What We've Been Up To...

Maybe you noticed? But I haven't hit ye olde orange publish button in almost three months. I think this is where I say "whoops." {Not "sorry," though - I'm unapologetic this year, remember?} It's hard to explain why I suddenly dropped off the map, blog-wise. Some insecurity, I think, along with my complete inability to do anything consistently probably contributed. And once I went away, it became harder and harder to come back. I needed a break, though - time to sort everything out in my head and be at peace with myself. I know this is all very vague and weird; that's actually how it felt as it was happening, so I'm afraid I don't have better words to explain. Again, whoops.

BUT now that I'm back, I thought I'd give a little rundown of what we've been up to.

4/12 - Christian and I celebrated our fifth anniversary. And by "celebrated," I mean that we ended up in the Urgent Care because Christian was feeling terrible; it turns out he had strep. It kind of sucks that the first time I left Lucy with the in-laws {and cried the whole way home, by the way} so my husband and I could have a evening alone, I ended up watching TV by myself while Christian took a nap upstairs.

4/28 - I turned the big 2-7 and had the worst birthday ever. {Sorry to be such a downer, but there it is.} The fact is that Sundays are just hard; wrestling three kids through church feels like a workout and often leaves me with a headache. And since it was Sunday, that meant no breaking the sabbath for us - no going out for birthday dinner, or birthday doughnut runs.

5/12 - Christian let me sleep in for Mother's Day and made me breakfast; he also gave me the sweetest card of all time. The guy has a way with words when he wants to, I'm telling you. We got to talk to his brother Daniel, who's currently serving a two-year mission in Uruguay, that evening. Overall it was a good day; Mother's Day hasn't always been my favorite, but I sure do love my little family.

5/20 - Our baby Lucy turned one whole years old. {More pictures of her party to come; they're too adorable not to share.} She's growing up into the sweetest little girl, taking tentative steps and talking in her soft voice every chance she gets. I miss her tiny baby self and nursing her to sleep, but she's still got a chubby belly and I love the big girl she's turning into.

6/8 - As has become tradition in Christian's family, we all {all 20 of us, including my then eight-and-a-half-months-pregnant sister-in-law} walked the Komen Race for the Cure together. My amazing mother-in-law has been cancer-free for three years, and we couldn't be more proud of her.

6/16 - I meant to get up with the kids on Father's Day, I really did. But it was only after Christian got out of bed that I woke up. I followed him and sent him back upstairs right away, but he couldn't fall back asleep. {Father's Day fail.} I did make him breakfast, let him take a long nap, and helped the kids give him a card and presents. {On the other hand, I forgot to call my own dad until 10:30 pm. Facepalms all around.}

6/21 - Our darling niece Tabitha was born. We haven't met her in person yet, but if pictures and videos are anything to go on, she is the most adorably squishy thing. I can't wait to smell her head and kiss some of those neck rolls.

I hope there are still a few people out there who care that I'm back. :) Either way, I plan on posting more often from now on.



P.S. These pictures were taken one morning when I asked my kiddos during breakfast, "What should we do today?" and Maggie promptly responded, "Paint... outside?" It was such a good idea, so I obliged. We had fun painting for a while, and then when they got bored, I turned on the hose to wash them off and that turned into an activity of its own. Max especially loved the mud puddle that all the water created at the edge of the driveway.

This Is Not a Goodbye Post

{ image via }
You've probably noticed that I haven't posted on this blog in a month. {If you haven't, go look at the date on my last post. If you're too lazy to look, you'll have to take my word that it's September 4th.} There's a reason I haven't posted in a month, and I've spent the better part of this month trying to figure out what that reason is and how to articulate it. As I write, I'm still trying. Please bear with me.

A lot of it started when I noticed that I was getting traffic from a certain site. Nothing terrible or hurtful was being said about me, but I ended up letting myself get sucked in for a few days nonetheless. I realized {suddenly, starkly, like a slap in the face} how many things I was doing with my blog just because of the thought, everyone else is doing this, therefore I should, too. And why? How the heck does that make sense as a way to function?

I've realized during the past month that I have a kind of love/irritation relationship with blogging. On the positive side, I enjoy blogging. It's been a wonderful emotional outlet for me. I enjoy writing, and I enjoy that others read my writing. I love the relationships I've formed with other bloggers. I love reading blogs; I admire beautiful and well-written blogs, of which there are too many to count. I think blogging is an amazing, inspiring form of media.

However, I feel irritated when I see bloggers who seem insincere, blogging solely for the purpose of gaining money and popularity. I won't expand any more on those feelings - they're ugly and I'm trying to do better about just being my best self without judging others. {And maybe I need to stop pretending to know what motivates others. Please know that I'm not trying to insult anyone; I think it's amazing when bloggers can make money doing what they love.}

More to the point than all that mess I just typed, during my unintentional month-long blogging hiatus, I found that I've been happier. I've had less stress in my life, and I've been able to accomplish more. {I've made dinner more often in the past three weeks than I have since Christian and I were first married four and a half years ago.} I sometimes find myself in a position where can either blog or... fill in the blank, and whatever fills in the blank always seems to take priority. Especially if it's letting Lucy stay sleeping on my chest, because that's just the best way to spend time ever.

And so I feel conflicted. I want to promise myself to let my little blog be its own thing, and not to feel pressure to do anything a certain way, but I honestly don't know if I can do that. I want to let go of the negative feelings I have towards others, but I don't know if I can do that either. And if I can't do either of those things, then what I'm giving up to blog {my time, which is more precious to me now than it's ever been} seems better spent on something else.

By now it seems that there's only one logical conclusion to this post: stop blogging, move on, just live my life. But that's not the conclusion I've reached.

Here's why: Tuesday afternoon was rainy. I had had thoughts earlier in the day about going to the park, but we were stuck at home. To stave off restlessness, I got out a little jar of bubbles and started blowing them in our living room. The ceiling fan was on and the bubbles practically danced around the room. My children were incredibly, adorably delighted. Max and Maggie laughed and waved their arms around. Maggie fell backward more than once, trying to reach a bubble floating over her head. Lucy cackled from her seat in the Bumbo; I don't know if she found the bubbles themselves or the general air of excitement more hilarious. Max came over and tried to blow some bubbles by himself; he got the idea of what he was supposed to do, but wouldn't blow unless the wand was touching his mouth. I looked around at my happy kids and I thought, I want to do this forever. It was a perfectly perfect moment. And even though I told myself I would always remember that moment, chances are that if I didn't just write it down, I would have eventually forgotten.

This blog is my journal right now, and I can't bear to forget all the moments. I can't capture every memory - there are too many, and some are just for my heart alone - but I can keep enough that when I re-read these posts, I can feel a little of the essence of how our lives used to be seeping out. Like hugging a sweater that's been packed away and getting a whiff of the smell that's still inside it.

I have to keep trying, I have to keep going. I have to learn to be myself and not worry about others, make time to record memories and still cherish the moments I'm in. It's a little cheesy maybe, and certainly nothing ground-breaking, but this has been my thought process over the past month. And heaven help me, I'm glad it's finally out.

I Never Want to Hear...

Being a mother of twins has opened me up to a world of strained conversation with well-intentioned strangers and, often, the same questions over and over and over. There are some things I never get tired of hearing; for example, whenever someone introduces themselves and says that they also have twins, I always reply, "I've heard that it gets easier." I love the encouragement that unfailingly follows. However, not being a great conversationalist, and not being someone who particularly enjoys small talk, I do get frustrated from time to time. Here are six sentences that I wouldn't mind never hearing again:

"You've certainly got your hands full."
Easily the most-heard comment from strangers, it mostly just makes me feel like I look incompetent. Right? I know people are trying to be nice, but the implications are unflattering.

"So are you getting any sleep?"
Again, more than anything, this just makes me think I look tired. Of course I'm getting sleep, my babies are almost ten months old. Ask me again when I have two fourteen-month-olds and a newborn. And speaking of...

"It will be so much easier with just one."
Maybe with just one, but add in my other two (for a grand total of three babies), and I don't think it will come anywhere close to easy. When I was pregnant with Max and Maggie, this comment took the form of, "It's good you're having twins first because you won't know how much harder it is." Um, I can guess.

"Are they identical?"
I try to be nice when I get this question (which is surprisingly often). I try not to reply, "You know that's impossible, right?" Because just to clarify, identical means that they have the exact same genetic makeup, not just that they look alike (more on this in a moment). So boy/girl twins can't be identical. They're fraternal.

"They sure do look alike."
Well, not really. They're both white babies with blue eyes, but otherwise I think they look about as alike as Christian and I do. Honestly, it's like they have zero features in common. Maggie has my eyes, nose, cheeks and ears, but ginger hair (we're not sure where she got it) and Christian's mouth. Max has Christian's eyes, nose, cheeks and ears, my hair color and mouth, and mystery donor dimples.

"He's drooling."
I feel like someone might as well say, "He's breathing on me." Notify me when he spits up; I am uninterested until then.

Is there anything you've tired of hearing as a mother? Have you ever gotten any of these comments and questions? I'd love to hear your experiences!

*image by Stefany Alves

Wherps!

{Zinnias from my walk with the babes today.}

So this is a post about what a big clueless dork I am.

As you may recall, I wrote a post asking for questions over a month ago. I made the comments on that post private, because other people did and it made sense {for reasons explained in the previously referenced post}. Since I have Blogger send me e-mails whenever someone comments on ye olde blog, I waited for the questions to pour into my inbox. None came, and none came, and none came, and I felt a little forlorn. No questions, not even out of courtesy or friendship or pity?

But no, not one. I contemplated whether I should call myself out for being pretentious enough to assume that people wonder anything about my life, or whether I should bluff it and answer pretend-asked questions {pathetic, I know}. Finally, last night as I was blogging because I just couldn't hold back the words that were in me, I had almost decided to pretend like the whole FAQ post hadn't happened at all. And then I saw it -- I had unmoderated comments waiting for my approval. I had gotten questions, and, dense as I occasionally prove myself to be, hadn't realized.

I apologize. I'm now getting my answers to your questions ready, and I'll start posting them next week. First up: the story behind Max's first name.

P.S. You better believe Christian made fun of me last night. "You clown," I believe, were his exact words. Christian also makes fun of me whenever I say "wherps," a deliberate mispronunciation of "whoops."

UPDATE: Christian wanted me to clarify that he's the one who came up with "wherps" -- it's not funny to make fun of the way someone pronounces something, but it is funny to make fun of someone who pronounces something the same way you pronounce it and act like they're crazy for doing so. When I say "wherps!" Christian is always quick to reply, "No. Nobody says that."

This Is My Life Right Now

I've been talking to a lot of people recently about being on bed rest. People are interested in hearing about bed rest, and I'm interested in interacting with real-life humans, or basically something other than my laptop. {Even though I love my laptop -- it's a huge lifesaver. And not like a huge candy Life Saver, although that sounds kind of good right now.} So I thought I'd try to explain what life is like for me, 32 weeks pregnant with twins and on modified bed rest.

Point 1: I don't sleep well at night. I get up between six and ten times every night to use the bathroom -- remember how the nurses in the hospital told me to keep hydrated, but also empty my bladder right away? At least it's easier than trying to sleep through contractions. Add in the fact that I'm generally uncomfortable, meaning that I switch my sleeping position a lot. This constant up-and-down-and-roll-over routine isn't very much fun, but it is {I rationalize} readying me for nights with new babies. I'm also grateful that I get to sleep in my own bed, next to my very own husband.

Point 2: Bed rest can be boring and frustrating. People say, "Do you watch a lot of TV? That sounds like fun. I wish I could watch TV all day." While watching TV might indeed be fun for a whole day if you were on vacation, it's not enjoyable as a lifestyle. I try to instead spend my time on activities that are more productive -- crafts I can do from the couch, correspondence, working with blog designs, reading, and cultivating my taste on Pinterest {my new favorite site}. I make to-do lists of things that need to be completed before the babies come, and figure out who could help me with each task. The more active my mind, the fewer emotional breakdowns I experience. I try to remember that if I'm not getting anything else done, at least I'm always gestating, which is the most important thing I can do.

Point 3: I like to get out more than ever. I think you'll understand that staring at the same four walls all day can start to feel a little stale, and I enjoy getting out of the house when I can. My sweet mother-in-law took me to get my hair cut yesterday and then out to lunch, and {even though it turns out I locked myself out of the house in the process} it absolutely made my day. Christian has been very considerate about staying extra-late at family dinner, which we now attend every week, because I want to be around people; I'm trying to convince him to drive me to a friend's house 40 minutes west of Raleigh so I can attend our monthly game night.

Point 4: People are awesome. Christian and I are surrounded by wonderful friends, family, and members of our ward who have been just so kind and supportive. We have dinner brought over at least twice a week, we have family members who regularly come over to visit with me and make sure I'm not going crazy, and friends who offer their help in whatever way is needed. My dad didn't mind the other day when I called to ask a question and ended up keeping him on the phone for 15 extra minutes, because I needed to talk to someone.

I only have a few more weeks to go, and I'm doing it for two of my very most favorite people in the world. Really, it hasn't been so bad, especially when this is my view:

Some Serious Stuff

This is my serious story about the past few days, if you'd like to know what's been going on with me, and why I keep talking about bed rest on my Twitter account. Since this post covers a few days, it's pretty long -- just be aware.

On Monday I was going about my usual day, being pregnant and working on my little blog design business and trying not to call Christian too often. I had in my mind that I would stay pregnant for about another nine weeks, and I was excited that we were in the single digits of weeks left.

Then something happened. I'm not going to say exactly what it was, because there are certain things I don't feel the need to publish on the Internet {like images of my uterus or pictures of my naked pregnant belly}. If you're curious, feel free to send me an e-mail; I don't mind telling people, but I do like to maintain some semblance of privacy. So this thing happened, and I felt like it was something that I should maybe be concerned about, so I called Alice to ask her what I should do. I often call Alice when I feel like I need to talk to someone right away; she's good about picking up the phone. Alice told me to call my doctor. The doctor said to come in so they could check me out and make sure everything was okay.

I had a small panic attack while I was getting ready to go to the doctor -- one of several I would have over the course of the next few days.

Once I got to the doctor's office, around 2:30 in the afternoon, we did an ultrasound and a quick exam. The babies were both fine, with healthy heartbeats, but I was dilated a centimeter. My doctor wanted to be sure I wasn't having contractions, so she sent me over to Rex Hospital. I called Christian and let him know what was going on, then went up and got settled into my room. I had another small panic attack when I saw that I was in a room that also contained one of those hospital baby beds. I really didn't want anything to do with that bed for several weeks. Christian arrived shortly afterward, which helped calm me down.

I was hooked up to monitors, which kept the nurses informed that the babies were still healthy, but also told them I was having contractions that I couldn't feel. Having contractions when you're only 28 weeks along isn't a good thing, and I got a shot to stop the contractions. I got another shot of steroids to help the babies' lungs develop {just in case}, and then I was moved to another room, where it was assumed that Christian and I would pass the night. We ate dinner, we watched some TV, we went to sleep.

I woke up in the night, around 12:30, because I was feeling something I thought might be more contractions. I called the nurses and they hooked me back up to the monitor. Sure enough, I was having contractions that I could feel this time, and they were starting to get painful. I was moved to another room, and put on an IV of magnesium sulfate. The doctor was concerned that my contractions weren't stopping, so she made arrangements to have me transferred to UNC, which has a good NICU {just in case}.

I had another panic attack as I was being loaded into the ambulance and we drove away from Rex. It didn't help that Christian was supposed to be following us and I couldn't see his headlights.

I arrived safely at UNC early Tuesday morning, around 4:30. It was a little funny to Christian and I {just a little, though -- enough to make us smile at each other}, because just a couple days before we had joked about how we would feel if our children were born in Chapel Hill, and if it would be like on 30 Rock {even though 30 Rock isn't funny anymore} when Jack's daughter was born in Canada.

Once at UNC, I was hooked up to more monitors, given more magnesium sulfate, checked out by more doctors. We got a few hours of sleep, until about 7:00, when doctors started wanting to talk to me about C-sections and epidurals {just in case}. When it was determined that I was still only dilated one centimeter, and my contractions were slowing down, I was moved to a different room. My fifth hospital room in 24 hours.

My contractions continued to slow down throughout the day, especially after the nurses told me that I needed to keep myself hydrated, and also go to the bathroom often {full bladders bring on contractions}. I was hopeful that I could go home soon on modified bed rest, and remain pregnant for at least a few more weeks.

We spent the night on Tuesday, and then had an ultrasound scheduled for Wednesday morning. The ultrasound was, first, to determine how far along the babies were developmentally {just in case}, and second, to see if my uterus would allow me to go home. It turned out that the babies were healthy, if still very tiny -- just 2 pounds and 5 ounces each -- but my cervix had shortened, from 23 millimeters on Monday to 13 millimeters on Wednesday morning. All signs pointed to a prolonged hospital stay for me.

A little while later, after I was back in my room, a doctor came in and said that since this was my first pregnancy, they weren't sure how relevant it was that my cervix was shortened. If I had a history of pre-term labor, or if I had delivered other babies early, then they might be more concerned. As it was, I could go home on modified bed rest. And I did come home. And I'm so happy to be home.

I'm grateful that these babies are still inside me, because I don't think any of us are ready for them to be born yet. I'm grateful for Christian's company and support; I'm grateful that he has the priesthood and was able to give me a blessing. I'm grateful for the Spirit in my life, and for the continued comfort, peace and reassurance that I've been able to feel over the past several days. I'm grateful for everyone who has showed their love and concern for us. I'm grateful that I can be at home.

Quick Explanation

If I were a betting woman (which I am), I would bet that at least half of the people who read this entry will remember a previous blog that I have had and will think to themselves, "This one won't last long, either." And those people would be justified in this thought. My beloved first blog, which I updated frequently, was created on a site that eventually began to ask me for money. I maintain a strict policy of never paying money over the internet for anything intangible, so I abandoned that blog and moved on. Since then, I have had a series of blogs, on a variety of sites, none of which I used for more than a few months together. I could never feel comfortable with another blog, which has lead me to become a virtual rolling stone, of sorts. And you know what they say about rolling stones -- their friends eventually become distrustful of them and stop reading their blogs. So I've brought all of your negative thoughts upon myself, and I understand. I sympathize. I comprehend. I perceive. And so, my friends, family, and other random people who are reading this for who-knows-what reason, I have created this blog with a purpose in mind. This will be my last blog ever. I, Mary Ellen Cunningham,* promise** that I will never again create another blog. This is it for me -- this blog may triumph, or it may fail, but I will do my best to make sure it triumphs, because I won't allow myself another chance. This is my online resting place. One day, I hope to have your trust again. Until then, I will try to remember to use paragraph breaks. I always have trouble with that.

*I will continue to stand by this promise even after my name changes in April, and I become a Plautz.

**If anyone knows my thing with "I promise," then you know this is a big deal for me. I never say "I promise" unless I mean it. Seriously -- I've never broken a promise I've made when I've said "I promise." So, really, be impressed. I mean it.