'Guess who’s back in the motherfucking house….!'

A little Snoop Dogg to start the day never hurt anybody.

I'm happy today.

It’s the start of Phase 9 Boot Camp and I made a mini- comeback. It’s a new house we rocked this morning, breaking in the new Maximum Fitness location with our sweat and swagger. We are some Bad Ass bitches.

I never thought I would be a part of something like this. I wish people understood how hard these women work out. There's no feeling in the world that compares to the adrenaline and energy of 30+ women working together for a common goal. I'm sure there are varying reasons and desires behind each person's motivation to get up at 4 something in the morning to work out for 45 minutes before the start of a long day, but we do it and do it well.

It feels good to be back. I considered staying in bed when the alarm went off. I've been off for 3 months now nursing the bulged disk back to health. It was a rough time for me, and not just because the pain. The psychological effect of being away from my most favorite addiction took its toll. I've gained over 10lbs, but that will be gone in a week. No sweat. haha

I started last month attending a few sessions and was pleased to walk away sore, but not in pain. My back is finally better. I can do normal daily activities without being in pain, like tie my shoes, bend over to change diapers, pick up my kids again without wincing.

What a miserable existence to be in pain all day every day. I come away from this experience grateful for the body I have and vowing to take better care of it.

That started today. I am still sick, sinus bullshit that never clears completely. Pink eye that has been lingering for over a month! I was tired and worn out when I walked through the new glass doors this morning, but happy and surprised to walk out of them feeling accomplished and blessed to be there to fight another day.

Sure I still modify some of the exercises that require too much back usage. Sure people look at me crazy when I am doing a totally different exercise than everybody else at some stations, but so what. I am there.

I was back to using my anger as motivation to fight harder, keep going, don't give up.

It was back to 'Fuck cancer. Fuck my back injury.'

Lots of ‘f-bombs’ today people, so sorry if you’re all holy moly, but I find cussing effective at times. And whoever said people use cuss words because they don’t know a better ones don’t know me cause my vocab is expenentular. (ahahaha I just made that one up!)

Anyways, I’m in a happy silly mood today, so get over yourselves and join in. It’s also very effective for me to channel my anger in exercise. Last year when I began this Boot Camp journey I was cursing my uncle’s brain tumor and my son’s bone infection in his spine. Today I was damning my aunt’s breast cancer and beating my own back injury into a metaphorical submission.

If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

See you Wednesday!

I Shall Not Want

There's something sickening about seeing or listening to someone you love in pain, moaning audibly in the night. Or self destructing right before your eyes and there's nothing you can do to help. You can't make their stomach virus pass any faster or provide comfort while they're puking and pooping at the same time.

How do you stop a bomb from exploding when the flame has already been ignited?

Can we ever do enough to help the ones we love?

Like our children, we sacrifice beyond their comprehension and they still grow up and shun our love and roll they eyes and not want to cuddle and kiss anymore. Our parent think they will always know it all because, well they're our parents, but what about when we're right for once and they won't listen?

What lines are you willing to cross to save someone you love?

My Mom is moaning in the other room from a stomach virus me and my germy children more than likely passed her. My Dad is in a philosophical mood, interrupting my Facebooking to ask how far back I remember my childhood, telling me stories I've never heard from before I was born and quoting the bible.

"The Lord is my Shepherd I shall not want..."

My Dad quoting the bible. It’s a weird night in the Bomar/Thompson household.

I love them so much sometimes it hurts.

Wedding Success

The hot ass bridal party ain't got nothing on these two in the cute department.....

They did it!!! My soon-to-be 3 year old escorted me and my 18 month old twins down the aisle! An ear infection (Bryce), pink eye (Carly), and a major potential wardrobe malfunction on Mom didn’t even slow our row!

I never knew there was seriously such a thing as a ‘wardrobe malfunction’. I always just thought Janet did it for the publicity, but now I know 1st hand that shit can happen! Right as we were to exit the country club doors out to the pavilion, all eyes on me….SNAP!

The clasp on the top of my halter dress popped open! My straps stayed up as I held a baby’s hand in each of mine and prayed, “Please don’t fall! Please don’t fall!” A double prayer request for the kids to keep on walking so I didn’t have to bend over and pick up one, a la disastrous rehearsal dinner and another prayer more than anything that the top of my dress would stay in place!

It did. All was well by the time we reached the altar as my husband whisked them away safely in doors, while I worked on expanding the blister on my right toe and tanning my back and shoulders in the late evening sun.

It was a beautiful wedding an awesome reception. The kids danced circles around the place. My heart was filled with pride. In a house filled with beauty, they took the cake... And then got sent home with GaGa & PaPa so the alcohol could flow freely. We backed it up on the dance floor all night, bribing the DJ for an extra set and popping another keg. The party rocked on till the country club kicked us out.


I’d call that a success. One more wedding in my ‘Summer of Love’. 4 weddings in one season are a lot right? Especially when two of them are for my best friend’s who are sisters and getting married 6 weeks apart? That’s a lot of showers, bacheloretting and wedding planning! (People must have been thinking the same thing about me and all my showers and celebrating when I got married and had three babies in the span of 2 years!!!! hahaha)

I am in my element. I am happy to not be pregnant and enjoy the happiness of the ones I love. Tripod for life! :)


Pretty, Prettier, Prettiest!

Thompson Family Portrait

Braggers Never Win

That’s what I get for ‘bragging’. Life is like a big ass karma smack down. What goes up must come crashing down and all that crap. My entire existence is based on my fear of when things are going well, the inevitable fall is looming, always looming.

Good thing I got so much done yesterday cause today was a wash and I ain’t talking dishes and laundry. Smacked upside the head with double pink eye, a cold that never went away upgraded a category in the wrong direction and about to get fired from yet another job for being a mom.

Great.

Sorry for Singletons

I don’t feel sorry for parents of singletons anymore. Carly stayed at home with me today nursing her pink eye and I was able to sweep the floors, mop, do the dishes, upload wedding pictures to Facebook, change all the bedding, complete 5 loads of laundry, and cook a roast for dinner all before the other two came home.

I’m not gloating on my time management skills or downing other parents of an only child, but I do feel a little less sorry for them sometimes. Next time you think it’s so hard and overwhelming, come stop by my house and make yourself feel better. I’m drowning in domestic despair over here on a daily basis! I know each person has their own struggle and psychological limits when it comes to kids, but damn this shit seems easy when my work load is reduced by 2/3!

Sometimes my husband and I dream about what life would be like if we only had one or even two. We barely knew life as parent’s of a singleton. By the time Bryce was 7 months old, two more were already on the way. Barely half the 1st year of his life was spent as an only child, because even though they were only in my belly, being pregnant with affected my parenting ability before they even arrived. Its kinda hilariously ironic remembering having my son’s 1st birthday party and already being 5 months preggo… with twins. What a kicker.

Leah as the BLONDE!

I'm having a cleaning out the closet fashion show, finding articles I forgot I possessed and retiring items whose memories and picture evidence are bad enough.

The 2010 VMA's are on and I'm enjoying myself. And I'm not even drinking, which is usually a requirement to get through the daunting task of laundry night. Maybe I should model myself more after the loser from Jersey Shore and get down with some GTL. I did buy my first rub on tanning gel earlier today to contrast my WHITE girl skin better with my new hair, so now I'm topless suntanning in my own bedroom sitting in front of a computer. Nice.

I first likened it to the Carmel Blondie Brownie dessert I had last weekend, but upon more examination it’s really more of a slight Strawberry Carmel Blondie Brownie. I like it.

Check it out. This is me right after coming home the first night I had it done. First things first... I had to try on my bridesmaid dres and make sure it didn't clash!!!







And wow, let me also say, what a payoff keeping up with personal grooming is! Its amazing the return you get when you invest in yourself. I spent $75 on product today, straightening gel, hairspray, conditioner, deodorant. Sorry people if I smelled sour any over the past few years. The combination of dried spit up and showerless stretches must not have been appealing to the nostrils at times.

But I’m digging my new look and glad my best friend didn’t make me sign some kind of waiver saying I wouldn’t make any drastic changes in appearance or gain any weight before the wedding cause I might just get kicked off the Bachelorette party train!

Happy Birthday...

Its a Wednesday, August 27th, 2009.

My Dad's 51st birthday, and I am pregnant with twins.

Life doesn't get more surreal than that. I am a writer and I would have never written the script of my life like this. 27 year old mother of a 9 month old and pregnant again with twins. Does life even get better than that? Its mind numbing. I am elated.

We planned to keep the new pregancy a secret for a while. Something special, something ours to smile about across the room, something intimate between husband and wife before all the questions, and gossip and judgement by family members who were bound to have an opionion on the subject of our rapidly expanding family.

All that went out the window after the news. How could we keep something like that a secret. We kept our afternoon appointment for our son's 9 month pictures and incorporated our announcement into his photo session. We had him sit on top of big blocks labeled A and B, just like the two labled embryos on the ultrasound. I had a greeting card printed to give my Dad for his birhtday with the words "Big Brother says, 'It's Twins!!' " printed across the bottom.

We planned our big reveal in increments. I replaced the pictures in the three slotted frame I used to display my son't ultrasound throughout his pregnancy with a fresh ultrasound printout of Baby A and B. I wrapped it up and handed it to my Dad. Camcorder rolling, digital camerapoised.

This was a once in a lifetime announcement.

Surprise! Happy Birthday, Dad! I'm pregnant again..... Oh and this time its TWINS!

He didn't say a word for hours, days maybe. Literally not a word. He cried. There were actual tears. I am still unsure as to what those tears meant!

I told the rest of the family via airbrush t-shirt. It's become a tradition in our family. Haha tricked ya! Bryce's said 'Big Brother to-be...' on the front and 'of twins!' on the back!

Surprise gotcha again! It's TWINS!

Acceptance.

I’m moving into the ‘Acceptance’ phase of grief and didn’t even realize I was mourning.

At first it was ‘Denial.’ I hurt my back on a Sunday night before week two of Phase 5 Boot Camp. I was still sore from Friday’s ass kicking and decided a little yoga would loosen me up for another round in the morning. I turned my DVR to Wai Lani yoga and after about 15 minutes I was there. On all fours in the living room floor, I was on vacation in Hawaii.

The ocean was roaring, the sun was coming up over the water, the mixture of Hawaiian music and the lady’s accent had me right on that beach with her. My breathing was right; my blood was flowing. Then bam! Just like that my back is out.

First stage of denial. Suck it up, you will be aright.

I still went to Boot camp Monday (not a good idea in retrospect) and barely made it through Wednesday’s workout. It was official, my back was hurt and I needed to take some time off. Weeks went by and things were not better.

July comes along and even after the help of a chiropractor I am still in pain from the moment I come into consciousness each morning until I drift away into dreamland. If I awake during the night or roll over, I am in pain. It’s like being miserable and pregnant but there’s no prize at the end.

I begin missing Boot camp so bad I get sad. I still think, “Maybe next week I can come back. Maybe next Phase, maybe next month….”

Next phase comes and goes. I am still in my bed every Mon-Wed-Fri at 5:30am.

If only I hadn’t done that stupid yoga. If only I had given my back rest right when it happened, I would be better by now. If only hadn’t been pregnant and on bed rest all those years, I would be stronger. If only I had been active earlier on my life instead of sitting on a couch reading or in front of a computer working …. If only.

Oh shit, I’m ‘Bargaining’.

So when August rolls around, I feel better than I was 6 weeks prior, but still can’t bend over to put on my shoes, get dressed, change a diaper, pick up a baby without a stabbing pain in my lower back. I decide I’m going to get back in Boot Camp and just do what I can do. I want to be there that bad.

I cried my way through the workout, not feeling strong or empowered anymore. Not marveling at the barriers I was breaking or the endurance I built. I feel weak again, less than I was, broke and beaten down. The women around me suddenly made me feel even worse about myself instead of inspiring. Boot Camp became no longer beneficial to me physically or emotionally and I was heart broken over it.

I stayed in my bed for two days and cried. I let myself get it out and admitted I was hurt and didn’t need to push myself so hard physically right now but focus harder on my eating and getting better.

I had a mini-counseling session over the phone with my trainer where I know I just sounded pitiful. He didn’t understand why I needed to be there so bad, why I depending on those 45 minutes three times a week to make me feel good about myself.

I wished someone had a magic wand and could poof my pain away, but I know life doesn’t work that way. There was only one way out of the hole I was in and that was to heal and get stronger so my body isn’t as vulnerable to injury

I didn’t realize what I was doing at the time until I finally came to grips with myself and just admitted I had an injury. Boot Camp is over for me (for now). My back needs time to heal and if I don’t give it that time, I was only going to hurt myself more in the long run. Damn it! I had been on a roll. I found something I LOVED, a rush of adrenaline like I never knew.

I don’t know where else I can feel like that and I am simply depressed over it.

Working Mother's Guilt

I have to work tomorrow.

Wow, its weird saying those words. The past year of my life spent technically ‘unemployed’ was still the hardest working year of my life. Cleaning toilets at the church on Thursdays barely counts as working. I work harder than that on a daily basis changing babies’ diapers. Other people’s shit in the toilet is nothing for me. I actually look forward to the calm of the place as I clean the quietness in the sanctuary, the solidarity and sweat.

Tomorrow ushers in a new phase. I’ve been fighting it long enough. Change of any kind is cause for resistance to a Taurus, I believe. Boot Camp is over for me and I’m going back to work. Nights at the new Kohl’s up the street designing displays and styling mannequins. Sounds like fun to me! Time away from home being productive, interaction with others over the age of 3, a little money in the bank. (Emphasis on little, I’ve never worked for such a measly amount in my life, but the discount alone will probably be worth it as much as I shop at Kohl’s.) And access to HEALTHCARE.

What more can I say? I have to work tomorrow!

I was feeling all positive and excited, kind of like back to school jitters where you are excited to see all your friends, but know work is involved. I was packing the kids lunch for Parents Out, planning what I was going to wear in my head, and next thing you know I’m on the phone to the pediatrician on call discussing whether I needed to take my son to the emergency room because his diaper rash from the water park was suddenly swelling to unseen proportions all around his groin area.

Panic over calling in on my 1st day, mind racing over how to rearrange everyone else’s work schedule to take him to the doctor in the morning, the pull to just want to stay at home with his pull-up off all day and cuddle on the couch with a pallet of towels and his 2 (almost 3) year old naked butt all day like Mommy’s are supposed to do!

Working Mother’s Guilt already!? I haven’t even started and now I’m questioning my decision. This sucks. Who needs to work to buy more things? Why can’t we all just live on the prairie and be self sustained like the good old days where family was all you had and all that mattered?

OK, so I’ve been watching too much Hallmark movies on TV. I definitely need to get out of this house. Here’s to the real world where we have to work and leave our children and be thankful and tortured by it at the same time.

Breakthroughs are painful. Usually what you are ‘breaking through’ is years of negative thought patterns, bad behaviors that are not beneficial to you anymore, crusted over scars of emotional wounds to the psyche so deep you don’t want to think about the pain, let alone face it and deal with it again. Going through it once was hard enough; forget rehashing what hurts to ‘heal.’ Stuffing the pain away seems like a much easier choice.

Once upon a time I was crying so hard outside a Bed, Bath, and Beyond begging my husband to leave me on the side of the road because I was having such a ‘breakdown’ when he said the most profound thing to me.

“Leah, this doesn’t have to be a breakdown, make it a breakthrough.”

Damn, he’s good. Why didn’t I ever think of that?

I’ve been doing some hard work lately, not of the Boot Camp variety, but soul searching. Expanding my spiritual realm, trying to figure me out. It’s hard. Harder than the physical demands of Boot Camp actually.

I’ve been out with a bulging disk on my back since the second week in June. I attempted to return against the advice of my chiropractor and that didn’t work out so well. I cried my way through the session because my back was in so much pain, because I felt weak from going to banging out full sit ups and burpies to not even being able to get up and down off the ground without wincing. IT SUCKS.

I listen to the soothing voice of Eckert Toole’s ‘New Earth’ CDs in the car when I’m alone. I read self help book from the library. I write again when I can, reflecting and rewording my experiences for the world to see on a blog. That alone is scary enough.

So how come it still hurts so much? How come I don’t feel any closer to the truth? Obviously if I am still ‘trying’ to get there, I’m not there yet. Or am I and just don’t know it???

We aren’t entitled to a life without pain or suffering. I just wish I knew how to break through the pain to reach the other side sooner.

It’s August already and I am saddened by the passage of time, days slipping away into the past as simple memories void of sensory sensations. I hold my babies and I want to remember forever what this feels like, right here, the sweetness of their forehead against my lips. How small their waist is against my hips, spooning style, cradled comfortably in the crease of my stomach that once held them inside.

The way Alyssa tucks her arms beneath her body and furrows her face in the nook of my neck. Her long ballerina legs prancing around on tip toes, her funny fast run, arms bent swinging side to side. The way she grabs and dashes away with a toy or item she knows she’s not supposed to have. How she tired to sing ‘Twinkle Twinkle’ the other night.

Big Baby Carly, at least 30lbs by now, stretching past the length of my torso when her small size used to get lost in my chest. Her sloppy kisses and open mouthed smile with such a beautiful gap between her two front teeth, an unsymmetrical row of three Chiclet teeth on the bottom. Her insistent pointing in demand of another ‘Bite!’

Bryce’s sweaty head and for being such a big boy, how he still wants to hold my hand when we walks and cries for his Mama when I’m not in sight. The hilarious stories he makes up or repeats, revising actual events filtered through a two year olds practicality and prose. His heart stabbing stutter. How he claps his hands together almost involuntarily when he gets happy and excited about something. How when he sleeps with me we fit together in perfect synch, his leg thrown over mine.

I want to freeze these simple moments in time, not let them grow any older where they might not want me anymore. Its exaughsting and at the price of me, I am the center of their world and I selfishly like it that way. They are my babies and nobody loves them the way I do. Nobody loves me the way they do.

If I could change anything about the rapid succession of their birth, it would be that I got to spend more time with each of them as an infant. I wish for a whole year or more of their infancy and transition into toddler years spent individually. What a treat that would be, to have each of them all to myself in a way that doesn’t neglect one of the other’s needs. It happens rarely, when we carve out a special trip or day for one on one time, but it doesn’t happen enough.

Sometimes I feel cheated, like my baby years went by in such a whirl of sleep deprivation and struggle to survive. Now it’s closer to being over than beginning, just when I am getting a handle on things and enjoying it. I worry that they are being cheated of me. Each one cheated of being the baby with 100% of me, which is now fragmented into so many smaller percentages that I have to steal moments back for myself. A quick stop by the library where I wonder aimlessly down aisles just admiring the quiet knowledge of the place. Lied about adventures to Kohl’s and JC Penny spending money I don’t even have. I am spent and they are rich with me and want more.

I get annoyed when their early morning cries splinter my sleep like a bullet shot into a peaceful night. I bargain with them in my head.

“Just sleep til 7:00am….. 15 more minutes.”

I get annoyed when I have to change yet ANOTHER dirty diaper. Pissed off for no good reason other than I am tired and in pain and this is my life and there’s nothing I can or want to do about it.

I love how they interact with each other, how Alyssa and Bryce both will bring Carly her Teddy if they find it on the floor or if she’s crying. How Alyssa will run to pat Carly or Bryce’s back in concern if they are crying or hurt. Their head tilt hugs and kisses to each other. Bryce explaining, ‘We were waiting for you Lyssa’ when she is the last one to awake from an afternoon nap and asking, ‘Did we wake you?’ Him telling Carly it’s Ok when she has worked herself up into a fit.

They are just so happy, so, so, so, so, so happy and I want it to stay this way, before the outside world intrudes with reality.

Check this out, the baddest video I've ever seen....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e6_yVo7q9gM



Disclaimer: It's not me actually on this video, this is from the class right after mine at 6:30am, but I SO totally would have rocked it out in the thunderstorm. I am strangely jealous because I was not there! This video inspires me so much because I know what it takes to make yourself get up so early in the morning, push yourself SO HARD to succeed.

I've fought the elements, regular rain, heat waves, and snowstorms during boot camp, but nature still ain't got nothing on my main nemesis: ME.

I always preach MaxFit makes me stronger physically and mentally, so I'm better prepared to win more battles.

See More at http://maxfitstudio.com/louisville-boot-camps

Here is my official 'Before and After' picture from MaxFit's website.

That's from my February weigh in to July- six months of hard work and another 30lbs gone forever.


But here's there 'Before and After' pics I am most proud of. I usually don't post unflattering pictures of myself online. I didn't post many pictures of myself after the girls were born because I was so unhappy with my body.

Who cares if I had just given birth twice in two years, I was FAT!!!

But this picture was taken the 1st week of Boot camp last summer July 2009. I remember it was a Wednesday night after my 1st two sessions and I had already lost 5lbs. I was feeling more confidant than I had in a long time. I was actually feeling good about myself when Kenny took this picture- until I saw myself on the little screen and was repulsed again. But I knew I was at the beginning of my journey and I had no idea a year later I would still be on it, but I felt it in the air.

Change. Hope. Something was different this time.

So here I am, 3 months after the birth of my twins, 18 months after the birth of my son, 70lbs heavier than I am right now.... Leah July 2009

Look at those thighs!!! My ARMS! My FACE!!! It is bigger than Baby Carly in my arms!

Here is Leah's thighs, arms, and face from July 2010....





I still have work to do, but after I lose these last 8lbs, all the weight gained during both my pregnancies will be GONE. What a milestone to reach. I want it bad. I feel like I say this every month, but August is my month, back injury or not.

I don't feel repulsed when I look back at pictures of me from last summer, I feel proud.

Soon I will weigh what I did the day I got married. And I'm not stopping there. My ultimate goal is to be in my best health ever when I turn 30 in April, so I have 9 months to make that happen. A lot can be done in 9 months.... I am still excited and hopeful and hungry for change.

And here's one for the road, just because I felt good about myself this day. More like the 'old' me, but as the 'new' me. Sexy and strong and comfortable in my clothes and skin again.

Thank you forever, Maximum Fitness.

Boot Camp makes me a better person, it just does.

It’s changed the way I look at things, how I feel about adversity, what I think I am capable of.

Someone commented on Facebook, "Boot Camp has changed my way of thinking about life period not just my health. It's a great feeling on the inside and out. I know that I can do absolutely anything I want..."

One of my tactic to get through a challenging workout is to transport myself somewhere else. Its not always dance parties and sex sessions in my head that get me though each set. Sometimes when I'm working out and its particularly hard, physically challenging beyond anything I've ever attempted before, I imagine I'm training for something really big, a natural disaster or the end of the world.

I imagine I have all three my babies on my back and I have to trudge through flood waters to get them to safety. There's a fire in my house and I've got to break down a door to get us out. I'm on the side of a mountain and if I don't make it up the side of that rock wall, I will never see my kids again.

I pretend I'm training for the end of the world and my life and the ones I love depend on it.

Something big is coming and I am going to be ready.

Is the return of 80's fashion really such a great idea? I mean, I just bought a dress with mini should pads and metal studs! Awesome!!!

I haven't worn shoulder pads since I used to stuff my bra with them in the 7th grade! I love it!

I've spent a lot of time window shopping the past few weeks for the perfect bridesmaid dress that didn't cost a ridiculous amount for a single time use (still unsuccessful) but I was SO EXCITED to see the return of 80's fashion!

Neon colors. Off the shoulder style shirts and leggings! Who would have thought I'd ever be excited to see leggings again, but I saw some badass leggings on a mannequin with lace all the way up the side. All my hard work at bootcamp has allowed me to feel good exposing my thighs in such tight material, so I've been rocking those bad boys!

Of course I've gotten a few raised eyebrows from my mother recently. She never did get my fashion sense.

Gasp!

Her: "Do you know there's a hole in your shirt?"

Me: "Its supposed to be there, Mom."


Phone rings.

Her: "Where did you get that Hoochie Mama outfit on Facebook?"

Me: "Which one!?" LOL



An old time favorite.

Her: "Is THAT what you're going to wear?"

Me: (Internally) Sigh.

Parents just don't understand.

So the nanny from the externship program we participate in just told me she needed a break and got in her car and left!!!!

I wanted to say, "I do this all day everyday, I need a break!"

Straight from the handwritten pages of my life.
CIRCA May 13, 2009

Last week was one of the most difficult of my life. One baby in the hospital, two more at home without me, it just wasn't right. There's nothing worse than having a hurt or sick child. It does something to the inside of you, causes a pain that's only cured by their well being. I discovered a new kind of pain, the kind that came with my family being apart.

Alyssa in the hospital for three days, her twin alone without her for the first time ever, Bryce without his Mommy. Just not right. So unnatural. We are a family and we all belong together. The 5 of us forever and that's the way God intended it to be. I never knew I could feel so incomplete.

Life is better when Kenny is together with me, us a team against whatever. But no matter how stressful it is with all 3 babies at once, I will never wish for anything else.

Looking back on my blog, I never talked in detail about my ordeal where two of my children were hospitalized last summer, weeks apart from each other, the back to back heartbreak of a mother's eternal worry and wishing that our children will be OK.

When faced with a situation where the reality is they just might not be, I found the mind and body kicks into this strange state of overdrive, a too calm desperation difficult to describe. You are so scared you become numb, in shock I suppose, until you hear the good news you've been praying for and finally get to go home.

You operate in this upper echelon of existence where everything becomes muted and miniature. Meals don't matter. If you happen to make it outside the hospital walls and the sun is shining, the light you see the outside world through renders everything else unimportant. The only thing that really matters is your immediate concern about if your babies will make it and what you have to do in order to get them there.

If that means administering the nastiest tasting medicine made to a 1 year old every 8 hours, waking him up in the middle of the night to pin him down and squirt antibiotics strong enough to kill an infection of the bones surrounding the spine, fine. If that means repeated sedation for MRI's that take a day for the drugs to wear off, whatever.

If it means doing a spinal tap on a 5 week old preemie with a fever from an unknown origin, alrighty then. Or placing her on isolation in a metal institutional crib where nurses and doctors crept into her hospital room at all hours of the night in head to toe E.T. gear, get r done. Get my baby well.

At the time I felt like I was being tested, hit with punch after sucker punch to the gut. The universe was on a roll and all I could do was ride it out and hope the story unfolded favorably my way. As if it weren't enough stress on a person to endure two pregnancies in less than two years, recover from reoccurring c-sections, while breastfeeding or pumping milk for newborns non-stop every two hours, all the while caring for a 15 month old.

Everyday was a struggle just to survive new-routine activities.

Just managing the logistics of the daily life was a constant challenge. How do you get the tiniest of mouths to two swollen massive breasts at once, or even fix and bottle feed two screaming, hungry babies? All the while still tending to the other baby 'Big' Brother needing to be constantly fed, changed, and entertained?

How do you feed yourself somewhere in there or maybe squeeze in a shower every few days or find the time to just freaking use the bathroom.... or SLEEP!? There are three of them and one of me, and even with my husband and I tag teaming, we will always be outnumbered.

Here's one way we did it!








Carly was my eater. She was ready to eat the moment she entered the world, so wide eyed, mouth rooting. She was the smaller one, but baby girl has been HUNGRY ever since!

Alyssa was whisked away to the neo-natal nursery immediately upon delivery, so it was just me and Carly chilling in the post-op room together as Daddy paced the halls awaiting news of Alyssa. Carly, so wide eyed and ready for the world. She had the biggest bug eyes you ever saw, always observing. For 5 pounders at birth, which is pretty good for twins, they looked so alien!


Breast feeding with her was more natural than it had ever been with Bryce. I quit after one month of struggling with him. Carly ate like a champ within the first hour she was born. She kept my milk flowing enough to pump some into a bottle for Sissy.

Alyssa always had trouble eating. I don't know if it was because I didn't see her again to even attempt breastfeeding until more than six hours after her birth, or if coming into the world inhaling a lung full of amniotic fluid messed her up, but she has always been my difficult eater. Talk about double duty! She preferred a bottle filled with milk I had to pump every two hours, sometimes while I would be feeding Carly on one side, I had the pump going on the other.

We were all released from the hospital at the same time and during the first few days at home, I remember just being terrified. They were so little. So tiny and fragile, and I wasn't a rookie on the parenting front, but this was a whole new challenge altogether. We had one hospital run a few days into it with Carly who had a rattle to her chest and slight congestion and this weird white foam coming out of her mouth. Turns out she was fine, her body's way of expressing leftover gunk from childbirth.

I think God might have been doing a little foretelling with this mini-hospital run, because a month later, the real ordeal began.

The weekend started off promising, even though I was missing my first Derby in a lifetime. My whole pregnancy I had always envisioned the great unveiling of my babies to all my friends at the neighborhood Derby party, all of us in coordinating outfits saying, "Look at me! Look at our Happy Family, Bitches!"

But with the babies still on home quarantine, my parents took Bryce to a party while my husband and I manned the home front. The girls had an uneventful day not watching horse races and we celebrated, breaking open a peach bottle of wine I had been saving from Huber's Farm for a special occasion and mixing frosty beverage in our honeymoon glasses, a nod to an era that seemed so far away for only being a year or so back on the calendar!

No sooner as we started getting a little loose, girl's rocking life away in their swings (God Bless those things), robe falling off the shoulder, husband's eyes straying a little lower...

Pitter patter of tiny feet upstairs, party over. Parents and Big Brother are home, even before the big race. It was still a peaceful, fleeting moment in time.

Doesn't there always seem to be a moment, the cliched 'calm before the storm'?

The next evening, Alyssa awoke from a nap drenched in sweat. Warm to the touch. Damn, I guess we had her too snug in a rug, still swaddled in her bassinet. 'Fever' never occurred to me at this point. As the night passed, she wasn't eating and became less responsive. I did the dreaded anal temp check and holy shit 101.9, that ain't good.

I called the doc on call, and they said normally that is not an alarming temp for a baby, but anytime there is a fever over a certain degree in a newborn, an immediate trip to the emergency room is required. The source of what is causing the fever must be determined quickly.

Kosair ER on a Sunday night after Derby is not the place you want to be. Keep in mind this is during the Swine Flu scare, so before we even entered the packed waiting room full of sniffling, coughing infectious children, we had to do a Swine Flu check. WTF? I was slipping into panic mode more and more. They tried to hussle us into the general public and Mama Bear came out.

Most of my family members had never even met the girls yet because I was so paranoid about them getting sick. At our doctor's recommendation, we placed them and ourselves on a home quarantine and were waiting until their 8 week check up to get the all clear for visitors. And the immediate family who came out anyways had to wear fresh, clean clothes that hadn't been infected by germs from work or school or the grocery store and practically had to bathe in antibacterial gel before handling them. I still don't think I was being too over protective and they wanted me to expose her to that crap?

Here is a 5 week old preemie who has never been exposed to other people period, and they want me to take her in the belly of the beast and mingle with the obviously ill babies and snot nosed 5 year olds? Hell no. I fought and refused to go back out there until they gave us a secluded room to wait in. And the waiting began.

A nightmare of a continuously spiking fever. By the time they got to us in the ER the next morning, an immediate spinal tap was ordered to rule out meningitis. Collected blood samples and urine specimens were sent out for a variety of tests. They took her away to insert a tiny needle in her small spine to remove some spinal fluid. I could hear her screams as I sat in that little ass room with a borrowed breast pump and expressed my milk that was statrting to painfully clog in my milk ducts from going too long between feedings. Poor Carly wasn't around to empty me out and if I didn't send some milk home for her soon, she would have to be fed formula. Alyssa wasn't eating period.

We were moved to a reverse isolation room where anyone entering was required to wear full hospital protective gear and masks to prevent her from being exposed to anything. It was a big room with this small prison crib in the middle made of metal bars and she was the most pitiful thing you ever say laid up in the middle of that big bed hooked up to wires and whimpering from pain. Into the next night I held her continuously, only placing her in that horrible contraption to pee or pump.

That was one of the loneliest nights of my life. My husband at home with the other two, watching my daughter fight off something we still didn't know anything about, the fear of the unknown paralyzing and protecting me from losing it. You find a strength that you didn't know existed during times like that. I understand now how people lift cars off the wreckage of an accident to free their children because you will do anything for them and what a horrible feeling when you can do nothing but sit there and wait.

When they finally diagnosed her with a severe urinary tract and kidney infection and began treating with antibiotics through her IV, hope crept back in. We knew what we were dealing with and it was all to familiar to me. I knew the routine all too well when they did the tests the next day to check her for the same condition I suffered from as a child, where there is a malfunction in a valve inside allowing urine to flow backwards up into the bladder and kidneys while peeing.

After three days of no sleep and missing my other child so bad it hurt inside, and not just my boobs from non-stop pumping and no natural feedings, we were finally released. What a homecoming!

And yet still, this was just another preparation for round three coming two weeks later. 5 more days at Kosair, IVs and MRIs on a 15 month old, wagon rides around a place that was sadly becoming comfortable, mention of the 'C' word and tumors terrifying the shit out of parents who just wanted their babies to all be better.

Fight!
(Alyssa’s Song)

Fight, Baby, Fight!
From that 1st night in the Emergency room
Faithless doctor spewing doom and gloom,
Fear loomed for a fraction of a second,
Before faith beaconed.

There was a legit medical reason for him to say,
“The 2nd baby won’t survive,
It won’t be alive long with no fluid in its sac.”
I wanted to smack his smug cheek.
Surely he saw your heart beat,
Even though he said it didn’t matter?
I just smiled inside
I was along for the ride,
And I already knew one day I’d meet you.

We started our dialogue on the ride home
Just me in the car, but never alone.
There were 3 of us already,
I felt you there
Always a part of me,
3 beating hearts in one body
and that’s how it was supposed to be.

Fight, Baby, Fight!
I told the smaller of the two
You’ve just got to fight and be strong
Hold on and before long
this part will be through.
There’s a wonderful life waiting for you, the best.
You’ve just got to make it here
And the rest is on me to make you happy!

We kept up our conversation,
Creeping elation as the weeks went by.
Time surpassed silly predictions of my predicament.
I was not surprised to see you doing so good,
I always knew you would be fine.

And when you were born blue
I knew you would make it, too.
I held your sissy in my arms
Barely alarmed,
And told her to use her Wonder Twins powers
To telepathically tell you to…
Fight!




By Leah Bomar Thompson

5/6/2009

I wrote this poem for Alyssa and both my other babies. Never give up because I will fight forever for you.

More Than a Mother
5/6/09

So little and strong,
I knew all along
You were destined for survival.

Revival of faith,
when fear rivals the fact,
That I believe everything’s gonna be alright.

There maybe no end in sight
But baby we will fight,
for our life and each other.

No other thing in the world
Compares to my girls
When we are all together.

Never alone again,
In me you have a life long friend,
So much more than a mother.



Enjoy a pictorial presentation of me & my girls from the moment I saw their faces until now...

July 2010

Alyssa & Carly 16 months old

4th of July 2010

Alyssa & Carly

May 2010

Alyssa & Carly, KK's Prom Night

April 4th, 2010

Carly & Alyssa Easter Sunday

March 1st, 2010

Alyssa & Carly 11 months old

January 2010

Alyssa & Carly 10 months old

December 25th, 2009

Carly & Alyssa 9 months old

November 7th, 2009

Alyssa & Carly at Bryce's 2nd Birthday Party!

Ocotber 2009

Alyssa & Carly 7 months old

June 2009

Carly & Alyssa 2 months old

April 2009

Carly & Alyssa 2 weeks old

March 27th 2009

Our 1st face-to-face-to-face

Carly & Alyssa, a few minutes old