So you may have heard...

We're having triplets.

Believe me, I did not expect that I would ever reveal a pregnancy only 8 weeks along. Everything you're taught says WAIT. But when you're expecting triplets, your uterus measures 10-12 weeks bigger than that of a woman carrying a singleton. So I basically look 20 weeks pregnant. I'm already in maternity clothes. The cat is out of the bag.

I asked our perinatologist today what the likelihood of us losing one or more of these little guys is. He said that they are all measuring well and the hearts are beating strong, so of course there is a chance, but it's pretty slight. Once those hearts start beating, they usually stay beating. The biggest risk really is preterm labor. That, and the situation of the identicals. We aren't sure if they are sharing the same placenta yet (fingers crossed that they aren't). They have separate sacs, which is good, but separate placentas would be even better. We'll find out at our 12 weeks appointment. So here we are. Some of you would like to know how we got here. Well, I'll give you the short version.

It took us a while to get pregnant, as anyone following my other blog knows. We finally had our success with interuterine insemination (which is not the same as in vitro, btw). With insemination, I had to take a certain drug for five days to stimulate my ovaries to produce mature eggs. Then, at day 11, I had an ultrasound to confirm that the drug had worked. We found that it had produced two mature eggs, both of which would likely be released when Dave gave me the shot to trigger them. Then, 36 hours later, Dave produced a...sample...which they spun (to get rid of the duds--every guy has them) and washed (to let them swim a little easier). Then our doctor inserted a catheter into my uterus and VIOLA! 15 minutes later they were at their destination.

When we had our ultrasound before the insemination, our doctor asked us how we felt about multiples. We had discussed it and felt twins would be okay. I just assumed that since there were only two follicles, we would end up with two babies at the most. I did not anticipate one of the eggs splitting to give us a set of identical twins along with one fraternal...

I knew I was pregnant the night before I took a test. I was so sick, and I was only 3.5 weeks! I assumed I was having twins if I was feeling it that early, but we wouldn't know for a few weeks. Finally, six weeks came around and Dave and I decided to head down to the clinic on Saturday morning of conference weekend.

It felt so surreptitious, being at the clinic after hours, peeking to see what was in store for us. I had a feeling in my heart we would have twins. I was so confident that when we saw two sacs, I was completely unfazed  Of course, what my untrained eye did NOT pick up on was that one sac was twice as large as the other. When Dave said triplets, I looked at him to detect the, "Just kidding!" in his eyes. But there was no joke there. Just bafflement. I burst into tears. Well, I said a bad word. THEN I burst into tears. He burst out laughing. I guess you either laugh or cry in that situation. I made him take me over to the hospital immediately and have our fertility doc do another ultrasound to confirm. Thankfully he was on call that day and not busy. His machine was better, but all it did was give us a better picture of the three yolk sacs that were about to turn into real babies with real heartbeats.

I spent the next week in shock. Denial. Dread. These were not feelings I anticipated having about being pregnant. We had worked so hard to get pregnant, and now I was wishing I could undo it all. How could I possibly love three babies at once? Feed three babies at once? Sleep when there were three babies who needed me?  Adding insult to injury, as I entered my sixth week of pregnancy, I was SO sick. I mean, I could hardly move. I slept and slept and slept. I wanted to eat, but I couldn't. I don't throw up ever, so I just laid there wishing I could. When I voiced this to Dave, he said, "Honey, pregnant ladies don't feel better when they throw up. It's not like having the flu. When you throw up pregnant, you just throw up." So I stopped wishing I could throw up and just suffered in silence.

I had three rough days and then finally a break in the clouds. I had an appointment with Dave to have a mole removed from my back later that week so I dragged myself to the clinic. After the procedure, Dave suggested we have a look to see if we could see heartbeats (it was about the time we could). We did an abdominal ultrasound and it looked as if there were just two yolk sacs there. We looked at each other and breathed a sigh of relief. TWINS. "We're down to twins," he said. It felt so manageable. For the first time in almost a week, I felt excited about being pregnant again. I had three really good days. And then, the sickness returned.

I hit 7 weeks and I could. not. move. I was so sick. As sick as I felt when we thought we were having triplets. So Dave and I headed down to the clinic after hours again to take another look, fearing that Baby C may have just been hiding. Here is the video of that night:

I cried myself to sleep AGAIN. But David, being the wonderful man he is, started giving me a list of all the reasons why it is great that this is happening the way it is. By the end, I started to think that maybe someday I wouldn't dread this. I woke up the next morning with an abiding peace, remembering that these are going to turn into people who I will love and adore and WANT.

So, the goal is to make it to 33 weeks, which is mid-April. I'm eating as much as I possibly can and have my requisite 2 hour nap almost daily. I can't run anymore (not enough blood to go around), so I walk the dog every morning and will probably find myself in the pool later this week if I can bring myself to get into a maternity swimsuit. I read triplet blogs and make lists of things I'll need and things I can do to make our lives easier. Someday I may have energy to paint the room we are going to use as the nursery, but that may have to wait until my second trimester. We would like to take a babymoon, but I'm not really allowed on my feet after 20 weeks, so our window is pretty limited. Basically, I will have about 8 weeks where I'm allowed/able to be productive. Then it's back to reading books and blogging (and eating...always eating--blah).

So, here we go. I'm going to continue the record of this journey on a new blog entitled "Taco Tuesday Confessions: Triplet Addition." (Get it? Edition/Addition? Sigh...) The triplet blogs I have used as resources have been invaluable, so I'd like to pay it forward. Even just knowing I'm not alone has been so comforting. So, I may occasionally blog here, but bookmark http://tacotuesdaytriplets.blogspot.com/ if you want to keep up to date and see all the belly pictures you all have been asking for already...

Prayers, if you're willing. Love to you all.

Boston

I woke up yesterday feeling a little melancholy about not being in Boston this year for the marathon but also really excited for everyone who was running. I was remembering my first time and all the excitement that came with it and then hurting so bad at the end that I promised Cherie I would never run another marathon (yeah...). I ruefully thought about the hypothermia of 2007 that I'm convinced was just karma coming back to bite me after KT and I mocked all the warnings the BAA kept spamming us with. I laughed as I remembered that year's pre-race X-L hot chocolates from Dunkin' Donuts and our subsequent potty emergency that occurred when our bus got lost on the way to Hopkinton. My heart hurt a little more at the remembrance of the agony of 2010, running just two months after losing my mom unexpectedly and the sacrifice KT made in running a slow race with me even though her own mom had come to watch her run.

I thought about the race all day, wondering if I would ever return to Boston as a racer. Plagued with various health problems and injuries, I keep asking myself if it's time to hang up my laces and pick up biking [shudder]. But then I was running errands and the news of the bombings came over the radio. I started shaking and had to pull over. I took out my phone and looked at the news. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I kept thinking that the only carnage that deserved to be there was the self-inflicted kind: people limping through a bad race, people chafed in all the wrong places, dehydration, hypothermia, sunburn, etc. etc. etc. Not shrapnel wounds from a bomb blast. And the spectators: that's supposed to be the safe part, and we runners NEED them at the finish. It's the only thing that carries you through that last half mile--I've run a lot of races and nothing beats the roar of that crowd. Hearing that turn from cheers into screams of terror was more than I could handle. I called Dave sobbing and he told me to come straight to the clinic. Bless that man's heart: he made his patients wait, closed his office door, and just held me while I sobbed in his arms.

I realized in that moment that I wasn't upset because I was imagining myself there. I was imagining everyone ELSE there. People who had worked their whole lives to run in that race. People who were just trying to help runners through the last half mile of that grueling course. People who were enjoying the rush of accomplishment. Shattered.

Running is sacred to me. At the end of the day, it's not about burning calories or being faster than the other ladies on the trail, even though that's part of it. No, at the heart of it is my sanity. It kept me alive after my mom died; it was the one thing that felt safe and familiar when everything else was falling apart. Even now, to keep life from spinning out of control, running is where I go. I always feel better when I'm done. It's like coming home at the end of a long day. And yesterday's bombs left me feeling as shaken as if someone had broken into my home, my sanctuary.

I felt compelled to reach out to my fellow runners yesterday after I'd pulled myself together. We are spread all over the country now, but by reaching out to them, I felt like we had retreated into a cozy room, snuggled under the blankets, and reassured each other that everything was going to be fine. And in that virtual little pow-wow, I decided that I'm not quite ready to give up the running shoes. I need to go back to Boston one more time. One more time to prove to that sicko/those sickos that they can't scare me away from my sport. They invaded my sanctuary but they will not rob me of it. No way.

My first Boston - 2006

After promising Cherie (and myself) I was never running another marathon...

There are no 2007 post-race pics since I was, you know, half-naked being attended to in the medical tent...

Boston 2010

Trying to be cheery at the start.

I love my KT.

Boston, we'll be back. I promise.

"Nesting"

We've been doing a little remodeling. Dave says I've been in a super-nesting phase, but since I'm not actually gestating a little person as of yet, I maintain we are simply still in the bachelor-pad-to-home transformation. When I start decorating a nursery, I'll call it nesting.

It turns out that even though Dave and I are the best of friends, we are still learning how to work on a project together. We are great workers-in-parallell -- divide and conquer, that's what we're all about -- but when we actually have to combine our efforts on the same thing...well, there has to be room for growth, right?

Exhibit 1: Our first foray into vinyl lettering.

This looks innocent enough, but this project was embarked upon at 10:30 at night and I was hungry and tired. We both had our own ideas about how to deal with the difficult font application.  We had to step away from the project a couple of times and take some deep breaths. Dave makes me hug him when I start to get anxious. There was a lot of hugging that night. The one good thing that came out of this night was that we were up late enough to catch the exploding water softener within 5 minutes of bursting. The flooding in the garage could have been so much worse. 

I decided this year I wanted an herb garden, so we ripped out the bushes along our patio and my dad and I worked together to put in these raised planters while Dave was hard at work doing his doctor thing.

Two days of backbreaking labor later...

I have my very own herb garden right outside my kitchen!

Those are my peppers and strawberries!

Tomatoes, tomatillos, and squash

About a month ago, we had a guy come look at our yard to tell us how much it would cost to rehabilitate it. After he walked around, he just laughed and said he doesn't do the kind of work it would take. It was going to cost us thousands, so I decided I am able-bodied enough to do the work myself. I have been out there daily since. I'm feeling pretty proud of myself.

Gone is the vicious mint and in its place is a rose that is not only alive but CLIMBING like it's supposed to on the archway that I put in.

I resurrected the rose garden. You can really cut those suckers back and it's amazing how fiercely they will grow back

 There are little pieces of FRUIT on that tree! It not only lived from last year to this year, but it actually GREW! I'm so excited for my first crop of plums!

Peaches. I'm going to have fresh peaches. I can hardly stand it, I'm so excited.

I needed a break from the yard so Dave helped me put in the last of our vinyl lettering this weekend. We grew a lot during this process and actually ended up having a great time by the end. It's so satisfying to see the product of your labor.

 This is in our dining room. It turned out so nice.

I love this little corner in our living room. I never thought I would have a husband, let alone such a great one. And I for sure never thought I'd have a house in which I could hang a picture of us and put up semi-cheesy vinyl lettering. But I love it.

pager woes

I know, who even uses a pager anymore? Well, I'll tell you who: my husband.

When we first met, I thought it was a little dorky that he wore a pager everywhere. I mean, it's 2013 -- you have a cell phone. When I finally asked him about it, he explained that the pager is intended to protect the poor nurses who have to wake him up in the middle of the night or interrupt dinner with friends or take him away from his patients in the clinic. That one minute between him getting the page and calling the nurses back give him the few seconds he needs to shift his mind into gear. It also helps him wake up a little when the page comes in the middle of the night. Fair enough.

But when we first got married, that pager quickly turned into my nemesis. It beeped at dinner, during precious sleep hours, at the movies. I started having a pavlovian-like response to it--Dave immediately got my pit-of-despair, our-evening-is-over disappointed eyes. However, it only took me a couple of months to realize that pages turn into our income. So I stopped being resentful. But I haven't stopped being tired. I'm blogging right now in an effort to stay awake at 4 p.m., but I want more than anything to just lie down for a few minutes, and I would except I'm taking dinner to a friend in the ward in an hour and it's not going to cook itself...

As a side note, to all my pregnant friends out there, 3:30 a.m. is not a nice time to have a baby. I'm just sayin'.

I was so tired at the oil change place today that I left the chicken I had just purchased at Costco on the chair beside me. Just walked right out. Right past the chicken. I was all the way home before I realized my mistake. The mechanic had a good laugh at me when I walked back in to reclaim tomorrow's dinner.

By now, you might be thinking I'm a big sissy. Why can't I just fall back asleep? After all, I'm not the one who has to go deliver the baby. If it was just the page, it wouldn't be so bad. But the call necessitates the light geting turned on so Dave can get dressed. Then the dog realizes he's going somewhere, so she jumps out of her bed and starts running around like crazy, flapping her ears and jingling her collar, hoping Dave will take her with him. Dave winds her up a little (he can't help it), then kisses me goodbye. THEN I lay there and stare at the ceiling for a while until I can fall back asleep, which is usually only about 30 minutes before he comes home. Today he didn't get home until 5:30 a.m. Blah.

Needless to say, we were both dragging a little this morning.

This only reaffirms my fear that Dave and I might be too old to be trying to embark on this whole parenting thing. Dave's medical training taught him how to fall asleep in an instant. I only have that talent at 10 p.m.; after that, all bets are off.

So, this is the tradeoff, people. We got to get married more mature and developed, but those midnight feedings, whenever they finally come, are not going to be kind to these mature and developed bodies.

Family

This confessional blog is usually reserved for all things absurd, but today I've felt compelled to write about something very dear to my heart. This is very difficult for me to write about, because the last thing I want to do is alienate or offend people. My heart is full of love for all of mankind, a capacity that has only increased since I got married a year ago. I never knew so much love was possible, and was frankly rather surprised that it extended beyond my marriage and out into the universe. Where I was once happy to keep to myself with only a few close friends, my heart has been opened to my husband's friends and family, my community, and just people in general. I feel like my family has been extended ten-fold, and that's what I want to talk about today: Family. 

Marriage was a big change for me. The emotional closeness that is required for a successful marriage was uncomfortable and unnerving at first, but the payout has been so worth it. As we have tried (rather unsuccessfully) to expand our family and faced the struggles and realities of being older parents trying to get pregnant, I've had family on the brain. And of course, as we've struggled with this aspect of our lives, there is another different yet related struggle going on outside of the walls of our home. At the heart of the debate is the question, "What is family?" 

It's true: with the changing tides and natural evolution of society, the family has taken on many forms, adapting to the needs and circumstances of life. Some of those adaptations are positive. For instance, where women at one point in history were shunned from society for having a child out of wedlock, forced to raise their children in poverty, there are now more options for women who find themselves in those circumstances. In addition, there is no longer the social stigma that once excluded them from "polite" company, as it was seen back then. However, with these changes have come other unintended consequences.

Now, instead of a few isolated incidents in small communities, all over the country there are women who are raising children on their own, with the assistance of their families as well as government welfare, who are not protected by the obligations that marriage places upon a man to take care of his family. I have seen it first-hand: they are left on their own to struggle. That woman has to work, take her kids to school, clean the house, make sure the kids do their homework, find something for the family to eat...it's too much for most anyone to do it all.  Something's eventually going to have to give. The same positive social progression that has accepted these women into society rather than cast them out as social pariahs has also taken away some of the shame that kept men and women from falling into the situation in the first place. It's complicated.

I have friends who grew up in homes like this. I have friends who grew up in abusive homes (emotionally and/or physically) who have no interest in binding themselves to another person but are happy and well-adjusted. I have friends who were raised by a single parent and feel that they are as well off or better off than some of their peers with two parents. I have dear friends who are gay and lesbian who don't see a difference between their love and my husband's and my love. I interact almost everyday with an entire community who believes that their love should extend to having multiple wives legally--good, kind people, hard workers. These friends that I have who have been raised in what we tend to term "broken homes" have turned out okay. Better than okay in a lot of cases. But I believe that in most cases they are the exceptions to the rule. But these exceptions are trotted out AS the rule in the debate on family and marriage, which is deceptive and taints the discussion with distorted facts.

As such, some discard the notion of marriage as old fashioned, out of date. Some hold to it fiercely. Some want to expand its definition. I can see each point of view pretty clearly and of course I don't have a solution. It's something I've wrestled with for many years without a lot of success. 

Thankfully I found a wonderful man to marry, but I was only ready for him after a couple rounds of therapy and some pretty hard knocks in life. I could not imagine divorce in my life, but I understand why it happens. Marriage is hard.  

In the case of gay marriage, I don't know what it feels like to be attracted to a woman. I don't know why, if marriage is (as I, and many others, believe it to be) divinely appointed to be between a man and a woman, God would "allow" same-sex attraction to even be part of the equation. Those are things I don't have answers to. For most of my single years, I let the lack of answers to these questions hang me up on coming to a definitive conclusion on how I felt about marriage. I was on no side. I felt like taking a side was "mean" and lacked compassion and understanding. But, marriage has changed me. And it has only changed me in the last couple of months on this particular topic as I have contemplated what it means for my husband and me to try to bring a child into this world. I feel like I have finally arrived at a place in my life where I feel comfortable with my stance even though I don't have all the answers I would like to have.

So I guess I just want to put out in the universe that I am pro-family. Which brings us back full circle to the question of "What is family?" Sure, there's the saying that family is who we choose. Sometimes they are related to us, and sometimes they aren't. But as far as creating a family, I believe that a child has the best chance of success when he or she has a loving father and mother who are married, working hard to get along and love each other and love their kids. Sure, there are always exceptions to the rule, but there is a rule. The family is divinely appointed. It's also good for society. It's good for men to be legally responsible for their offspring. It's good for education. It's good for the economy. It protects children. The thing is, it's not easy. Unfortunately, though, we are in a phase where things that are not easy are easily cast off. Resilience is lost. Working through pain is a forgotten concept. We take pills to cover instead of pay for therapy to fix or, heaven forbid, turn to deity for help. And I feel like I can say those things because I have been there. The ideal takes a LOT of work, but I know it's worth it. I am a product of it. I am working with my husband to create this for our family. We will make a lot of mistakes, just like my parents did, but I believe that we are giving our children the best chance at a healthy and successful life if we will work at it. 

The problem is, for me to come down on the side of "pro-family"--which includes opposing no-fault divorce as well as gay marriage--to most people on the other side of the debate this automatically makes me a hater, a bigot, and one who seeks to oppress others. And it's just not true. 

That's all.

I have a confession...

I just found this in my drafts. I wrote this right after I got back from Thanksgiving and Dave and I were unofficially engaged. Apparently I had to get it off my chest. :)

A really BIG confession.
First, let's talk for just a moment about how much I love this man.




Who, you ask?
Good question.

Confessional readers: I would like you to meet David Grygla

Dave and I were set up on a blind date by none other than my oldest brother, Bruce.

I have been patently against blind dates since the Disastrous Blind Date of '02 wherein my little brother Brian was thrown into the ceiling by his friend Mike in a failed attempt at a ballet lift and my date subsequently ran out the front door with hardly more than a "thanks-for-a-good-night-I'll-call-you-later-but-not-really-thanks-bye." In fact, I don't think I've been on a blind date since then.

Consequently, I waited almost a full 24 hours to call Dave back because I wasn't sure I wanted to subject myself to that kind of torture again. I consulted my "thestreetsareon" googlegroup. The response was unanimous: I would at least get a good story and a free meal out of it. I should go.

So, I called him back.

I was feeling sassy. The conversation had no filter. Some might call it unconscious sabotage. Turns out Dave loved it.

We agreed to meet up the following day at the Spanish Fork municipal airport where he introduced me to his mistress, Rhonda, The Short Stripper (which is, in fact, the name of his airplane - she can land on a short strip...get it?). After buckling me in, he showed me our flight plan, explained how the process was going to go, then flew me to Heber for lunch.

Yes, you read that right. Flew me to Heber. For lunch.

Yes, my palms were sweaty.
Yes, he thought it was funny.
No, I was not embarrassed.

Here's the funny thing: even though it was a blind date, I felt like I was with an old friend. We talked about everything: books, politics, death, grief, being single, travel...there was no topic shied away from. We had no fear. And he could keep up. I liked him right away.

After lunch, we took a fall foliage tour from the air. It was breathtaking, including the brief moment when he unexpected turned over the plane's controls to me. Longest 30 seconds of my life, let me tell you.

We landed safely back in Spanish Fork and proceeded to talk on the hood of my car for the next two and a half hours. The date only ended because I was afraid of him flying home in the dark. I had no idea he loves night flying and wasn't concerned about leaving at all, but he left anyway. When he got home, he texted me to tell me how glad he was Bruce set us up. I agreed wholeheartedly.

And the rest, as we say, is history.
Each day I fall more and more in love with him.
I just spent the week of Thanksgiving with him and his entire family.
I love them.
They love me.
Dave loves me, too.
And I love Dave.
Like, a lot.

So we decided to get married.
In Dave's immortal words, "It's a freaking miracle."
I could not have said it better myself.

I love you, Dr. Grygla.

Taco Tuesday just got better

Last night was Taco Tuesday. I love Taco Tuesday.

Taco Tuesday is the flavor of the week. Easy, delicious food. Delicious.

Dad, who lives with us and gets to hear my running external dialogue when I'm home, picked up on the fact that I was looking for a giant-sized mortal and pestle in which to make delectable guacamole. I did it once at Cherie's house and have been craving it ever since. I thought St. George was devoid of any such gadget since I had looked at Bed, Bath and Beyond and Target and struck out in both places. Silly me. I live in a small town with specialty stores. Who knew?

Dad did.

He surprised me last week with the purchase of a glorious stone mortal and pestle just for making guacamole. I think he was skeptical of the fact that it would taste any different, but he knew the desire of my heart.

So, for this week's Taco Tuesday, I busted out the new kitchen gadget.  I dumped in two and a half avocados, cilantro, red onion, lime juice and kosher salt. It looked like a big mess. A big, delicious mess.

No more bending forks mashing up avocado. No more texture problems. Just glorious goodness. I should have taken a picture.

adventures in crash course parenting

You know, I'm happy to say that I've never been one of those people who say, "Man, if this parent would only do this and this and this, then blah blah blah." I've always had a healthy respect for what it means to be a parent. Maybe because I've watched almost all of my siblings go through it, sometimes in an up close and personal way (i.e., when I was living with some of them). So, I knew THEORETICALLY what I was getting myself into when I offered to watch some nieces and nephews for the week while their parents got away for a much-needed vacation. The actuality of it, however, rocked my world on day one. I learned the three essential ingredients to survival--sleep, food, and exercise--and the rest of the week has been much better.

These are the highlights (and lowlights) of the week so far:

Highlight: The kids were remarkably well behaved in church. We only had to switch kids' places once to avoid a scene. I consider that a success. 

Lowlight: We got absolutely no sleep Sunday night. Between Dave getting called down to the hospital in the middle of the night, sleeping in a much smaller bed than we are accustomed to, the kind of sheer exhaustion that makes one of us snore like a bear, and having to get up early to get kids off to school, it was a rough night.

Highlight/lowlight: Dave had to work late Monday so I was on my own all day. Dave FaceTimed me mid-day, took one look at me, one look at himself, and said, "Honey, we're too old to have kids. We look like hell." 

Lowlight: I dropped two dozen eggs on the ground at Costco right as I was checking out. Splat. All over the floor. I was so embarrassed, but Woody (the self-checkout helper) just swept right in and had the mess cleaned up and a new carton of eggs in my hands within minutes. I felt so grateful for kind people who understood that I hadn't eaten anything all day and had hardly slept the night before.

Highlight: I made it to the end of the day without any of the kids seeing my tears. I was SO tired and had a terrible migraine.

Lowlight: After all that, plus sibling fights at dinner that resulted in sending one kid to their room, I totally lost it when Dave got home from work and told him we weren't having any kids. Period. I think he understood me, though I'm not sure he could make out every word through all the sobbing.

Highlight: Dave, my hero, went down to our house, got our mattress, put it in the truck, and carted it down to the guest room. Turns out my neck was SUPER out of alignment, so he took care of that (SO grateful I married a D.O.) and viola! My migraine was gone. He tucked me in, and one heartfelt prayer from Dave and a back tickle later, the world was looking much better. 

Highlight: I've managed to get the kids to school on time, fed and clothed, as well as to their extracurricular activities every day.

Highlight: I took one of the kids to a student of the month breakfast which was actually really cool. Even though I'm not her mom, I felt so proud of her and to be there associated with her. I wondered what it would be like to go to one of those with my own child.

Highlight: I made it to my favorite class at the gym yesterday by a miracle (Dave had a later start and was able to help me get kids off to school) and could feel myself settling down from the day before. I repented of putting the nix on having my own kids and decided I could do this as long as I had Dave by my side.

Bonus Highlight: Driving around with the youngest (age 5) and running errands, he was asking so many questions and I tried to answer them as best as I could. Some of them were pretty funny. Some of them he asked multiple times. After about 15 minutes of nonstop questions, he squinted at me and asked, "Why are you so nice?" I just about DIED laughing.

All in all, it's been an okay week. It's taught me a lot about myself and shown me so many wonderful sides of my husband. I feel much more confident in our abilities to be good parents after this experience. We are such a good team. I like what Ben Affleck said to his wife in his Oscar acceptance speech: Marriage is hard work, but it's the best kind of work.

That being said, I'm really looking forward to Friday and someday starting out ONE (or two at the worst) at a time. :)