Do I see and accept the open door?

In preparation for my life group next week I am looking at verses about intentionality and then how it plays out in my own life.  I am referring to intentionality in our relationship with God which in turn affects our intentionality with others, and for diversity and unity within the church and our community.

So if I am thinking about and practicing intentionality then I think I need to actively stay off facebook.  In the midst of all these tragedies it feels as though I am abandoning the issue, staying silent, and privileged because I can just “turn it off.”  i regularly think of the mothers of the black boys in my girls’ classes. They can turn off social media, turn off the news, but they are still black and so are their boys. What kind of fear do they have? What conversations are they having? Do they have hope?  So I want to stay engaged with this FOR them. I have a strong sense of security in the lives of my kids because they are white girls.  Tomorrow the moms of my girls’ friends could easily be burying their child.  

Of course we cant protect our kids from everything.  For quite some time I have been thankful that I have girls (although rape culture is also frightening) and that they are white. We have dodged a bullet, literally and figuratively, that my girls will not become a hashtag representing the latest death of a black boy/man.  Letting that sink in for just a brief second has brought me to tears...of relief and injustice.  And then we had a 2 and 4 year old, a brother and sister both black come into our home.  Taylor and I talked about if we needed to if we should foster, offer temporary custody, and even adoption. We also had a very sobering conversation about what it may be like raising a black boy.  We could help educate him, advocate for him, love him but that at the end of the day it wouldnt likely be enough.   There was a lot we would leave up to fate and injustice.  it did not take long for me to recognize I could protect the little girl more than her brother, and I could protect my girls even more than the sister.  

I miss those two little kids. (that is another topic for another day and also one that comes with guilt and doubt) Everyday I worry about them. I have lost a lot of sleep thinking and worrying about them. Just last night I was awoken from my sleep several times with fear and concern. I woke angry because people won’t acknowledge or can’t understand our system is broken, it is not just, and lives are being lost. Young lives.

So I post on facebook so the moms of my girls friends and the women who are not yet moms know I stand with them.  

However, facebook and other media outlets can be gross. To see one person want to seek death for another is tragic and horrifying. To see the vitirol used toward another person is sad and maddening.  It affects how I interact with my family and not always in a positive way.  It interferes with how I care for my kids.  When I see my behavior and demeanor change then I begin to rethink my time on facebook. But then simultaneously I have guilt that I can walk away.

Tonight, a little voice said “there is more than facebook for addressing these very big issues.  You have been asking for a way while you are knee deep in diapers, dishes, pooped stained clothes, and carpool.  Do you see it?”  I am co-leading/facilitating a life group at our church (with our two pastors, one black and one white) about how the Church can become diverse and unified.  Not diverse for the sake of being diverse. But diverse because that is how the Church began and how it should be (Acts 13:1).  God called all the believers to be one (John 17:20-23).  

While I taught I had a decent size platform, a room full of high school kids. With facebook my platform grew exponentially.  I prefer the classroom. It was a safer space.  I could challenge their ideas and misconceptions, not in a way that shut them down but that allowed for digging deeper and asking more questions. I could also better understand their perspective and how those ideas came to be.  It wasnt filled with hate or fear.  Well, I don’t have my classroom at Seoul Foreign, Dunham, or EBR Lab Academy. I have facebook and instagram.  But I am not sure that is my best avenue for addressing all of this,or even any of it.  I have six little girls, the life group at my church, and a MOPS group that I co-lead.  If I am honest, I am not content with only having my kids be my audience and within my sphere of influence.  I went to my pastor this summer hungry for a space  to do something to address this division in our community, especially in a season where I am mom to little ones.  

My challenge now is can I be OK with no big platform?  Will I waste these opportunities wishing for other circumstances or a different audience?  Can I be present and intentional so I see and hear what is God’s desire for my time, energy, and words and ultimately for His plan? Do I see what He has presented to me? Can I be obedient? Am I OK that my role is different from so many of my friends?  Can I accept that I am not in charge of the hearts of the masses?

Darkness, light, and motherhood

I co-lead a MOPS (moms of pre-schoolers) at my church,  the Baton Rouge Vineyard.  Last week was our first meeting and I spoke about darkness,  light, and motherhood. Here is what I shared.

I have been mulling over ideas about our first meeting and the idea of darkness, light, and motherhood since July.  I have story after story of darkness in my motherhood experience.  Then the flood came and my home remained dry.  I started second guessing if I was qualified to talk about darkness.  Several times I thought I would just pass the buck onto someone else.  However, I wasn’t able to follow through with that.  

So here I am...I am a mother to 6 girls ages 6, 5, 3, and 2 year old triplets.  That piece of information alone usually results in comments or conversations like:

*I shouldn’t complain to you

*I thought I had it hard

I am from Ohio, all my family lives 15-18 hours away.  My husband’s family is also hours away.  Again I hear:

*I shouldn’t complain

*I thought i had it hard

I have had traumatic births, peaceful ones, births at home and in a hospital.  I had babies that took to the breast like a fish takes to water and then I had babies that cried when I brought them close to my breast.  My kids goes days without seeing their dad because of his hours but then the next week he is at all their school functions in the middle of the day.  Chances are in this small glimpse of my motherhood you have 1) been able to identify with one or more of my experiences 2) had a reaction of “I shouldn’t complain, I couldn’t handle that” 3) thought that is nothing.  All we know are our own experiences and our own reality.  We all have our own “darkness” in motherhood.  We all have things in our lives that we struggle with that others wouldn’t bat an eye at and the same is true in reverse.  It is not about who has more darkness.  We all have darkness.  Don’t have guilt that your darkness is different.  Name it.  Call it out.  Even own it.

Maybe I am being a bit ambigious.  Here are some things that may be darkness in your motherhood

*inability to breastfeed

*traumatic birth

*a spouse who won’t help

*no spouse

*no home

*exhaustion

*quick temper

*endless hours on the TV

*you don’t play with your kids “enough”

*depression

*anger

*no friends

*sickness

*no attachment to your kids

*quick tongue

Whatever your darkness is name it.  If light never shines in a dark place it always stays dark.  Calling attention to something allows just the tiniest bit of light in.  The smallest bit of light can bring the smallest bit of hope, an out, some reprieve.  Sometimes all we need is a morsel to get out of bed or to take the next step.

So I have a little story to share, given the events of this summer it seems insignificant.  And the darkness didn’t remain too long.  Yet I have to remind myself all I know are my own experiences.

    When the triplets were just a few months old I had one of many countless breakdowns.  I left the house sobbing, I had no idea where I would go, what I would do, or when I would return home.  I just stormed out of the house, ignored my older kids’ pleas not to go and told my husband “I am leaving.”    The babies wouldn’t nurse, I didn’t want to pump, and I didn’t want to give them formula.  I was too exhausted to feed them.  I was mad that they wouldn’t do what I wanted.  I was mad I couldn’t do what I wanted.  I found myself in the parking lot of a bank crying and screaming.  Eventually I returned home because I realized I couldn’t not feed my babies.  I told my husband: “ I need to power pump.  That means I need 30-40 minutes with no interruptions.”  I found snacks, took several minutes to find a show I wanted to watch and I hooked those bad boys up to the pump.  I cried while I pumped.  I cursed.  I was mad.  No one bothered me.  I did it again the next day.  And I was alone then too.  Then I realized this thing I despised so much, but not enough to give up because I was probably crazy, could actually bring me a little reprieve… a few minutes alone, with snacks, and TV.  Pumping was like my darkness.  Eventually it became a mix of dark and light because I got a 20 minute break away from all 6 of my kids!  I still hated it most of the time.  But it offered a little break.

This darkness had an end.  But not all darknesses will.  Some will be harder to penetrate.  I am not talking about a quick or easy fix.  However I really do believe that if we are willing to name our darkness it allows us and God to slowly allow some light in.

What’s light?

*a piece of chocolate after a hard day

*glass of wine

*someone paying your bill

*your starbucks order paid for

*a 20 minute break away from the kids while you pump

*a friend who will listen

*quiet time

*a nap

*counseling session

*time to play life with your kid

*someone else doing the dishes

*a job

*remission

*being debt free

So, we all have darkness.  Don’t compare.  Name it.  Be willing to  bring and even allow a bit of light into your darkness.        

    

Social Justice and Being a Mom

I grew up in a relatively conservative Christian family in Cleveland, on West Blvd just 5 houses from Madison Ave, to be exact.  The city rec center where I learned to swim, played on volleyball, soccer and basketball teams, attended summer camps is the same rec center where Tamir Rice was shot.  On more than one occasion members of a local gang sat on our front stoop. I had sleepovers at friends in which they told me not to wear certain colors because of rivaling gangs. Our next door neighbors were a same sex couple that taught my mom about gardening and who came into our home for dinner.  Around the corner from our house was a union hall.  I have vivid memories of men standing outside in the bitter cold around a burning garbage can.  In my young, naive, and idealistic mind I wanted to stand with them in what I perceived to be a fight against injustice.  I also attended a very small private school that created a sort of bubble.

 My community was quite different than my family.  It would have been very easy for my parents to subtly or even directly name the different behaviors and people as "wrong" or "unsavory."  Instead, as I mentioned, those people that were different than us were invited into our home, I was taken to theirs.  There was no judgement to these different people and how they lived their lives.

 It just was. Period.  My parents demonstrated how to be with others that were not like us whether it was in their beliefs, sexual orientation, race, ethnicity, religion, and class.  They demonstrated kindness and compassion.  Yet they instilled in us their values and beliefs.  I don't think they lived a life of contradiction or hypocrisy, at least not as I remember it.  But then again, when you value kindness, human life, when you acknowledge that every person was created by God, the natural outflow of that is a life that loves every type of man, woman and child, regardless of how different they may appear.

Fast forward to college where I attended Case Western Reserve University and majored in History and Education.  I sought out courses that would allow me to understand "other," and had a social justice component: African American history, Women's history, and a concentration in African Studies, The primary text in my US History intro course was Zinn's History of America. I read texts like Live from Death Row: Mumia Abu Jamal, about multicultural feminism and white privilege, My Education courses required us to look critically at the textbooks to see who was left out of the history, how certain histories were written, how a map could teach us so much about ethnocentricity, and so on.

 then I spent two years working abroad in South Korea and had the amazing opportunity to travel throughout Southeast Asia where I was exposed to poverty in a way I had never seen in America.  Yet, I experienced amazing acts of generosity from these very people.  It was striking, to say the least.

After living abroad I spent a year getting my masters at Teachers College in Manhattan.  The program, Literacy Specialist, was founded on challenging our concepts of what it means to learn and be literate.  Daily we were challenged in class, in our writing, and our work with students to get rid of preconceived notions and to "name" our own experiences and how that influenced our talk, our actions, our everything.  In one class I wrote a paper on how I "read the world."  I documented pretty much every thought that came to my mind as I rode the bus, subway, went out to eat. I considered myself to be open and non-judgemental. That was a very humbling and eye opening experience because I had my own set of preconceived ideas about people.  It's an exercise everyone should try just for a day or even a few hours.

As a teacher in an international school in Korea, private and public schools in Baton Rouge I found ways to have discussions about privilege, to challenge how history has been presented.  My students had social justice journals where they were asked to pay attention to their surroundings, movies they saw, comics they read, conversations they overheard and where they shopped.  They responded to questions like: who is there, what do they look like, why are we here and not somewhere else, how is this different/similar, how does it make me feel, etc.  I had students to be able to come to a realization that the child who lives in poverty was no more/less deserving than they who lived a life of wealth and material privilege.  What an amazing thing to witness! in 2008 while teaching at EBR Lab at Istrouma High School I took my kids out on Saturday's to register voters and tasked them to volunteer with political campaigns. Then councilman Torvald Smith talked to my class about civic responsibility, the law, and their rights.

And then I got pregnant and I kept getting pregnant, even pregnant with triplets.  I constantly struggled with "what am I doing to make a difference?  How am I contributing to the greater good."  When I would hear people say "action is better than dialogue" my immediate response was "my kids need to hurry and grow-up so I can get out and teach again because in the classroom is where I can make a difference and working in the classroom is admirable and acknowledged."  I saw friends and family doing really important work and here I was wiping butts, sweeping up the upteenth spill of the day, and washing dishes.  I was resentful of my stage of life.  Even as I am writing this I am having to push down feelings of resentment, missing out, and not doing enough.

Last year SCOTUS voted in favor of same sex marriages.  One of my close friends was/is in a same sex relationship and we were regularly in each others homes and our girls played together.  My girls never asked any questions or made comments but they were years younger at the time.  Everyone seemed to be talking about it and not always in the nicest of ways.   All I felt I could say, if the topic was ever mentioned was, "God made everyone and He loves everyone.  He wants us to do the same.  Love others and show kindness"

Last year my eldest daughters began school.  Evelyn attended the Polk campus of FLAIM on Thomas Delpit and Lucy was in gifted pre-k at University Terrace.  (I mention the programs they are in because I know in some ways they are in a unique setting and it is not the same as sending my kids to a traditional EBR school) That said, my girls are not among the majority.  These schools are across town in a neighborhood very different than ours.  Their friends were diverse ethnically, religiously, and socio-economically. I still was not content about being home, it didn't feel like I was doing enough to "fight" injustice.  Then one day, a day no different than the days before, it dawned on me that neither of my girls ever mentioned anything about how the neighborhoods and kids looked different.  It reminded me of my childhood.  I was exposed to different people and places as simply being a part of life.  Then I became more intentional, everytime we went to the library we travelled across town to the Carver branch to further expose them and to live more aspects of our life outside of our little neighnorhood.  I looked into activities at the Baranco YMCA, however what they offered didn't meet our unique family needs.

I have been telling myself "being a mom is enough."  I don't completely believe it yet.  But I realized that my childhood environment, what was said and not said by my parents, and how they lived their lives were so influential on how I viewed others and the world.  I can have conversations with my kids about always being kind, I can read them stories about people overcoming adversity and showing compassion, I can instill in them the knowledge that we do things differently than other families but that doesn't make other families wrong or bad.  I can teach them that God made every living person so unique, He loves each person just as they are, and all God wants us to do is one simple thing: Love others.

This whole blog entry came into being because I wanted to share a pinterest board I started last Spring: "social justice for kids."  For whatever reason, I felt I needed explain that I had not just hopped on this band wagon of social justice.  Kind of silly, I know.  I want to raise daughters with strong character, a desire to question and know more, to be those who stand up for others, to see things that are different as just that: different with no judgement or value, and above all to love.  I need moms who want the same. I want to learn about the books you are reading, the conversations you are having, the activities you are engaging them in.  Let's face it, I will always be a mom.

They say "don't blink."

This is my motherhood...more than I can handle, more than I can hold, more than I can tend to, someone on the fray, someone not quite getting enough.  Of course it's also lots of smiles, lots of hugs and kisses, copious amounts of random pictures drawn just for me that must find their way onto the fridge (thankfully we have several), and many laughs. 

My motherhood is 3 at a time getting into trouble because it's monkey see monkey do all darn day.  Bonnie finished her food so she wants more, Betsy sees Bonnie is asking for more, Betsy is not done but she still dumps all her food so she can copy Bonnie. Abby isn't hungry and hasn't touched her food in 10 minutes so I try and cheat the system and take ONE thing off her plate to save me yet another trip to the kitchen. Abby shrieks because I dared touch her food, food that she hasn't touched herself. I try to passify her but only the original food on her plate will work, even though she doesn't intend to eat it.

My motherhood is 3 toddlers playing independently and peacefully until I finally get to sit down after cooking breakfast, serving ot, cleaning it, and getting everyone dressed for school, and all 3 want to climb on me.  They are no longer playing peacefully because they are getting kicked, their favorite spot on my lap is taken, and crying because my hot coffee that I was holding spilled.  So I move across the room to an uncomfortable chair hoping the lack ofspace will deter them. It doesnt.  So I lock myself in a room to cry because all I want to do is sit long enough to drink my coffee. I don't even taste it anymore because it's guzzled. On the other side of the door are 3 toddlers banging on it and crying because they can't see me.  They get over it quickly when they discover the air vent next to the door. It then becomes 3 toddlers running their toy up and down the vent. 

My motherhood has made me quite intolerant of phrases such as "don't blink," "enjoy these moments," "they grow up so fast." I mean, I get what they are saying. But I'm not sure I've ever heard a mom of multiples say these phrases or if they have they are likely suffering from dimensia brought on by this season and they are in denial. 

I try really hard not to draw comparisons. It's not a race or a competition.  But I have a unique perspective of singletons and multiples. So I can make a comparison in my own life. Each kid was hard. Each time my family grew it was hard. Each time I had to adapt.  But each time the new baby did not have to share each stage of their life with 2 other people.  With my big girls it was "easy" to not let them cry because i had enough hands and enough boobs for 1 baby. I didn't have to choose which baby/toddler got held.  Its 3 of everything all the time: 3 diapers to change and they all wiggle, kick, and try to run away, 3 sets of clothes to change and they all wiggle, kick, and try to run away, it's 3 little people getting into their own box of tissues or wipes so it's 3x the clean up, it's 3 crying, it's 3 whinning.  its 3 insisting that i read their book and only their book right now.  Y'all I'm not even discussing the big Kids and their needs, or my marriage, or my own mental health, or maintaining friendships, or getting crap done around the house.  So not only does my blood boil when I hear these well meaning remarks but I also think "LIAR!!!!!"  Somedays I blink so hard and often my eyeballs should fall out and still nothing.  Still 3 of everything at the same time and not any older or more capable. 

Anyone who knows me knows I love my kids, love to spend time with them, run myself ragged for them. I try to teach and nurture them. They know I am thankful for them and wouldn't trade them for the world. However, that doesn't change the fact that I am often wishing away the days, blinking so hard and fast because my motherhood is HARD! It is mundane.  Of course I then carry copious amounts of guilt because of all the blinking and wishing away.  Motherhood is hard. 

Light in My Darkness

So much to say, I hope you can stay with me.  I don't have an eloquent way to begin, so I'm just jumping in. And i had super cute photos but I couldn't make it work.

Disclaimer: Please know that I don't believe my experience is worse or harder. All we know is our own reality.

Raising 6 girls, born within 4.5 years of each other has been the most difficult, trying and exposing experience in my 34 years.  I have screamed, shouted profanities, threw food (among countless other things), asked Taylor if I could leave and not come back.  I've been mad at the Lord for giving me all these kids and feeling like he hadnt equipped me to care for them.  If He knows I have a temper, little patience (just to name a few), which He does, why give me all these kids?  Why subject them to a mother like me? I'm not kidding. I struggled with this for several months and it still shows its head from time to time.  For the record, I never physically harmed them.  But I shed so many tears because I am not equipped, others could be more loving and have a softer tongue, and because He did this to them.  Didn't He love my children?  These are lies.  But they are powerful lies, crippling lies.  LIES!

Through all of the garbage, when I couldn't be the mom they needed my girls had each other. Then more lies came: your children are kinder than you; your children are more forgiving than you. Actually these things are probably true. The issue is what I said to myself after that: they are better off without me; I cause more harm.  That is a LIE. 

Do you know what brought me to my knees asking for forgiveness time after time, both to the Lord but also to my girls?  It was their kindness to one another.   Giving a hug to a crying sister because they were compassionate.  It was Evie comforting Lucy after she was yelled at then coming to me as Lucy's advocate and defender.  It was Lucy being the bigger person after she and I got into an argument and she offered me forgiveness and she apologized. 

Whatever the reason or the examples they are shown (good and bad)  my girls already know how to help, they know how to comfort, how to forgive, how to say sorry. 

Without being asked, Josie will fill up the little girls' water bottles and hand then out.  Evelyn will grab a book so she can read to the babies.  Lucy will give her beloved pillow to Josie.  Evelyn will find a snack for everyone when I have locked myself in a room because I just can't anymore. 

Some days I have guilt because my girls do these kinds of things and are there for each other in a way that I am unable to be.  But then sometimes I am thankful that there are so many of them to lean on one another when I'm not present, when my tongue is sharp, when I am not caring for them the way I should.  They astound me with their compassion and care for each other.  Yes they fight and they compete for who is the "best sister."  But holy cow, do they love each other something fierce. Even the triplets will cry, repeating "baby, baby, baby," and bang on a door if they are separated from each other. 

In my dark moments it is often my children that the Lord uses to shine light. 

2016 check-in

Taylor and i talked on tbe phone tonight for a long time while he was at work. We both remarked that we haven't done that in a long time.  In fact, long and meaningful conversations are a rare thing these days.  After our conversation i came across this blog post that was shared in my triplet group.  That inspired me to write this post tonight, the first post in nearly 9 months.

  Taylor asked me tonight on the phone do you think we will be happy again? I said I don't like to think about it because it makes me cry.  And it's not like we are miserable, disatisfied, or any of that.  But everything feels like work and I don't see any sign of that letting up.  When there is a break in the day  my first choice isn't usually so spend time with my kids and it isn't even to spend time with Taylor.  That also makes me want to cry.  None of this means im not thankful ALL THE TIME for each of my kids and my husband or that I don't love them. I do love them.  I find myself regularly wishing the days away, wanting to move onto the next stage. That also makes me cry. 

I post a lot of victories and awesome things because I use Facebook to document my life. It's my scrapbook.  In these days that are so long and hard I need to be able to look at something I posted a few weeks ago or this morning to remind me that it's not as horrible as I am playing over in my head, or to be an encouragement to myself that I can do it.

  My days are really hard, I fly by the seat of my pants, my bed is never made, my nightstand is cluttered with food wrappers, dirty dishes, and empty bottles of wine that have accumulated and not been dealt with. I don't mop my floor. I am not sure I've dusted my house. Ever.  I knowingly wear clothes that are stained.  I yell.  I am addicted to facebook.

I would feel horrible if someone thought I had my act together all the time, that I was a "Pinterest mom," or didn't struggle.  I wouldn't want someone to think I'm disingenuous.  honestly, sometimes I want to look like I have my act together because I don't want to be judged for my family size.  A lot of times i am self conscious about my family size because I want people to not dread us being around or regret inviting us somewhere.  I don't want my family to be a burden to anyone.  I am also keenly aware of the relative uniqueness of the make-up of my family and I don't ever want to overshadow another mom or family.  If i do i promise i am not trying to. My kids, my family, and my circumstances aren't any more special than yours.

And another thing, if I'm lamenting about my circumstances please do not think I that *I think* I have the monopoly on hard circumstances.  We ALL have aspects of our lives that are hard and what is hard to one person is a non issue to someone else. When I share anything, good or bad, it is not done to minimize you or your circumstances.  People tell me all the time: i don't know how you do it, you are amazing, etc. I promise you there are countless things in your life that I could not do. You are also amazing.  You are a bad ass. 

A mom's body

It is hard not to be hard on myself for how I look.  Things are not tight or toned.  There is muscle, but it is hidden but sometimes it makes a brief appearance.  Since weaning the triplets my body has changed even more.  I've gained more weight and things have loosened even more.  But earlier today I shared a photo with other moms of my post baby body.  Six kids in 4.5 years would change ANY woman's body.  And so I have to tell myself that what I accomplished since I first got pregnant is an amazing thing.  What my body has done is no small feat.  It has also taken a beating.

February 2009: Pregnant with Evelyn.  I gained between 35-40#.  I had a 34 hour labor that ended in a cesarean that at the time was not medically necessary.  Within a week of bringing her home I developed mastitis.  So to remedy that I pumped and nursed simultaneously for over 6 months and nursed for 2 years.  We had to buy a full size freezer to store all the milk I made.  Already, my body was working overtime.

July 2010: only 8 months post partum with Evelyn and I got pregnant with Lucy.  I gained between 35-40# again.  I nursed her throughout the pregnancy.  With Lucy I had a 22 hour unmedicated VBAC.  I tandem nursed the two girls until Lucy was 6 months and Evelyn was two.  After Lucy I was bigger than I had ever been.  I was depressed.  From March (when Lucy was born) until about November I managed to lose about 75#.  The number on the scale wasn't my dream weight but I felt fabulous and so I was OK.  I nursed Lucy until she was about 13 months.

July 2011: I discovered I was pregnant with Josie.  This time I started my pregnancy nearly 20# less than the others and I was eating much better.  I still managed to gain the same 35-40#.  She was born at 39w at home with my midwife.  I started exercising about 3m post partum and felt really good.

September 2013: Josie was only 6 months old and I discovered I was pregnant with #4.  In October I discovered #4 was actually the triplets.  I continued to nurse Josie until 3 weeks shy of her first birthday/18 weeks pregnant with the triplets.  My body ached and hurt through most of the pregnancy.  But other than aches I had an uneventful pregnancy. I gained 60# and after the babies were born I put on another 5-7# due to water retention and BP issues.  I carried the babies to 34w2 when I went into spontaneous labor.  I had another cesarean.  Twelve hours after the babies were born I began pumping like my life depended on it.  those first few days I would pump 30 minutes at a time while only producing less than 1 ounce.  yet I pumped on.  I pumped for 6 months.  I nursed exclusively for 6 months.  I weaned the babies completely 2 weeks after they turned 1.  I managed to lose all my baby weight about 6 weeks before they turned one.  And then as I began to wean the weight started to come back. I am now about 1.5 weeks out from not nursing anyone.  My chest has changed dramatically.  My stomach seems to have expanded.  I went to the store to buy bigger clothes, a size that only a few months back I purged and donated to a local charity.  A girlfriend said it's better to be in clothes you don't spill out of. So I followed her advice. I feel good in them.  I just try not to pay attention to the size.

Anyway, so today I posted a photo of my post partum body and in the comment wrote: "6 babies in 4.5 years and I just weaned my triplets who are almost 13 months." Lately I have been feeling pretty down about myself.  It's my own insecurities and no amount of encouraging words from my husband, friends or strangers will change that.  That's ok.  But today as I posted that picture I had a strong sense of pride in my body. My body grew 6 babies and 3 of them at the same time!  My body produced nourishment for 6 babies for more than a year for each of them.  My body, my extra layers of skin and fat, my stretch marks, my scars, my stretched out chest, they all tell a story.  They tell a story of betrayal, trust, worry, fear, pain, joy, nourishment, life, and of blessings.