I'm No Cream Puff

Call me emotional, but I’m no sissy.  I’ve described my fertility struggle.  Let me provide a brief recap:  Shots in the buttocks, hell like hot flashes, tubes and other uncomfortable devices in my privates.  I’ve described the physical journey of carrying triplets.  Let me provide a brief recap:  Internal organs pushed into my ribs, flattened digestive system, insane bladder pressure, bed rest for three months, hip and back pain that would bring Earl Campbell to his knees, and the agony of my insides when The Trifecta decided to fruit basket turnover…in my uterus. Did I mention I breastfed triplets for a year?  Have you seen a breast pump?  Do you know how they work?  

If you’re not yet convinced, I will message you photos of my C-section scar. 

I’ve been writing this post for several weeks now on the pain of parenthood…because it’s not for cream puffs. I’m not talking about the physical stuff I described above.  I’m talking about the stuff that goes on in my heart.

I felt it the first time I got to “see” my girls.  Dr. Brody made an incision through my abdomen and uterus and then carefully removed three babies from my insides.  Immediately, The Trifecta was whisked away from me and taken to the NICU.  I had to wait 6 hours to see them.  Chris wheeled me to the hand washing station and then into Pod 3.  They were doing “great” according to the neonatologist.  I had MUCH to be thankful for.  But they were hooked up to breathing machines.  And they had IV’s in their petite heads.  Their minuscule hands were taped up with different tubes and devices.  And they were SO small.  It took my breath away.  “Please God,” I pleaded, “If they are feeling any pain, take it from them and give it to me.” 

  Hendley

 Elizabeth

 

 Mary Ellis

 

How many times, as a parent, have we said that prayer? 

I learned recently that one of my favorite students of all time (a spunky, brilliant, darling, little girl) was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.  After reading the details of her diagnosis from one of her older sisters, (equally as precious) the world stood still for a moment.  My first thoughts went to this insanely wonderful little girl; I will pray for her with all my heart.  And then my thoughts went to her parents.  Two of the most outstanding parents in the world. Because I knew they hurt.

Last week I learned one of my oldest and dearest friends is sending her two year old into surgery next week to remove tumors from her head.  I pray each day for this little girl, but I find myself thinking about the heart of her mother, who I love so much.  Because I know she hurts.

One of my little ones is struggling too.  Nothing like what I have described above, please don’t think I’m even comparing.  She may be on the autism spectrum.   It may be Asperger’s. It may be “sensory defensiveness.”  I truly don’t mind a label, but it’s the behaviors and the inner strife I see her demonstrate that I want to remedy.  Transitions throw her.  She won’t release her favorite lovie from her death grip.  Sometimes she runs away from her teachers.  She doesn’t want to join the group.  She plays alone a lot.  Her distress is bringing me to my knees.  I’m no wimp, I’ll get through this.  I’m researching every possible accommodation, modification, and behavior plan available to man.  I’ve talked with the therapist who diagnosed her.  But right now, it’s hard.  Really hard.  It hurts my heart.  I can’t stop thinking, take it from her, and give it to me.

I was running last week.  While I was running I was pleading with God, asking Him to show me how to help my daughter, questioning why one little girl has to have surgery and the other has to have chemo and lose her hair.  All of a sudden, I pulled a muscle in my right leg and I was forced to walk.  This irritated me because I don’t like to walk.  It’s slow.  It takes me longer to get from my starting point to my destination.  But when my body slowed down, so did my mind.  Then God slapped me with Psalm 139:14, “I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Marvelous are Your works, and that my soul knows very well.” It is the verse on The Trifectas’ birth announcement.  They were engraved, Crane announcements.  The same verse hangs in the room of their preschool. 

 

When I first read the word, “fearfully” in this scripture, I wanted to change it.  Yes, I wanted to change the Bible.  Because I didn’t like the idea of the word “fearful” associated with The Trifecta.  So, I looked it up.  The third definition in Webster’s dictionary for the word “fearful” is “full of awe or reverence.” Reverence: A feeling or attitude of deep respect. 

And then I thought and prayed and thought and prayed.  I’m still thinking and I’m still praying and I don’t quite have a logical conclusion to this blog post. But this is what I’m working on today.  It’s not easy for me.  The pain I feel when one of my girls is hurting is so insanely awful that a tough gal like me can’t even find the words to explain how it makes me feel.  (Did I mention I nursed triplets for a year?)  But then God reminds me that He made these little girls.  AND THEY ARE WONDERFUL. And there is a reason He formed them the way that He did.  He didn’t just slap some cells together and call it a day.  And, when He was finished forming my little girls, He loved the results.  And so do I.

He loves all His children.  He will give each of us, as parents, what we need to get through the tough stuff.