one?” The doctor looked up and said, “Yes, It’s TRIPLETS.” I cannot describe the thoughts and feelings I was flooded with at that moment. My mind was racing. I reached for my husband’s hand and he just held on as we waited to see if we had three viable babies. We returned for another ultrasound a few weeks later. We saw three healthy and active babies safe inside. To say we were relieved was an understatement.
The very next day at 8:39 a.m., our second-born son, Johnny, was born at home. As I write this a decade later, it still doesn’t seem real. I woke up with some discomfort at 15 weeks along with our precious triplets. I called the doctor’s office and waited for a callback. I delivered Johnny at home about 30 minutes later. We were transported by ambulance to the hospital. I cannot describe the fear I felt as I rode in the ambulance, thinking I was losing all of my babies. In the ER, the doctor did an ultrasound and found two heartbeats safe inside. My cervix had suddenly dilated, causing me to lose Johnny. To this day, I do not know why that happened. Mike and I chose to hold our sweet little boy and I spent about 30 minutes with him in my arms. We are both so glad we chose to do that. He was tiny but beautifully made. Letting go of Johnny was the hardest thing I had ever had to do. Each day that followed was spent waiting for an ultrasound to see if the other two babies were still okay. I had to have a cerclage to ensure my cervix would not spontaneously open again. Unfortunately, the placenta never delivered with the baby. I was pumped full of antibiotics to prevent infection and placed on bed rest indefinitely. My grief was overwhelming, but I tried with all my heart to be strong for my two unborn babies.
16 days after delivering Johnny, I woke up cramping. I told myself all day the worst was not happening. At 1:30 the next morning, I accepted that it was. Mike drove me to the hospital, both of us begging God for it to be something else. My contractions were less than a minute apart for over two hours. It was the worst pain I have ever experienced in my life. My cervix had been sewn shut and was trying to open to let the babies come out. We were told the stitches had to be removed, but that doing so would most certainly cause us to lose both babies. About that time, Jaxsen decided he couldn’t wait, and he was born. Nothing could stop him, not even ‘unbreakable’ stitches. I was in and out of awareness for a while but still in extreme pain. I was moved to the operating room and our doctor came in to deliver the third baby and get my bleeding under control. The last thing I heard was, because the cervix ripped and they did not know the extent of the damage, I might have to have a complete hysterectomy. It was terrifying. Thankfully they were able to deliver our fourth-born son, Asher, and save my fertility. We were able to spend about an hour holding the babies after I recovered. They were perfect, sleeping angels.
Our biggest fear had become reality. I had developed a uterine infection that made it impossible for the babies to stay inside any longer. The infection moved into my blood system and caused me to become quite sick. We left the hospital 5 days later with nothing more than three little memory boxes. I did not know how I would continue to breathe except for the fact there was a little boy at home waiting for his mommy to return.
The emptiness that surrounded us after our loss was almost unbearable. I can’t put into words what it was like to picture and plan for a house full of children only to have that dream vanish entirely. Our house was supposed to be noisy, busy, and full of children’s laughter. Instead, we clung desperately to our then two-year-old and mourned the loss of a life we might never have.
Two years later, after medical treatments, surgical procedures, and more prayers than I thought possible, we welcomed our rainbow baby. When Gavin let out a big cry and was placed in my arms in 2012, I exhaled for what felt like the first time in nine months. My body hadn’t failed me that time, and we left the hospital with a healthy baby boy. Three years and four days later, we welcomed our second rainbow baby after enduring the same process once more. Parker Jack came into our lives and made us the proud parents of three boys in our arms and three in Heaven.
Flash forward to the spring of 2018. I turned 35 in March… an age I set for us to be done having children. Our oldest child turned 10 and it seemed like the baby stage of our life was naturally ending. I would be lying if I said I didn’t wonder if we were really done. I started imagining getting pregnant again. “Should we try just one more time? Is it too dangerous?” My medical condition makes each additional pregnancy a little riskier, and we have no way of knowing if I would be able to carry another baby successfully. I started praying for a sign. A clear answer. And boy did I get one.
In mid-April, the night before our oldest turned 10, I was informed of a birth-mother who was set on adoption and wanted her baby to go to a family with children. She was looking for an experienced couple who could give her child a life she never had. Someone who knew our hearts for adoption suggested we meet her. I thought of how, in the early days after our loss, we began talking about adoption. It was placed on both of our hearts and really never left our thoughts. Over the years, we had both mentioned it at times. We never had the chance to give our triplets the beautiful life they deserved. The thought of being able to do just that for a child in need of a forever family kept our hearts open to the idea.
Adoption doesn’t just happen though. People wait years and spend tens of thousands of dollars on agency adoptions to connect with a birth-mother. I just couldn’t imagine this would happen for us. We had not been planning or saving for adoption at all. Was it even possible to adopt with the impending due date only 12 weeks away? I had no idea where to begin, but somewhere deep down inside, I just couldn’t shake the idea. We talked through the financial side, the impact this would have on our boys, and all the details we could think of. We ultimately decided to take a huge leap of faith and see where the journey took us. Soon after that, we found out the baby’s due date was July 20th, the day we lost the first of our babies. I remember laughing as I thought, ‘Okay, God, I hear you loud and clear.’ This was the journey our family was meant to be on. If there is one thing that is for certain, it is our life together has never played out the way we have expected. We’ve been thrown so many curve balls while building our family, we know better than to assume we know what is around the corner. So we took a shaky step toward pursuing adoption. Then we took another. And another.
I always say our love for our children is so big because it has to reach all the way to Heaven. We knew we could give this child a life full of snuggles, kisses, silly jokes, big brothers with hearts the size of Texas, and a Mommy and Daddy who love with a fierceness not easily put into words. We could give this child the life his biological mom dreamed of for her baby.
Doors continued to open and in three weeks, we were sitting in front of an amazing young girl, who after an hour of talking with her, chose us to parent her child. The paperwork, doctor’s visits, home study preparations, home study visits, and planning kept us moving at a whirlwind pace. We found out the baby was a boy a few weeks before he arrived. We were so happy… and not surprised at all. Parenting boys is kind of our thing.
On July 25th, what we now lovingly refer to as our Double Rainbow Day, our seventh son was born on his big brother’s birthday. Six years to the day after welcoming our first rainbow baby, our family welcomed another reminder of the beauty that can come after a storm. When Mike and I met him, he was snuggled tightly in his birth mother’s arms. With a smile on her face, this sweet, young girl placed her baby in my trembling arms. I don’t know if words could ever do justice to that moment. My heart shattered and rejoiced at the same time. I wanted this baby so much. Mike and I had planned and prayed and loved this boy for only a few weeks, but he was ours in every sense of the word.
Eight days after his birth, we sat before a judge and vowed to love and care for Jensen always. A chapter in our family’s story that started a mere 12 weeks earlier drew to a close as we walked out of the judge’s chambers as the proud parents of seven boys. Three of our boys have brought love and joy to our lives over the last twelve years. Three of them changed the entire course of our lives when they went to Heaven. They constantly push us to be the best parents we can be. And one tiny little baby came into our lives when we least expected it and showed us the true meaning of sacrifice, hope, and family. We finally have the crazy, chaotic, beautiful, full life we have dreamed of for so long.
Lazer Lee Photography
When you see our family now, I hope you see the joy and beauty that came out of our battle. I hope you see how we made peace with the cards we were dealt, and how we made our own path. Most importantly I hope you see hope. After all, it’s the thing that got us to this place.
We went to the park. It’s cold and drizzly and I’m exhausted, but we went anyway. Today didn’t start out very great. The perfect balance and preparedness it takes to get us to work and four kids to school with everything they need proved to be unattainable today. The wheels fell off the whole operation before 7:30 am.
I got to work frustrated and feeling a little defeated. Then this afternoon I met an older Mom in the Aldi parking lot, who after apologizing to me for parking too close as I tried to squish myself into my car, shared that she was distracted because she was having a tough day in motherhood herself. Her daughters are in college and she was dealing with stress, disappointment, and worry about something that happened with them.
I have no idea why she sat there talking to a total stranger except that I offered a smile and a “no problem” when she apologized. I’m so glad she did though. She helped me remember that this crazy stage ranging from daycare to junior high that we’re living in won’t last forever. Soon enough my four will be grown and I’ll be dealing with a whole different set of motherhood challenges. So we went to the park and I watched them laugh and play, and none of the hard parts of today mattered anymore.
I’ve been so consumed with the stress of being stuck in the house with four bored kids for a week straight, the worry of possible frozen pipes and power outages, and trying to keep the kids learning and myself working that I almost missed something so important.
Friends, we have been given direct instructions from the powers that be to NOT do any laundry. Not only should we not do it, but it’s the best way we can help ensure that our communities do not lose power from an overloaded system in this crazy winter storm. So today there will be no shame when you walk by the baskets spilling laundry onto the floor, no fussing at your teenagers to wash their smelly clothes, and no feeling like you should be getting caught up on laundry instead of relaxing on the couch.
In this not-so-much-better-than-2020 year we’re living in where we’ve been introduced to another thing to hate with “forced rolling blackouts” we are going to embrace this freeing gift we have received and let that laundry sit as we proudly celebrate the way we are doing our part for one another.
Disclaimer: if you live somewhere that hasn’t been affected by this snowpocalypse I’m pretty sure you are still entitled to this laundry-free time because surely your support of our cause is essential.
He was perfect. Yes, at fourteen and a half weeks, perfect. He had his Pawpaw’s feet and already looked so much like his big brother. At first, it was confusing. He didn’t look sick, he was beautifully formed. I kept thinking, “just put him back. He will be fine.” My mind just couldn’t wrap itself around the fact that one minute I was happily pregnant with triplets and the next minute I was holding a tiny, lifeless baby in my arms.
A few weeks later, I found myself living the nightmare once again. In the early hours of the morning, I once again held a tiny baby who no longer drew breath. This time there were two. Two more beautiful little boys who never got to run, play, or grow old. Just like that my womb was empty and my heart was shattered.
What I didn’t know then was that one in four women will experience the loss of their baby. While each story is unique, there is one thing we share. Those of us parenting after loss will so often be taken back to the day our baby died. A moment of joy or grief will sweep in and transport us back to that moment we lost everything.
I’ve come to realize that as hard as I try, I can’t go back to the day before my baby died. I search my memories for that naive happiness I once felt, but it is no where to be found. When your baby dies you experience things that will forever change you.
On the day my babies died…
Our son’s little brothers died. All of the snuggles, disagreements, wrestling matches, and hugs they would share disappeared.
I felt my babies kick inside my womb even though they had been gone for hours.
Milk leaked down the front of my hospital gown while I sobbed and begged for someone to make it stop.
I begged God to take my life instead.
My husband put aside his pain to comfort me. On the outside he was calm and steady, but on the inside he was flooded with rage and heartache.
I sang ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’ to each baby as I held them tight and committed every detail of their tiny faces to my memory.
A woman I’d never met covered my babies with a blanket and rolled them away for the last time as I stared in disbelief.
A thousand other memories from that day will stay with me for all my days.
You see, my babies weren’t all that died that summer. The “me” I was before died too. I’m not the mom, wife, or person I was before their lives were cut short. Ten years later I’m still not sure if I’d say something broke inside me or if the grief simply unleashed something that was there all along. The death of my babies forever changed me.
In a way, I am stronger. When facing challenges, big and small, I often channel the strength I used to pull myself out of that dark, lonely time. I remind myself that whatever I’m facing could never be as bad as losing my children. I literally survived the worst, so daily battles don’t discourage me.
I’m also grateful for every moment I have with my children. I don’t mean to imply that people who haven’t experienced loss aren’t, but I look at my four boys every day and know without a doubt that I am blessed beyond measure. On the days that being a mom seems to be just too much, I remind myself that it is a privilege to parent these sweet little people.
I share this now because it matters. It matters to the woman, who as I type, is sitting in a hospital bed as her baby draws his last breath. It matters to the woman who can’t get out of bed because the pain is too much. It matters to the man who is fighting for his marriage because he and his wife don’t know how to communicate with each other with the grief that is so raw and new. It matters to the older couple who wonder what their daughter might have been doing if she would have had the chance to grow into an adult.
As I held my boys those warm, summer mornings, I promised each of them I would share them with the world. Their impact in this life is different than I had hoped, but so very important. If sharing my story provides comfort to even one person experiencing pregnancy or infant loss, then it is a story that deserves to be told.
I want survivors of pregnancy and infant loss to know it is okay to be changed by the experience. It is okay to handle the grief any way that they see fit. Each story of loss is filled with unique twists and turns. There is no one-size-fits-all way to handle the loss of your child.
Tomorrow I will head back to work after five long months staying home with the boys. Even with the uncertainty and worry of going back to school, sending the boys to on-site school, and the baby starting daycare for the first time ever, I have felt ready. Ready to get back to being “me.” The mom of four who also works full-time. The woman who leads a building full of teachers to improve math instruction for all students. To get back to a job that I love.
So this morning took me by surprise. I have shed more than a few tears after dropping the oldest off at football practice and sitting down for one more slow morning of snuggling and watching tv with the little guys. I didn’t expect to feel so emotional thinking back over the last five months. I didn’t expect to feel so nervous to get back out into the world, but it’s all hitting me today. I have been hesitant to weigh-in on the virtual school vs. on-site school options because everyone has their own unique situation to consider. My kids are going to school because that’s where I will be. It’s also where I want them to be. Where my boys thrive and grow best. But am I nervous they’ll get sick? Yes. Am I nervous we won’t even make it a week before we are back to virtual school? Also yes. But that’s not why my heart is aching this morning.
I have done my fair share of complaining, yelling, and crying over the last few months. Staying home with four little boys from ages 1-12 wasn’t easy for this mom. Most days from March to May, I loathed virtual schooling and longed to go back to school/work. I struggled to get any work done in my job as math coach while helping the kids with their classwork, keeping the preschooler busy, and chasing an energetic and destructive one-year-old. I just wanted to be around adults and have grown-up conversations. I have worked outside the home since I was fourteen. I took short maternity leaves with each baby, but quickly returned to work because that’s who I am. I have never idealized the role of stay-at-home mom. I saw my mom do it with five kids, and I know it is insanely hard. Although my children are my world, staying home for two months in the summer is always great for me and I’m ready to go back to school each fall.
Then June and July came and went. Our days were less structured, but there were no waterparks to visit, no vacations to take and no fun adventures beyond the backyard and a few trails around town. With social distancing and keeping our family as safe as possible, it just wasn’t the summer I normally get to have with the kids. Fun summer off-work mom was more like same-old-mom who’s been on our backs for three months already. We did share some fun together, but the day in and day out of being home felt heavy most days.
So why am I sad, if we all so desperately want to get back to whatever “normal” looks like now? Because I just got to spend 5 months with my kids. Just being their mom and loving them the best way I know how. I didn’t have to entrust their care to someone else, I didn’t have to worry if they were safe or feeling okay. I didn’t have to rush home from work to scramble them from activity to activity. We baked cookies way too often, did fun home improvement projects, played in the sprinkler, and grew even closer as a family. I watched the boys pair off with different brothers depending on what their interest was that day. I got to sip my coffee while listening to their giggles and watching them show off their newest (wrestling/singing/dancing/ninja) skills. I was there to hug the four-year-old when it all felt like too much and the sadness of missing his friends at preschool was so heavy for him. I rubbed the seven-year-old’s back when the school writing assignment caused him to stress about spelling words correctly. I was there to see for myself every time the baby learned something new or said an adorable new phrase. And I was moved to tears more than once watching the twelve-year-old turn into such a grown person right in front of my eyes. He effortlessly helped me care for his little brothers, keep the house clean, and always knew when I just needed a break. He has always been a nurturer and my right hand man when Daddy isn’t here, but he grew into something much more the last few months. Despite the pre-teen moments (yes we had plenty of those too), I’m pretty sure he’s going to be a pretty good adult one day.
So today, I’m going to let the tears fall. They tell a story of the toughest, yet most rewarding parenting months of my life. Tomorrow I will put on a smile and excitedly look forward to working once again, but if you see a tear or two slide down onto my mask, just know I am a Mom who got a little too attached to staying home with her four amazing kids and needs a little time to get used to being “just Allison” for eight hours a day once again.
It was 6:27 am on a normal Wednesday morning. The kids were eating breakfast as I scrambled to fix my hair before we had to leave. My husband called for our four-year-old to head to the truck so they could make it to preschool drop-off on time. Because of preschool opening time and the time my husband has to be at work, they have to stay on a strict departure schedule each morning.
That’s when I saw it. The cute little paper bag with my son’s name on it and a note about bringing show and tell items. It sat empty on the kitchen counter. No objects of the designated color had been hunted down the night before and carefully placed into the bag so he could proudly reveal them that morning. I had three minutes to find something brown that would fit into the bag, and be fun for him to talk about with his classmates.
I can’t even remember what I haphazardly tossed into the bag that morning, but in that moment my heart just felt so heavy. In the grand scheme of things, one overlooked show and tell is meaningless, but that morning it felt like more. It felt like I had failed my child.
I try so hard to make sure everything is just right each night before I go to bed. With four kids, full-time jobs, and a household to manage, my husband and I have a lot to do after the kids are asleep every night. I move around the house for hours each night packing the diaper bag, doing laundry, checking backpacks, writing checks for lunch money, and signing reading logs. I try so hard to make sure I’m doing enough. I want my children to have everything they need to be successful, and I want them to look back fondly on the way I cared for them.
But the truth is, sometimes it is just too much.
I’ve learned over the last decade of parenting that I can’t be perfect. So why does it hurt so much when I feel like I fail? I know that with the weight I’m carrying as a mother, I’m bound to make mistakes here and there. My mind knows that it is impossible to be everything to everyone all the time.
But my heart. My heart wants my family to have the great mom that they deserve. The mom who bakes fresh cookies each week, who always has them to practice on time, and the mom who never yells at little people who aren’t getting in the car fast enough when we’re rushed.
It’s a constant battle trying to decide if I’m getting it right. I read articles telling me to “let the laundry wait, because babies don’t keep,” but there’s also the blog post saying “don’t feel guilty for cleaning the house instead of playing with your kids if it makes you a better mom.” How do I know that my enough is enough? What guarantee do I have the what I’m doing will bring my kids the happiness and success I so desperately wish for them?
Finding the balance in parenting is just hard. We all know there isn’t a rule book or instruction manual for this role. Somehow we have to just do our best, with our love for our children guiding the way, and hope that it is in fact enough. Maybe if I keep telling myself this one day it will stick.
Am I still going to rush around at the last minute to get one more thing for my son’s school project, so he doesn’t feel disappointed? Probably. Will I still stay up way past my bedtime just to make sure that someone’s favorite shirt gets into the dryer for tomorrow? More than likely.
But can I also give myself a little grace? You bet. The thing about parenting is that we try so hard to make our kids happy, but they don’t even notice half of what we are doing for them. What they do notice is that they are safe, loved, and protected. They know that we are in their corner, and will be by their side through the lowest of the lows and the highest of the highs.
My son has long since forgotten about the boring brown toy in his bag that day, but he won’t soon forget my love for him or the smile on my face when he looks back and sees me rooting for him. Because that’s always where I’ll be for my kids. Just being me. Just the way I am. Imperfectly parenting to the best of my ability.
Mother’s Day is coming up soon, and I can’t stop thinking about you. It is your first Mother’s Day as a mom after all. Nine months ago you brought a beautiful baby into this world. You held him tightly to your chest, told him how much you loved him, and placed him into my arms.
I literally have to catch my breath every time I think about that moment.
Your strength on that day, and every day since, amazes me to no end. I have no idea how you did what you did for our son. Everything in your body was saying to hold on to him and never let go, but somehow you were able to look into his future and know what he needed. You knew that the life he deserved and the life you could provide were two entirely different things.
Not many people know you are a mother. You so strongly, and bravely navigated the birth and adoption of your baby without many others knowing what you were going through. You look at precious pictures of your baby on your phone, but you do not get to share our son with the world in the same way that I do.
On Mother’s Day, no one will shower you with flowers or a handmade card proclaiming you as the best mom ever. You won’t have your baby to cradle in your arms and admire how he has your eyes and your sweet personality. Most people won’t remember that you need to be celebrated as a mother, but I will.
A mother puts her own wants and desires after those of her child. She thinks not of her happiness, but of what is best for her child. She worries about all the choices she has made, and wonders if they were best for her baby. A mother lays awake at night wondering if she is enough. She wonders if her child can forgive her for the mistakes she has made. Sometimes she wonders if her child knows how much she loves them.
You see, all of those things are what makes you a mother. The fact that you aren’t changing diapers, fixing bottles, or holding his hands as he takes his first steps, doesn’t make you any less of a mother to our son.
You gave him life, and then gave him a new one.
Your sacrifice and determination allows me to be the one that will get the Mother’s Day card this year. I will be the one collecting macaroni necklaces, flowers picked from among the weeds outside, and all the hugs and kisses year after year on Mother’s Day. But my motherhood does not diminish yours.
If I had it my way, I would shout your name from the rooftops for all to hear. I would tell them of a young woman who is the strongest kind of mother there is. I would remind them that the reason my son has a beautiful life is because you loved him enough to let him go.
So each Mother’s Day, when the emotions coming flooding into your heart, stop and remember one thing. Our family won’t just be celebrating me, we will be celebrating our son’s first mother too. Because you are a woman worthy of a thousand praises, and a lifetime of love and gratitude.
18 months ago I woke up at 4:15am and drove to a new gym for it’s opening day. I was so nervous as I pulled into the parking lot. I had been jogging a couple days a week off and on for a few years, but it had been years since I attempted to really workout.
My, at the time nine, four, and one-year-old boys kept my life running at a frantic pace. Combine that with teaching full-time, and I couldn’t see how I could add anything else to my schedule. My husband and I were lucky to throw something together for dinner and not give in to eating out. We weren’t taking time to prepare meals in advance to help us make healthier choices. One day my husband decided to make some big changes in his diet and began exercising. It got me thinking that I really needed to do the same.
I can actually remember exactly the moment I knew I needed to make a change in my lifestyle. For our fifteenth anniversary, my husband and I took our first big vacation together and traveled to Costa Rica. We had the opportunity to repel down a beautiful 135 ft. waterfall. It was probably the most exciting and terrifying thing I had ever done. I got to the bottom of the waterfall and the man holding the rope pointed to a steep rock wall that I needed to climb to get back on the path. I made several attempts, but struggled to pull myself up enough to even begin climbing. There I was at the bottom of a waterfall looking up at my husband and friends who had climbed the wall easily and I was defeated.
I was overweight, out of breath, and had barely any upper body strength. Four pregnancies, including carrying and ultimately losing triplets that were born too soon, wreaked havoc on my body and my confidence in my body’s ability. I hadn’t taken care of myself and now I was paying for it. Somehow I managed to struggle my way to the top. In that moment, I promised myself that I was going to make some changes. I wanted to be stronger, healthier, and I wanted to become a better example for my sons. I wanted them to see both of their parents taking care of themselves and making healthy choices.
A week later, I hesitantly walked into that 5:00 am class at Burn Boot Camp Bentonville and I haven’t looked back once. Now I rearrange my schedule, wake up super early a few times a week, and often rush out of work to grab the kids and head to the gym. I’m not any less busy than I was before (I even have four boys now because we recently adopted a beautiful baby boy!) but I make gym time a priority. For me, Burn Boot Camp is the right fit. It offers everything that a busy woman needs in a gym. I have lost weight and inches, gained so much strength, and accomplished goals I never thought I would, but Burn Boot Camp gives me so much more.
I’m comfortable at my gym. There is no certain type of women that work out at Burn Boot Camp. In the middle of a workout, I look around and easily spot women from all walks of life and all fitness levels. I’ve never once felt out of place or like anyone is judging me. When I started, I couldn’t do one single push-up on my toes and had to step out every single burpee. Of course I felt embarrassed, but the trainers were kind and always explained how to modify each move so that everyone in the room was getting their best workout. Before long, I began taking risks and trying to do the full moves without modifying down. The physical strength I have gained in the last year and a half amazes me, but the fact that I have felt comfortable to stay at this gym means everything.
Surprisingly enough, I actually look forward to working out everyday. The workout has never been the same twice. Each week new workout protocols are released at Burn Boot Camp locations across the country. They are always unique and challenging. I get excited each Sunday when I see the workout posted for the upcoming week. For me, this has greatly reduced my feelings of burnout or boredom with my workouts. I actually get super disappointed when I have to miss a day at the gym because I don’t want to miss out on any “good” days. Each week targets all the major muscle groups. In a week at Burn, you could experience leg day, arm day, athletic conditioning, plyometrics, metabolic conditioning, and other great, targeted workouts.
Another thing I love about Burn Boot Camp is that I can sign up for a focus meeting every few weeks, or as often as I’d like, and discuss my goals and progress. A trainer records my measurements and talks through my diet. We discuss what is going well and what I’m struggling with. I haven’t always had great numbers, or lost a lot of weight when I meet with the trainers, but I always leave with clear goals that I feel like I can work toward.
Before and After a year at Burn Boot Camp.
As a mom with four kids, making time to work out can be a challenge. I can’t focus on my workout unless I know my kids are being well taken care of. Burn Boot Camp provides free childcare to each member. I can drop my kids off in the childcare room for the forty-five minute workout and not worry if they are safe and happy. They look forward to going to the gym as much as I do. They get to meet new friends and make crafts. The fact that childcare is included in my membership price makes it a great value for my money.
Probably the most important thing that Burn has given me is a truly supportive gym family. I was so hesitant to walk through the doors that first day, but I am so glad I did. I now have a support system of people who aren’t just “gym friends.” There are other moms who just get it. We can talk about the struggles of parenthood, and hold each other accountable for getting to the gym. We remind each other that putting ourselves first is important. There are so many women, whether moms or not, that encourage each other every day with high fives during camp, or words of motivation in the gym Facebook group.
My journey at Burn Boot Camp isn’t always perfect. There are weeks that my schedule is packed and I can’t make it to the gym every day. I have fallen off the wagon with my diet more than once. What I love about Burn is that I can always get right back on track. All it takes is going in and crushing a few camps, and I’m motivated and refocused on my goals. There is always a fun event coming up, or new goals to work toward.
I am not the person I was 18 months ago. I’m stronger, faster, and less stressed. The thing I’m most proud of is that I’m putting myself first. I’m a better mom, wife, and friend when I’m happy and healthy. If you are at a low point and are looking for a way to focus on your fitness, I encourage you to come try a free trial membership (zero strings attached!) at Burn Boot Camp soon. You don’t have anything to lose by trying it out, but you just might gain a lot more than you’d expect. I know I have.
In honor of National Rainbow Baby Day today, I want to share the story of my rainbows. I want to tell the world about the babies that healed my shattered heart. The little boys who saved a woman from sinking into a grief so deep that there might have been no return. I want to tell you how I’m still standing after the storm.
Eight years ago I was early in my motherhood journey with a beautiful two-year-old that we finally had after facing infertility. We had battled infertility a second time and by the grace of God I was carrying a set of triplet boys. The sun was warm on my face as I breathed in the summer air.
One day a storm started brewing in the distance. It brought with it the death of one of our triplet sons. The storm raged for sixteen long days and nights before it claimed the second and third triplet. I was strong and steady in the storm, but in the end was no match for it’s destruction.
My husband and I clung desperately to the only sunshine we could see, our two-year-old son. I’ve written before about the amazing ability he had to make me want to stay on this Earth when I thought of nothing but going to be with my angels. He was the baby that gave me a worry free pregnancy and delivery. I was naive to the hurt and pain of losing a child when I carried him. I refer to those first two years of parenting as the “before.” In the “after” he has continued to be one of the most beautiful parts of my life.
However, this isn’t his story I share today. This story is about the babies that came after the storm. The three little boys who put the color back in our lives.
Two years after losing our triplets I was in a hospital bed hearing the long awaited first cry of our first rainbow baby. We had once again faced infertility, but also a scary surgery, and nine long months of wondering if he would survive. Every morning that he was inside my womb, I put my hands on my belly and asked God to save him. I begged for a chance to deliver a living baby. In those days I would have traded anything to give my first son a sibling.
The moment I realized that our rainbow baby was drawing breath.
Our amazing rainbow baby began to heal my heart in those first moments of his life. My body hadn’t failed me this time. I had protected this baby and he was going to live. And live he has. He has continued to be a light in our lives for the past six years. He is his big brother’s best friend, and a ball of energy that keeps our house full of loud noises and excitement.
Amazingly, I gave birth to our second rainbow three years later. And guess what? Four weeks ago today, we adopted our third rainbow baby to complete our family. A woman came into our lives unexpectedly and just knew we were suppose to be Mom and Dad to her baby. So here we are with four perfect boys in our arms, and three angel boys in Heaven.
I would be lying if I said that I came out of the storm as strong as I went in, but here I am living my best life. Four little boys get to be loved by a woman who was once broken and lost, but is now standing in the sunlight once again.
Our sunshine baby, as we call our first son, and these three rainbows have put the color back into our world. You can find my husband and I shaking our heads and wondering how all this happened in just ten short years. How did we come so close to losing it all and end up with cups overflowing?
The only answer I have is that we survive the storm one day at a time. We allow ourselves to feel the pain of loss while also giving ourselves permission to feel the joy.
Our rainbows don’t negate the storm, but add hope and beauty to a story that is still being written.
