Tenaciously TTCRelentlessly pursuing the dream of building our family

A few posts back (previous to Christmas, I think?), I mentioned that something had come up that I wasn’t quite expecting and didn’t really know how to process. I didn’t have the time to write about then, but I’m making the time now.

With such a large gap in between my first child and the triplets, it had been quite some time since I had done well-baby visits. 16 years ago, they checked length and weight, gave immunizations if needed, and nothing much else. Nowadays there is all this talk of milestones, what seems like endless questions about how much they are eating and drinking of what, etc. And while I admit it may just be an assumption on my part, it feels like there is a heavier focus on milestones with us, either because they were premature or because they are triplets, or both.

So at one of their well-baby visits (9 month, I think? How sad that I can’t even remember!!), the doctor was asking about speech, and I expressed concerns. Everything I read said they should be making more consonant sounds, maybe even saying mama, dada, and baba, and they weren’t saying much of anything. We had our developmental clinic appointment coming up, so she said to cover it with them, but to be safe, let’s have all of their hearing tested again.

At the clinic, we were told that they wouldn’t normally recommend speech therapy until they were at least 18 months because, technically, they weren’t considered speech-delayed unless they reached 18 months with no words. But because they felt I was very stressed about it, they wrote up a recommendation for Juliet to get speech therapy. Of course, by the time we got the write up and recommendation, she was noisy as all get out (if not using words yet), and we opted to skip speech therapy for now and stick to the normal routine. If there were still concerns at 18 months, we would do whatever they suggested. In the meantime, we would follow through with the hearing tests (though they had passed their newborn screening).

Pacey and Juliet both passed their hearing tests. Flynn’s was inconsistent. We scheduled a repeat test to account for him being tired, hungry, overstimulated, etc. His 2nd test was inconsistent. We had to go to the next step and have him sedated for an ABR (Auditory Brain Response, I believe). What a very long and difficult afternoon that was.

The whole process took over 4 hours, plus the 45 minute drive each way, and I took him by myself while PB stayed at home with the other two. I had to wait in the waiting room by myself for roughly an hour, and even though it wasn’t life or death, my chest felt heavy.

To begin with, simply watching your child go under during sedation is very unsettling. They told me it would be, and I kept it together, but inside…I can’t begin to explain to you how it feels. If you’ve been there, you know what I mean. Watching your baby go completely limp like that, it just makes your heart sink.

As he was waking, the audiologist was explaining to me that he had not passed the ABR. That he has bilateral sensorineural hearing loss. She began to explain that it was very mild, in a limited decibel range, only a tad below normal. That he would have trouble hearing certain consonant sounds and therefore have difficulty acquiring speech without treatment. That she recommended hearing aids. And while I heard what she said, I could only focus on Flynn waking up.

It is even more unsettling watching your child wake from sedation than to watch them go under, especially when they are so little. He was confused, and I’m sure felt funny, and being totally unable to communicate, he just cried. And he was so hungry, but so confused, that he wouldn’t take his bottle at first. And between the news she gave me and my baby having such a difficult time, I felt really emotionally overwhelmed. But I held it together. At least until I got on the road and called my mom.

For some reason, it seems silly to me that I’ve been so emotional over this. It is a problem that can be treated. It isn’t life or death. It causes him no pain. We caught it early, so he doesn’t have much catching up to do. Given the fact we had triplets and all the meds I was on while I was pregnant, we are so lucky that we aren’t facing something much worse.

But he is my child. And he has a health issue. And even though she said it’s not something we’ve done, it’s hard not to feel guilty, not to wonder if I should have done something differently.

And I worry about the stigma that may come along with the hearing aids when he starts school. He’ll already stand out, being part of a three-pack. And children can be so horribly mean.

For once, I’m truly at a loss for words. I’ve been trying to put my finger on the exact reason why my heart sinks and my eyes well up whenever I think too long on it. It just breaks my heart. And I think it just does.

He is my child. I am his mother. And though he is still perfect to me, though I love him as much as I ever did, it hurts me that he will have to live with this.

The ABR was on December 8th. His hearing aid has been ordered, and we are waiting to see an ear, nose and throat doctor before his final fitting. So, I’ve had time to process it all. Or at least, I am in the process of processing. I do know that as time passes, it won’t phase me anymore. We’ll reach a state of new normal. And I believe that if we don’t treat him like he’s different, he won’t see himself that way either, and it will make it all much easier in the long run.

But in the mean time, I think I’m grieving a little bit. Grieving what exactly, I don’t know. But I think grieving is definitely the right word for it.

Sorry if I’ve run at the mouth, and if I sound a little disjointed, it’s probably because I am a bit these days. But I have faith that things will smooth out.

So, today is my 36th birthday. Nothing huge planned. I expect my husband picked up a Baskin Robbins ice cream cake (my favorite), and perhaps a sizable Barnes & Noble gift card because I’m saving for a Nook Tablet. I wanted a Nook Color, but why not pay the extra $50 and get all that additional functionality, right?

Other than that, it’s just any other day. No sleeping in, no day off, no celebratory dinner out, no party. Same ol’, same ol’.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how I feel about turning 36. As birthdays go, it isn’t particularly monumental. It isn’t 30 or 40. And I entered AMA territory on my last birthday (yeah). Is there anything truly significant about being 36? Not so far as I can tell. Except that I am now closer to 40 than 30, and while I’m trying to swallow that with some grace, I cannot tell a lie. 40 is the age I have always dreaded, but I can’t begin to tell you why.

For many, 30 is the first dreaded turning of the tides, but I never looked at it that way. While my 30′s have had a fair share of turmoil, they have also brought me my life partner, my babies, more financial stability (not that you could tell from some of my previous posts, right?), and a subtle mellowing. I’m more content with what I have, more accepting of others, and have more solid relationships, even if they are few and far between. The anger I’ve carried with me since childhood has dulled more than a fair amount, and forgiveness is coming more easily to me than it ever has. For all of these things, I am extremely thankful.

I will not say that the idea of entering my 40′s is weighing on me exactly. To begin with, I have 4 more years to get through before I reach them. And really, finding moments to have thoughts about anything other than what I have to do next for the babies is rare and precious. I try not to waste those moments worrying about things that ultimately are of little consequence. But I do think about it. And not with any great fondness.

The turn of a new year and birthdays are likely the two most common times for people to really reflect on their lives. In my case, it happens that those two events are extraordinarily close together. So, I’ve spent a fair amount of time between Christmas and now looking backwards and forwards and chewing on it all a bit.

My life is not at all where I expected it to be at this point, but that should not be construed as a complaint nor is it indicative of regret. On the contrary, I don’t believe in regret. In my mind, regret is equivalent to wishing that you could go back and change something in your past, it’s wishing that you had done things differently. And while it’s true that I can see where I got off track, where I’ve strayed and made poor decisions, I also believe that there was only one path to where I am right in this moment, and had I done even one thing differently, I could very well be somewhere quite different. Not a risk I’d be willing to take.

Still, though my path has veered in a very different path than I had planned, I am happy with where I have landed. I may not love every single second of my life, but I wouldn’t trade it. Yet my old plans and goals stay with me. My bucket list has not changed. And my greatest challenge is finding a way to merge the two paths. I’ve always been a strong believer that nothing and no one should require that you give up “you” in entirety. Anything that costs everything else you ever wanted isn’t worth the cost. You must work hard not to lose yourself.

So my task for myself in my 36th year is to figure out how to blend the path I’m on with the path I was on. To figure out what on that original path was most important to me and find my way to it. To find a way back to myself, to take better care of myself (hell, to take any care of myself), to be a little selfish and make my way towards a greater sense of fulfillment.

Through infertility and then raising my little ones, I have most certainly put myself on the back burner, and in doing so have lost sight of who I am and how to go about meeting my own needs. Although it will have to be done in baby steps, my goal this year is to find my way back to me.

Wish me luck.

Wow. My oldest is 16 today. As in 16 years old. As in how-the-heck-did-that-happen-so-fast?

On January 9th, 1996, my first daughter came into the world at 5:40pm, weighing 8lbs 15.5oz. Natural birth with less than a 3 hour labor. She was 10 days past due and it all happened so fast that the whole thing was a blur. But not really, because I shockingly remember most of it. It was a pretty monumental day in my life.

For nearly 15 years, SS was my only child. And I was a very young single parent for most of those years. But we made it work. She was my partner in crime, my cuddle bunny, my adventure buddy. We traveled to great places together and shared amazing experiences along the way. We always had each other.

We’ve certainly had our ups and downs in recent years, but we are seeing our way to the other side now. She has grown and matured immensely in the past year. So have I, I think. I am really proud of who she is becoming, even if I do worry (it’s a mothers job, ya know). SS has a wonderful way with the babies and it’s clear how much she adores them. She’s gained a new perspective and has a greater respect for the people around her. Her future is becoming more of a focus and her eye is drifting more towards the opportunities and responsibilities in front of her. Her sense of humor is wonderful. She is a true and loyal friend. And if her heart is bent on something, she is capable of working hard to achieve it.

Thumbing through pictures of her over the years, it is hard to believe that my baby is growing into a young woman. That soon she will enter the world of adulthood and true independence. Everything about her is constantly evolving, as it should be, but sometimes the rapidness of it takes my breath away. How did we get here so quickly? Where did the time go? Where is the slow motion button?

Happy 16th birthday to my beautiful, smart, funny, loyal, wonderfully amazing daughter. May the years to come be easy-going and the life lessons not be too hard. May you always know how much I love you and how much I treasure all those years of it being just the two of us. May you carry that sense of adventure throughout your life and keep on racking up new and amazing experiences. I have millions of wishes for you, more than can be counted, but more than anything, I hope you have a life full of love and happiness. Love you, Short Stuff! Always and forever!

To begin with, how about a Christmas photo!

Overall, it was basically uneventful, with two exceptions. On the way there, Pacey puked at the first restaurant. Like massive puke. Then I changed him, and he immediately puked again. We figured out that his sensitive little tummy needs extra care on car trips. Poor little bubba. The second exception was in the home stretch on our return trip. Juliet just started screaming bloody murder and woke up the boys who joined in. We tried everything to get her to stop, but they just had the hardest time sleeping in the car.

The kids got more toys than I know what to do with. I’m packing some away, and we’re going to have Christmas in June. Fortunately, they got quite a few toys that are rated for 18 month olds, so those are the toys I will tuck away to be used later. Next year, I think I’ll emphasize how useful clothes would be over toys.

Wow. And another month goes by where I don’t write a word. Ugh.

Things have been busy, busy, busy and I have so much to update you on that I can’t possibly cover it in one post. Since I last wrote, we have had our one year check up, our 1st birthday party, a very long roadtrip to Washington for Turkey Day, and a big discovery that I’m having trouble coming to terms with at the moment (sorry to be so cryptic, I’ll catch you up soon, I promise).

Plus, it’s just that time of year. Halloween, followed by the babies’ birthday, then Turkey Day, Christmas, SS’s birthday, and mine! All within like 10 weeks. And who does all the planning, shopping, and preparing? Yuppers.

Yes, I’m feeling overwhelmed. And this recent news…I’m just not going to let it push me over the edge.

So, I don’t have birthday pics on hand (on hubby’s machine, hubby not home), but the “party” went well. I limited it to immediate family only. His mom flew in, my parents came, as well as two of my brothers, their significant other/spouse, and my niece and nephew (4 & 6). I made smash cakes for the babies (cake mix from a box, sadly, but homemade buttercream frosting), and got an ice cream cake for everyone else.

My cake decorating skills are rusty (that’s being kind), and I forgot to take the dang cakes out an hour before, so they had a hard time mushing through the stiff frosting. They were all really unsure about the whole thing, but in the end, Pacey and Juliet did a bang up job of tearing up their cakes, and Flynn did his usual…he ate some, but since it wasn’t pureed, wasn’t cruchies or puffs, and wasn’t pancakes…he deemed it not worthy of his time and effort.

No one went truly overboard with presents, but with two + presents per baby, per guest…oh my. Quite a lot of toys in our playroom now. And we still have Christmas to get through! In terms of ripping the paper off, they weren’t so sure. Juliet eventually got into it a little…she does love to rip paper (mostly for the purposes of eating it, unfortunately), but since it’s normally not allowed, she kept looking at me like she was waiting to hear her name said sternly. Flynn, who is our resident mountain goat, was more interested in climbing the stack of gifts then opening or playing with them. Pacey just wanted to play with the cars. His favorite.

We had pizza and cake, and it was nice to hang out with the family. I rarely see my oldest brother (who is actually my step-brother, and we never lived together, so we aren’t close) and his family, but I really like his wife a lot. My parents were AWESOME and picked up everything before they left, so all we had to do was put the kids to bed and we were done. I can’t say how much of a gift that was!

Ok, I hate to cut things short like this, but babies are waking up from their morning nap, so I will have to pick this up later.

So, I’m really going to make a bigger effort to blog more often, and hopefully from time to time I’ll have something worthwhile to say. These days I wonder if this is still the proper venue for me given the direction life has taken, and the topics I’m most likely to discuss, but I’ll stay here for now, and if I decide to move to a new “address”, I’ll give you fair warning in case you care to follow me. But I digress…

I don’t write much these days. In fact, I haven’t been writing often since some point in the pregnancy. And in all of those posts, I’m quite sure that it seems as if I’ve forgotten I have another child. I certainly haven’t written about her all that much. And maybe it’s because there isn’t a ton to say because there are so few issues these days. Whew.

SS (abbreviation for Short Stuff, in case you’ve forgotten or didn’t read that far back) is doing much better than she was at the beginning of my pregnancy. Did I mention that she moved to Tahoe with her Dad? That was last December. She doesn’t love it there, but she’s settled in well. It took awhile which is to be expected. Having had to move as a teenager, I know how difficult it is to make new friends and find a good fit. She seems to have accomplished that.

In terms of grades, etc., she’s hanging on. It’s frustrating because she is so damn smart, but she isn’t even remotely motivated. And the reality is, she can’t be motivated by others either. Or at least, not a one of us – parent, teacher, therapist – have been able to find a way to motivate her. Pushing only makes things worse, and there are no reasonable rewards that make it worth it for her. But, she was failing all classes before, and now she’s passing, if barely. Sad that this improvement excites me, but it’s amazing how much your expectations change when your child has hit bottom. We’re nearly halfway through the year, and she’s still doing homework, so that’s something.

She hasn’t gotten into trouble in nearly a year. I’m not naive enough to think she isn’t doing things she shouldn’t be, but she isn’t getting caught. That doesn’t make it ok, but it does show that she’s starting to think things through, and I do know that she doesn’t have much opportunity to engage in normal teenage rebellion (i.e. drugs, drinking, sex). Plus, she tells me things I don’t believe most nearly 16 year olds would tell their mothers, so I think I have a good idea of what she’s up to. Normal teenage stuff, but frankly, she’s behaving a lot better than I was at the same age.

She has gotten a lot better control of her emotions and her expression of those emotions. She’s respectful even when some adults around here don’t deserve it. When it comes to doing things she doesn’t think she should have to do, it’s still challenging, but fortunately it doesn’t come up that often.

Overall, it has gotten a lot easier. The first 6 months after her overdose, heck the first year…it was hard. So, so hard. I don’t know if I’ll ever stop wondering what I could have done differently, what I could have done better, how I could have helped her, if I should have gotten her to therapy sooner or maybe tried a different therapist, oh the millions of things we parents beat ourselves up about. And when your child goes that far off the beaten path, you can’t help but torment yourself.

In the end, what matters is how she’s doing. And while I secretly wish that she were more focused on the future, I can honestly say that 18 months ago, I couldn’t imagine us being where we are right now. A lot of progress has been made, she’s grown a lot, and our relationship is in a good place. So all things considered, there isn’t much to complain about.

To begin with, I want to say once again how much I appreciate all of your support and feedback on my last post. I can’t say that I’ve gotten out since then (other than the usual running of errands), but I did research and find some other avenues for me to get out and do some things for myself that I can actually afford. Literally the day before Emily mentioned it (great minds think alike!), I discovered Meetup, and I found a couple of book clubs that might suit me in the near future. I also found a gym that a) offers classes on nights I can take them and b) that I can afford. I just have to make the time to go over and check it out with a free guest pass before making the commitment. But, the point is, I’m making an effort, and have more confidence that I’ll find something for myself in the near term.

Now, onto more interesting topics: Halloween! The babies had the first Halloween yesterday. I bought inexpensive costumes at Costco, we dressed them up, and took them to the mall for “trick-or-treating”. Of course, all we really did was do 5 laps around the mall in the stroller with them all dressed up and lookin’ cute. It’ll probably be a few years before we really take them out.

Now onto more fun stuff!

Getting dressed:

Juliet

Flynn - Mama, I have a bad feeling about this!

Pacey - The things I put up with!

Walking around the mall:

My sweet little ducky, Juliet

My ferocious little tiger, Flynn

My friendly little dragon, Pacey

Can you believe they turn 1 on the 12th? Where on earth did this first year go?

I don’t have a whole lot of time to write, but I didn’t want to let another minute pass without saying thanks. You have no idea how much it meant to me (and how much it helped) to read all of your words of encouragement! Oddly, writing down what I was feeling had the same effect, essentionally as tearing a scab off a wound that wasn’t anywhere near healed, leaving me overwhelmed with emotions that I didn’t realize I was refusing to process. For a day or two, I was a bit off my rocker. Your support went a long way in soothing my upset, and in motivating me to find some way to do something that I wanted. I’ve made some progress in that area, and I can’t wait until I have a moment to update you.

Until then, I wanted to say thanks. Thanks for still being here and for taking the time to comment. Your support is priceless.

So, here we are again. It’s been weeks (though not a month this time, so yeah for me!), and while there are a million things I’ve been wanting to blog about, I’m debating whether or not to write about what I’m feeling at the moment because I’m rather tired of myself actually. I constantly put myself in this vicious cycle of wanting my needs met and then brow-beating myself for wanting anything at all, for not just being one of those people whose satisfied.

Without a doubt, I know I am not the only mother on the planet who feels what I’m feeling right now. Somehow knowing that doesn’t make it any easier. Because I’m doing what I want. I’m staying home and raising my children, and I’m beyond blessed to be able to do that. There are plenty of mothers who wish they had that opportunity but can’t find a way. But honestly, is it supposed to be enough? I mean, am I supposed to be completely fulfilled by just that one role? Or is it ok that I feel like I need other things to satisfy me?

I’m withering away. I feel sometimes like I’m losing myself. I give most of me to my kids, and then what’s left over goes to PB. And frankly, I barely recognize myself. And I don’t know what to do to get my groove back.

Before I met PB, I was a single mother, an independent woman, a driven career woman. My life was very full. When I was traveling for work, I had dinner and drinks with people most nights. My career plate was very full, my daughter and I had a fantastic relationship, I traveled, I read, I drank life in.

Unfortunately, I was so driven at work that I didn’t realize that 99% of my “friends” were work friends. And when I left work, all those “friends” gradually disappeared. But I’m a relatively solitary person anyhow, so it wasn’t a gigantic deal at first. And I had all these projects to keep me busy. And I had school. And trying to get pregnant. And taking care of SS. There was time for books and blogging, but other stuff wasn’t a priority.

Then I got pregnant and miscarried. And I felt my lack of IRL friends in a very tangible way. I’ve never felt so alone in all my life. And then I got pregnant with triplets and SS had her issues and left, and I felt that aloneness (not to be confused with loneliness) even more acutely. As the pregnancy progressed, I became more and more useless. Me. Useless. School was no longer a possibility. Unable to get in a comfortable position so that I could just lift a book, unable to even prepare food for myself (not that I could eat much anyhow, but that’s beside the point). Barely able to get to the bathroom. Scared and helpless and feeling very alone.

Then I was admitted for my final stay in the hospital and I was all those things, but I made friends with the nurses, which helped a little. The conversations with them were so meaningful that I still distinctly remember some of them. Not because of the weight of the conversation, but because of simple things like the fact that they laughed at something I said or because we had some sort of understanding between us. I feel pathetic admitting this, but other than PB’s visits in the evening, and a visit or two from my parents and my daughter, I had no visitors. I was there for 5 weeks, and the babies for an additional 6 days, and no one came to visit. No one called. They made comments on FB or sent a response to the announcement email, one of my brothers sent flowers, but otherwise we were on our own.

Since the babies were born, it really hasn’t been any different. His parents have visited twice, my brothers have been over a time or two, and last weekend a very old friend of mine came up for the day. But that’s it. And on one hand, I’m glad that no one has been pushing or interfering, but on the other hand, I get more and more irritated everytime someone asks me if we have help or insinuates that we have a lot of help. We do not. We probably should. If you’d asked me 5 years ago, even 3 years ago, how much help we would have if we found ourselves in this position, I would have said tons. And I would have been wrong.

And you know what? It may seem like the point is that I’m sad that I don’t have help and I don’t have IRL friends. And that’s partly true. But what I’m really getting at is that I don’t have any tangible way of recharging my batteries. I don’t have a girlfriend I can call and vent to when I’m having a rough day, or someone I can call to watch the kids so that I can go to yoga. And we can’t afford to pay for help.

I’ve been trying for months now to figure out what I can do to regain some sense of myself, to feel human again, to recharge, and I simply don’t know what the answer is. Our budget is tight, and PB’s schedule is tight. All the gyms that have evening yoga classes offer them on the evenings he has softball. The library is now only open a few days a week, and not during hours that I can really go (not for the purposes of reading in peace). Can’t afford music or dance lessons. Joining a book club of some sort, one that met in person, would require that I be able to read a book in a month (see note about library hours). And I honestly don’t know what else I might be interested in.

And naturally PB thinks I’m just being difficult. Just pick something. Anything. Just settle. Just do something to do it. And that pisses me off because he gets to do whatever he wants to do in his free time, so that’s pretty easy for him to say, isn’t it? I mean, he wants to play softball, and he’s playing twice a week. It’s exactly how he wants to spend his free time.  But I have to do whatever is available even if it’s something I’m not the least bit interested in? Because something is better than nothing? Am I wrong in feeling like he just doesn’t get it?

Anyway, I’m getting off track here. My world feels very small right now. My world has never felt so small. I am a person with a big personality, an intense person with intense passions, someone who has always dreamed big and gone to great lengths to realize those dreams, someone with an incurable curiosity, and a need to participate in the world at large. So I feel a little like a forest troll squeezed into a hobbit house. Or a bird whose wings have been clipped.

I’m having a hard time coping with stress, I’m feeling spread very thin, I’m feeling underappreciated and misunderstood, I’m feeling frustrated, I’m feeling guilty that I can’t just be satisifed and make do, I’m feeling selfish for wanting something for myself, and in all honesty, I feel like a complete loser. I used to be this accomplished career woman, world traveler, avid reader, crochet and cross-stitch extraordinaire, excellent student, a single mother, a strong and capable woman, and overall life adventurer. I knew myself. I respected myself. I was proud of myself and what I had accomplished. I felt really good about me and I felt like there wasn’t anything I couldn’t do.

And then we started TTC and that slowly all went away. And then we got pregnant and we have three beautiful babies, and it feels like none of it is ever coming back. Like I lost myself along the way. Things feel out of sync because, babies or not, that is who I am. And I don’t know how to marry that part of myself with where my life is right now. How do I make it all work? Is it even reasonable to expect to be able to? Should I just accept that I’m going to be spread too thin, that I’ll always be last? Is it selfish to want an equal opportunity to do something I love, by myself, for a few hours a week? Am I a bad person, a bad mother, because I’m not completely fulfilled by my family life alone? And how on earth do you make new IRL friends at the age of nearly 36 when you can’t ever leave the damn house?

I swear, if we could afford it and PB could be home to watch the kids, I’d run all this by a therapist rather than all of you, but I don’t even know how to make that work, so…hit me with it. Kindly please (if you must say that I’m a horrible and selfish person, please find a constructive way to do so). Any ideas? Thoughts? Am I alone in feeling this way? Am I completely out of my gourd? Because I have to tell you people…I’m losing it. I’m so torn between the guilt (a good mother would need nothing more than the love of her children) and this burning desire to have something of my own, to have some little thing that feeds that part of my soul that craves…everything.

This mama needs to find her zen, and I have no idea how to go about doing that.

Have more kids, I mean. Honestly, I don’t know the answer to that question at this point.

If you had asked me during the pregnancy, or when the babies were first born, I would have emphatically said yes. Yes. YES. YES!!! My husband would have said no. Triplets is enough.

Since July (not sure why July, but it was definitely July), I’ve started thinking a little differently, and I’m just not sure anymore.

On one hand, I think about sending them off to kindergarten in a few years and all of a sudden having a completely empty house for half the day, quickly followed by 1st grade with a completely empty house ALL day. One half of me says…I can finally get things done! The other half says…to have my babies home all day and then no babies at all? That sounds like some warped version of empty nester way sooner than I anticipated.

Then I think about finances. Triplets are expensive. And I don’t care what anyone says, it’s more expensive than having three single-born children. Because there are no hand-me downs. You don’t reuse anything. You may spend the same amount on diapers, wipes, and food, but it’s all at the same time, not broken up over the years in manageable increments. So you have to buy more stuff and sooner. Of course, there are some things that essentially the same, like college tuitions. Plenty of people have three kids in college at the same time, though it’s usually tapered.

In all honesty, we’re in a precarious position financially. We’re getting by, but it’s getting tight. We’re dipping into savings, which is dwindling very quickly, but we aren’t able to put anything back. We aren’t putting away for retirement because there is no wiggle room in our budget for that right now. We’re putting a small amount away for the kids for college, and we’re paying for medical coverage and life insurance (if something happens to one of us, we want the kids to be taken care of). We’re one small financial emergency away from big trouble.

Now, PB will be done with his Masters in March (thank goodness) which ought to open up more job opportunities for him. But that also means that his student loan payments will kick in 6 months after. And they are going to be HUGE.  And in this economy, there are no guarantees in terms of his job hunt.

In the next 5 years, we’ll be moving, we want to start saving for retirement, save more for the kids’ college, beef up our savings, and we’re hoping to buy a house. And though it’s probably crazy to hope for, we need a darn vacation, even if it’s a cheap one. That is a LOT to hope for considering where we are at right now financially.

Do we really want to spend another $3k on a frozen cycle that may or may not work? Or to KEEP paying $3k a cycle until the embryos are all gone? Is that a responsible thing to do? Is it fair to the kids we have?

SS will be graduating high school in 2 years (hopefully) and at least going to community college and we need to help her however we can. And there is so much we want to do for the triplets. In addition to everything I’ve already mentioned, I want them to be able to participate in sports or take music lessons, to do something that sparks their interest and makes them happy. That stuff is not just time consuming, it’s expensive. Spending money on treatments may mean they don’t get to do those things.

And then there is the pregnancy factor. My pregnancy with SS was miserable and debiliating. My pregnancy with the triplets made my previous pregnancy seem like a walk in the park. What if we end up with  multiples again? What if even with a singleton, I’m totally down and out for months? Who will take care of my little ones? And is it fair to them? I can’t imagine being in the hospital for 6 weeks like last time, totally unable to care for them, missing them during the day…right now that is probably the single biggest factor in my uncertainty. As much as I may complain sometimes, and as hard as it is, I love taking care of my children. It would kill me, absolutely slay me, to have to leave them behind for any period of time, to not be able to pick them up and play with them, to not be the one to care for them…it makes me shudder just thinking about it.

There is certainly a lot to consider and this is nowhere near the end of the topic. They are 10 months old. I’m 35. I have 33 year young embryos on ice. A lot can change and we still have time. Decisions don’t have to be made now. My mind has already flip-flopped once, and as they get older, it may do so again…and again…and again. But this is the place I’m in right at this very  moment.

I have 4 beautiful kids. Healthy, happy, well-loved and cared for kids. And whatever we decide in the long-term, whatever happens, I’m happy with that.