Part of the Club

Going out with the twins is always an adventure. Sometimes it feels like we’re sideshow freaks. Strangers see me with the girls and laugh and say they’ll pray for us. They comment on how cute or little they are. They say things like “better you than me!” Once a little boy told me I “must be really brave” because I had so many babies. I had no idea what to say to that other than thank you. Most of these comments make me pretty proud. Not everyone can handle twins. Occasionally the comments irritate me. “Twins!? That must be awful!” Ummm…no. Having kids is pretty awful but we love them anyway. Sometimes it sucks, but buddy that’s just parenting. What’s one more, right? Some strangers are different though. They are part of a tribe that I unwittingly became a part of when I had the girls.

The Twin Club is a beautiful thing. These are the parents of grown children who stop you with smiles and tell you. “It’s okay! You’ll survive! Mine are 30 now!” There are the parents of older twins who look at you and say “Terrible Twos are a breeze but brace yourself for Threenagers!” There are the occasional odd balls. Like the Dad who is so proud of his wife breastfeeding their twins for three years that he tells you all about it. There are the sad ones too. The rare mother who looks at you with sadness in her eyes and tells you, “I was pregnant with twins but we lost one.” Those are hard.

It’s not just parents either. You meet people who are twins themselves. You see them recognize the twin bond. They never ask “are they twins?” They usually start with “I’m a twin too!” My girls seem naturally drawn to people who are twins. Strangers who we meet everywhere. They smile and coo and giggle for them when usually they give strangers the stink eye. Maybe they sense the bond. I especially love meeting young twins. At the store the other day a little boy made his Mom find us because he wanted to say hi to the twins that his twin brother saw earlier on their trip. I think they like seeing people who are like them. Other kids who experience the craziness that comes with having a twin.

I never thought I’d be a part of this crazy, unofficial club but I love it. I’m proud to be a Twin Mom. Proud of my amazing girls who were born fighters. Proud of my body for all that it’s done to make me their Mommy and nourish them. Proud of my Bonus kids for being such huge helpers and rolling with this curveball because Lord knows they weren’t expecting this either. I’m proud of my Husband too for being such an amazing Daddy. This is the best club I’ve ever been in.

Saturday Shocks

I’d put the girls down for a nap and was about to get into the tub when one of them really amped up the screaming. The Hubs asked me to go check on them before I got into the bath. His Daddy senses must have been tingling because when I went into the room I saw the Hun standing there naked and mad at the world. She’d taken off her diaper and dumped the poop right out of it. Clearly once she decanted her present into the bed and peed she was no longer interested in sharing a bed with her deposits. I chalked it up to Mommy’s fault because I’d put her down for a nap with only a diaper on. Like her Mommy she’s not a fan of clothes. I got her cleaned up and gave her to Daddy who was laying in bed watching videos.

Now the next part is completely my fault and marks the resolution of a long, drawn-out argument in my house. You see one side of our house is almost 100% window. I’ve agreed to putting curtains up on 2/3 of the windows but held out on covering the windows that look into our dining room/kitchen. I like having lots of natural light in there and don’t want to fool with curtains. The window is an odd size too so we’ll have to have weird sized curtains and a curtain rod. All things that lead me to fighting for no curtains/window treatments. The Hubs and I have been arguing about this since we moved in. I don’t like to wear clothes. He tells me all the time that I’m going to give our elderly neighbor a heart attack. I always say that it’s my damn house and I can wear whatever the hell I want to in it. If the neighbors want to see my droopy, wobbly bits then so be it! Who cares if their side yard and backyard look right in?!

The Lord finally called my bluff. Sassy God looked down and said, “I’m ending this stupid argument right here and now.” You see after I cleaned up The Hun and her bed, I decided to run to the kitchen and refill her bottle. But because it my damn house and I can wear whatever the hell I want to, I didn’t bother to put on clothes. I thought nothing of standing at the sink with my bare butt to the window while I rinsed the bottle. Didn’t batt an eye as I stood in front of the refrigerator carefully making sure I filled the bottle up to 4 oz of water. Danced along to the old school funk that I’d left playing after breakfast while I poured juice into the bottle. Enjoyed my happy morning.

Until I shut the refrigerator door and turned to see a man in my neighbor’s yard! My brain registered that his back was to me but I froze like a deer in headlights. Bottle in hand I ran on tiptoe to get behind the shelter of the living room curtains. (Tiptoe?! Like he was going to hear me and turn around?! Idiot.) I ran into our bedroom and collapsed into embarrassed laughter. I had to admit that I was wrong and that The Hubs had been right all this time. He is pleased to have gotten his way after all the fussing. It turns out even I have my boundaries when it comes to my nakedness. I’m not sure that the man working next door even saw anything but if he did I hope he got a laugh out of it too. Once I get out of the bath I’m off to buy curtains and a curtain rod. So much for a lazy Saturday!

I Miss You

Today is not an anniversary or a special day to remember. Today is just a day… and I miss you. I miss you with a sadness that sometimes makes my bones hurt and my muscles ache. These are the days when ideas of heaven and an afterlife are not enough to ease the distance between you and I. Not enough to soothe the burn of loss. You weren’t one for flowery words. You would have given me a hug and told me you loved me if you were here. But you aren’t. And so my words are how I handle it today. Rest assured, I’m not wallowing. That, I know you’d hate. If I get too bad I always hear you in my mind telling me to go sit under the porch and eat worms. There will be no worm eating today. I promise.

There are reminders of you around me all the time. They’re tiny threads of gold in a hand tied fly, flashing when the light cuts through the water just right. A sparkle beneath the ever changing surface of everyday life. Wether it was your intention or not, you taught me to look for those glittering moments in the little things all around me.

I see you in my baby’s smile. She smiles just like you did when you were up to no good. Its two parts mischief, one part joy. It lights up her whole face all the way to her eyes just like it did yours. She was supposed to have your name if she was a boy but instead she has your smile. It’s somehow better that way. I hope she always smiles like you.

Fish, of course, always make me think of you, but so do other things. The smell of smoke from a freshly lit Pall Mall Red stops me in my tracks no matter where I am. Despite the fact that you stopped smoking, that smell will always be you to me. I’m reminded of you by unglazed cake doughnuts and by my favorite breakfast restaurant. I see you in myself when I feel the urge to wake the entire family up early to go get breakfast. I still think that sunny side up eggs are gross. You never managed to sell me on that one.

Even now, almost three years later, I forget that you aren’t here. I call your phone and half expect you to answer. See a man on the street and have to look twice to convince myself that it’s not you. Almost three years and when I talk to someone about you I can only say “my grandfather,” because calling you “Pawpaw” gets me choked up. I wish I could hug you one last time. Hear you laugh and tell you I love you. I promise to tell the kids all about you and share your stories. I promise to find ways to help other people just like you did. If you’re floating nearby be sure to stop by and say hi. I miss you.

The Moms Who Made Me

I have been so incredibly blessed to have many strong women who’ve served as “Moms” in my life. A blanket shout out just doesn’t seem like enough. So here they are, the women who made me, me:

1) My Mom:

This woman is and has always been my rock. At 18 she was more brave than I can even imagine. She finished highschool, graduated from college, and became a kick ass teacher all with a baby on her hip. She is my forever best friend and loudest cheerleader. She is beautiful even though she doesn’t always think so. She taught me that love is shown in our actions more than our words. Only foolish people leave her house hungry and once she’s decided to adopt you you’re hers for life. I couldn’t have survived this long without her. She keeps my head level and my ego in check haha! I’m so proud of her and everything that she does. She makes it hard not to brag about her.

2) My Meme:

This crazy lady is my favorite person in the whole world. My Husband knows that I’d push him in front of a train to save her. (She loves him and calls him “My Eye Candy.”) I get my dance moves, story telling skills, and love of ridiculous clothing from her (along with about a thousand other things). She’s one of the funniest people I know. We have matching tattoos. One of my girls is even named after her. She has taught me about love that withstands time, illness, and even death.

3) The Yaya’s:

These amazing, vibrant women have been my Mom’s best friends for most of her life and most definitely all of mine. All three have wiped my butt at some point and have no problem pointing that out. They couldn’t be more different from each other and yet it’s hard for me to think of one without the others. My Lala (formerly Aunt Doctor Laura), Chellechelle, and Nene were the women who stuck by my Mom when she was pregnant with me. They were just kids too but they stepped in and helped when we needed it. They have been here for us both through so much. From Dr’s appointments to dance recitals they’ve always been there. And while they all may not have children of their own, they’re all Moms to me. Now they are all The Twins’ Godmothers and I know that we made the perfect choice.

4) My Bonus Mom:

Though she didn’t come around until I was older my Bonus Mom has helped shape who I am. I admittedly was a bit of a cow to her when she first started dating my Dad. She took the slow approach with my brother and I. She stayed patient and never pushed. She learned how to love us despite our protests and stuck with it until we got over our crap. We’ve developed a friendship and love that I appreciate very deeply. I can only hope to have that kind of patience when it comes to my Bonus Kids’ crazy years.

5) My Bonus Grandmothers:

These ladies have accepted my crazy family with open arms and love my children so much. When they could have easily kept their distance from this new step-grandkid of theirs, they decided to choose love instead. It can’t be easy to suddenly have a practically grown granddaughter but they did it well. They took time to get to know me and have been here to support me as my family has grown.

6) My Friends’ Moms:

I hope that one day my kids can bring their friends home because they know I’ll take care of their friends no matter how weird they are. My best friends’ Moms all call me theirs just like my Mom calls their kids hers. Even after we all grew up and started families these women send me messages of love and encouragement. They got me out of my Mom’s hair and gave her a much needed break as a teenager and snuggled my babies as an adult.

I can’t thank all of these women enough. I only hope that I can be a Mom that’s as amazing as they are. They’ve all taught me about love and strength and laughter and their lessons have come together to create the tapestry that is my life. I feel honored to be a Mom that has the chance to follow in their examples. I’ve got big shoes to fill. It’s a good thing I have so many kids to try all of their techniques on!

Happy Mother’s Day everyone!

Poop Story Double Feature: Part Two, Everybody Poops

Ya’ll, I’m telling you I don’t know what happened to my family but it was bad. Maybe the planets aligned or someone put a hex on me. Whoever has my Voodoo Doll needs to give it a back rub and say they’re sorry for this one because it was just rude. Not two days after nap time went wrong I came home to a disaster that just continued to intensify.

We were running late getting home because we’d stopped to visit family. It was after 7:30, the girls hadn’t eaten dinner (normally 6:30), and they’d fallen asleep in the car. The trifecta of bad right? When I walked in the door my Mommy senses started tingling. In his rush to get out of the house and off to work the Hubs put the dogs away in our room instead of in their kennel. What he failed to take into account is that there were some poopy diapers in our bathroom trash can. Our dogs are crack heads about poopy diapers. Like will do anything they can to get to them. They are deranged. My vet tells me that this has something to do with wanting to get the babies smell. Dogs do this when they eat socks or underwear. Whatever it is, it’s GROSS! They’d torn up three diapers all over my bedroom floor and coughed up something frightening on my bed. I let them out and closed the door. I could only deal with one crisis at a time and I chose hungry babies.

I put the girls in their high chairs and started to feed them. They were cranky and uninterested but I worried about them waking up during the night so I plowed on. The Hun was growling and grunting. That’s pretty normal so I chalked it up to being grumpy. At least I did until the smell hit my nose. Poop! Let me just say that poop is difficult when you are feeding one baby but when you are feeding two and one poops, you enter into new territory. Sometimes we can continue to eat. A small poop is tolerable. This was no small poop. This was a blowout! Oh and did I mention that I was the only adult at home? Yea, so Mommy went into battle mode.

I got the girls out of their high chairs and into the tub in our hall bathroom. They normally take their bath in the master bathroom but since the area was strewn with diaper carnage I opted for the hall bathroom. They settled into the bath and splashed around happily. I sat on the toilet and looked at Facebook. (Don’t worry, the lid was down. This isn’t that kind of poop story.) The Hun played with a small cup and even drank from it. This was cute and a bit impressive (she usually just drinks from a sippy cup or bottle not a regular cup). I told her to stop since there were bubbles in the tub. It was cute right up until I saw something floating through the bubbles.

My brain registered what my heart tried to deny. It was a poop. A little baby poop. IN THE BATH WATER THAT THE HUN WAS DRINKING! I lurched into action and fished it out. I threw it in the toilet like it was on fire. The girls looked at me like I’d just turned into a monkey or something. They had no idea why I was being so weird. I drained the tub and took away the cup. We stared at each other. *crickets* I called my Mom.

She thought it was hilarious. As a parent you know that these things will happen but why then?! I was shaken! Unnerved by a poop! The girls were delighted by another bath but this time I left the bubbles out just in case one of them had another poop in the chamber. All traces of sleepiness had abandoned them. After their bath I got them dressed and went off to clean up the poopy diaper mess in our room. My Husband was smart enough to come home with food for me and a hug. He helped me strip the bed and kept the girls entertained while I ate. We got them all snuggly and in bed and then I passed out too. Cleaning up poop three times in one night will really take it out of you!

Poop Story Double Feature: Part One, The Nap That Went Wrong

The start of our tale begins at nap time on an ordinary day. I put the girls down for a nap but they fought it for an hour. They played and giggled and chattered. They weren’t fighting or screaming and I figured they’d fall asleep at some point so I rolled with it. Anything to get the dishes done. They did fall asleep eventually. Looking back I see that I should have investigated the giggling. *shakes head* If only I’d been more vigilant, maybe the poop insanity wouldn’t have happened.

When I opened their bedroom door, the smell of poop hit me like a wall. This isn’t terribly unusual but it’s never pleasant. As I entered the room I was greeted by one baby standing and crying and one little naked booty pointing straight up in the air. While poop smell isn’t always a horrible sign, unexpected naked booties are. Also unexpected were the locations of my babies. You see, when I’d put them down they were in separate cribs. Now they were in one. After taking a quick moment to asses the situation I ran from the room. Baby wipes never seem to be in the right spot when I need them. This appearance and subsequent disappearance of Mommy set the Conqueror to wailing her poor little poopy-booty heart out. I ran as fast as I could back to her, my mind streaked with visions of poo spreading beyond her gaping diaper and onto her sister or bed.

The Hun, true to her nature, remained asleep while The Conqueror screamed her head off. I took the poopy diaper off and wiped as much of the poop off as I could before picking her up and laying her down on the changing table. Apparently I missed a substantial area though because in her fit she rolled and smeared poop on the changing table. As I cleaned her and the changing table up I heard The Hun rustling in the crib. I turned to see her standing up and blinking at me. She looked like a little naked Kewpie doll with her little belly poking out. As I stared at her trying to decide what to do, she let loose a torrent of pee. I swear she didn’t even break eye contact. She just stared at me and peed.

At this point I abandoned all hope of getting out of this with clean clothes. I picked them up and with a baby under each arm headed to the bathroom. One bubble bath later and fresh clothes all around and we were okay. I put on Sesame Street and let them watch and play while I stripped their bed. I found The Hun’s diaper on the floor. She’d thrown it out of the crib when she took it off. We now have a strict no sleeping in only a diaper policy in our house.

We had our next frightening fecal adventure just a couple days later…stay tuned for the next part of the Double Feature!

A Minute Longer

Dear Tiny Conqueror,

You’re fussy tonight. You have a diaper rash, a new tooth, and your sister woke you up. Of course, she settled back down quickly but you’re my finicky sleeper. My dinner is getting cold on the stove as I hold you and settle you down.

It’s easy to forget that you and I once shared a body. That you spent the first 7 months of your existence with your sister and I right there beside you. It must get scary and lonely for you sleeping in your crib without her next to you. I remind myself as my stomach growls and you nuzzle into my shoulder that even at my age sometimes I just want my Mommy too.

You smile and fart before relaxing deeper into sleep. I stifle a laugh. The dog looks offended. You are your father’s child. I see myself in you too though. In the slenderness of your fingers and your long second toe. The way you furrow your brow when you’re mad and the side eye you give me when you are obviously over whatever it is that I’m doing.

I’m tired and hungry but holding you like this is nice after a long day. I guess I needed you too. You’re out like a light and I should put you in bed but a minute more won’t hurt us. I’ll just hold you here a little longer so I maybe I won’t forget this when you get older.

I love you my little Moo.

Love,

Mommy

The Mom in the Mirror

I really thought that when I got past my teenage years I would be done doing any major wrestling with my body image. I worked hard to feel comfortable in my skin and be happy with what I looked like without changing it. For a long time I was done. I had some moments here and there but for the most part I felt good in my skin. Then boom! Pregnancy! Post baby body! Now I feel like a stranger in my own body. Nothing is firm. Everything jiggles. I can fit into my pre-baby clothes but now they fit weird. I don’t like the way I look from the shoulders down most days.

Now I know some of you out there are rolling your eyes and saying “whatever, I’d love to be that skinny,” “have a body like that,” whatever. That’s fine for you to think but keep those thoughts inside please. When I hear that it makes me want to scream. When you say those things to someone you are minimizing their personal struggle even if it’s not your intention. I may be skinny but I’m allowed to voice my feelings about my body because it’s my body and my feelings about it. I know that people mean well but I’ll let you in on a little secret. My body issues have nothing to do with you or magazines or anyone else. They are 100% self created. My rational brain knows this. But when I look in the mirror what I see doesn’t match the me I feel like inside and it upsets me. In my head I’m still the perky me that I was. The mirror shows a different story. It probably shows a different story than what you see too. When I look I see a boob that droops lower than it’s parter. I see softness where there once was just the right amount of strength. You see I don’t compare myself to you or anyone else. I compare myself to old me.

I’ve decided to take back my body though. No, this isn’t some new diet or workout. This is a choice that I have to make every day. I will choose to find one thing about myself to appreciate every day even if some days all I appreciate is the color of my eyes. Because my saggy boobs fed my children. Because my soft stomach once held two humans, two amniotic sacs, and two placentas. Because if I’m going to start taking better care of myself it must start with a love of the body that I’m in. I know that this isn’t the case for everyone and that’s okay. I just know that personally if I start working out as a way to love my body it won’t fix the problem. I’ll just find ways to hate it still.

This weekend I took the first huge step in my journey. I went to a festival in a top that I had a friend make for me. It’s pretty and crocheted and leaves my stomach bare. It looks exactly like something I would have worn before babies without thinking twice. I was scared to wear it. Once I stopped being self conscious about it I began to feel comfortable and didn’t think about it anymore. I just enjoyed myself. It was a major victory for me.

I don’t want my kids to say ugly things about their bodies because they grew up hearing me talk shit about mine. I make it a point not to hold on to ugliness or hate in my life and it’s time to stop being ugly to myself. So today when I look in the mirror I chose to love my wide hips. We’ll see what tomorrow brings.

Where You Go, I Go

My brother and I are 7 years apart but he’s one of my best friends. After all these years I can still remember pacing the the waiting room of the hospital dying to go see my new baby brother. He was my own real life baby doll. I have always been happy that God gave me a brother and not a sister. He has a wickedly dry sense of humor and a kind heart. My kids think he walks on water. (What kid wouldn’t love an uncle who sneaks them nerf guns and candy every chance he gets?) We’ve spent hours arguing, crying, and laughing together over the years. We even shared a room for most of our lives. I was there for his football games and he was there for ALL of my dance recitals and competitions (poor kid) not to mention all of our major milestones along the way.

When our parents decided to part ways it was hard on us for so many reasons. It was especially hard knowing that we wouldn’t be around each other as much. I’d decided that at 18 I wasn’t interested in going between houses. I chose to stay in our house with whichever parent had possession of it. Being 11, he went back and forth. The first Christmas after our parents separated I made him a promise. Wherever he decided to go for Christmas, I’d go. “Where you go, I go,” became our agreement from that day forward. It worked for us even as I graduated and started my life in the real world.

Things changed when he decided to join the NAVY after high school. Suddenly, I couldn’t be there to protect him from the world like I wanted to. He didn’t need it, but that’s what big sisters do. The Hubs and I planned our wedding to make sure that he would be there by our sides. He was the best man. One month later he went to freeze his butt off and become a NAVY man in Great Lakes. It was the longest we’d ever gone without seeing and talking to each other in his entire life. I hated it. He wrote and said that he was fine but the food sucked. I prayed for him every night. We watched his graduation on live stream and cheered even though we knew he couldn’t hear us.

When he finally got to come home for a visit I cried. He was skinnier than if ever seen and looked so grown up. The “grown up” quality faded as soon as he opened his mouth but it was a change nonetheless. We were fortunate to have him close by when the twins were born. He was one of their very first visitors. They were three months old when he left for Spain. Before he left we got tattoos inspired by our Bonus Dad’s nicknames for us. “1.0 and 2.0” They’re on our shoulders so we can always see it. A permanent reminder that “where you go, I go.”

Spain was hard on him. Unbelievably hard. And suddenly when I felt like he needed me most, I couldn’t be there in person. Couldn’t hug him and let him know that everything would be okay. It nearly tore my heart out of my chest. I have rarely felt so helpless in my life. When we talked I reminded him to look at his shoulder. To know that I am always there. I told him again “where you go, I go.”

He came back to the US but I couldn’t go to see him. Plane tickets aren’t cheap and I had babies to nurse. We talked on the phone a lot. When he came home to visit and I finally got to hug him I cried like a baby. True to his nature, he made fun of me. He spent his time at home with all of us and when he left I made sure to hug him super tight. Now we talk all the time about work and life and dumb stuff. He has gotten to know the kids via FaceTime and videos. The Twins glow when they see him on the screen or hear his voice.

Siblings are a blessing for so many reasons but for us it’s always been about knowing that no matter where we are in the world, there is always someone out there that has our back. Someone cheer us on when we’re struggling and to take us down a notch or two when our heads get too big. Someone who remembers the stupid stories and has shared our past in a way that only a sibling can. I can only hope that my kiddos grow up to be this close. Close enough that when it comes time for life to move them apart they can say “Where you go, I go” and mean it.

What I Learned From A Fat Boy

You know how sometimes I agree to things because they sound like they’ll make for a good story? Well I did it again. Except this time the joke was on me because it kicked my out of shape ass.

A couple of months ago my Mom and Bonus Dad started talking about doing The Fat Boy 5K. It’s a local race that’s been happening for years. Only 1,000 people can sign up and everyone gets stickers that say “Fat Boy 5K Top 1,000 Finisher!” Finishers are greeted with free beer, chocolate milk, Cokes, Kristy-Kreme doughnuts, Moon Pies (the full sized kind not those tiny ones that they throw at Mardi Gras), and gigantic sausage poboys. Individuals compete but are also invited to join teams. Teams must weigh a minimum of 650 lbs to qualify and you can have as many people as you want. Prize winners get things like chocolate Easter bunnies and other snacks to go with their medals. What’s not to love?!

My Bonus Dad wanted to run the race. Mom wanted to participate but not hold him back so she mentioned it to me. In a moment of silly loyalty to my mother I enthusiastically said “I’ll do it!” At some point we decided that pushing the twins would be a great idea. People can’t judge you for being slow if you’re pushing two babies in a double stroller right?! I’m not sure who’s idea it was but for the sake of story telling I’m blaming her for this one. So Bonus Dad (aka Grandy) signed us all up and then poof! I forgot about it…multiple times.

I got up the morning of the race at 5:45am and couldn’t help but wonder what the hell I was doing with my life. I spent a considerable amount of time mentally cussing Past Diana for agreeing to this dumb crap. Ya’ll! I don’t do physical activity! I have no idea what possessed me to believe that this was a good idea. I love my Momma though and, as we’ve already established, I’m an idiot. I got the girls ready and loaded them up and headed out to the race site. I should have turned back when I got there and saw real racers. My stupid ass soldiered on though. Did I stretch? Nah! It’s just walking right?! Did I drink water? Oh no girl! Who needs water when you have tea? Green tea is healthy right?! Idiot. Of course, in true Diana fashion my stomach started feeling sketchy. Looking back it was probably my body telling me to turn around and go home. You can’t wear the shirt if you don’t do the race though so I powered through it. I even turned down a Krispy Kreme doughnut which is something I never do.

The race started and there was no turning back. We were walking. We were talking. It was beautiful. I felt so confident that I offered to be the stroller pusher. The twins gave us side eye and looked around at all of the houses. By some miracle they went to sleep. Around a half a mile in my hip started to ache. My hips were bad before the twins but they are an absolute nightmare now. I kept pushing. I ignore the pain most days so why would today be any different. It’s just a 5K. If Mom can do it so can I damn it.

At about one mile the sweat really started rolling. Talking became more difficult but I was still doing my best to joke and laugh. Somewhere in there I was informed that there were hills on the track. By “informed” I mean that I rounded a corner and BOOM! Hills! I already knew I was in over my head at this point but I was determined. I cursed and we kept moving. The crowd around us started thinning. We were quite obviously at the back of the pack. We were just there to participate and not race though so I wasn’t bothered.

At the half way point I went from having a conversation to trying to motivate myself. My breathing was heavy and I stripped down to my sports bra. And in case you were wondering, $5 leggings from Walmart don’t breathe well. AT. ALL. It got harder and harder to distract myself from the fact that every part of my body was sweating. It wasn’t really hot but the air was thick and muggy. Between the sweat and the humidity I felt like I was walking through soup. We started to see people on their way back to the finish line. They cheered us on. We politely waved and smiled. I mentally flipped Past Diana the bird. The pain in my hip was now shooting down my leg and I could feel a blister forming on my toe. We powered on.

With one mile left I started seeing black spots in my vision. Hyperventilating probably. This is what happens when you have kids after being out of shape to begin with. With a half a mile left motivating myself turned into me cursing everything in sight. “F this road. F this race.” I wasn’t even saying things that made sense any more. “F u stupid birds!” I’m convinced that the last part of the race I was running completely on irritation and a desire to get to the van and be done with it. My Mom barely complained the entire time. She’s walked half marathons. I have no idea why I thought I could keep up with her.

As we approached the finish line the smell of hot sausage poboys filled my nose and helped lift my spirits. The seconds were ticking away on the time clock. We had thirty seconds to cross the finish line before our race time would be one hour. So we ran it. We crossed the finish line laughing as our fellow racers cheered us on. It was glorious. We were two of the last people to finish but damn it we finished and we did it in under an hour. I’m convinced that my Mom would have finished before then if I hadn’t been with her but she’s nice enough not to say so. Grandy greeted us with hugs and cold beer. I have no idea what kind it was but through the fog of my exercise-addled mind it tasted glorious. I wolfed down a sausage po-boy the size of my arm in about 5 minutes. The twins toddled around and played in the grass. I was so worn out and dizzy that my Bonus Dad drove me home.

I nearly keeled over. I put my post baby body out for all to see even though it made me uncomfortable. My feet were blistered, my hip felt like it was being stabbed, and I was covered in sweat. But we finished and we finished with Joy and laughter. I learned just how out of shape I am. It was a little sad to learn but it helped me to remember that I need to take care of my body. It also helped me see my Mom in a new light. She frequently downplays herself but she’s a G. Next year I’ll be better prepared.