My twin pregnancy journey.

We were in no way trying to get pregnant with our now almost-3-year-old twins. In fact, if you know our conception story, it's a bit crazy and definitely TMI for blogging. I can laugh about it now, but that evening, I sat in the bathroom, knowing 100% that I had just gotten pregnant, and cried. A lot. My husband sat patiently, holding me, and prayed over me and our future. Somehow, this moment slipped my mind but exactly a week later, after having an emotional breakdown because Greg was reading his Bible instead of having breakfast with me, I remembered. After Greg left for school, I took a test and sure enough, I was pregnant.

It was a really hard time for both of us. We had only been married for 7 months. We didn't have any friends with kids yet...we were still in college. It was scary telling our parents. It was scary thinking about how we were going to afford anything, neither of us were working.

Pregnancy was physically demanding. I got sick quick. It was only a week after finding out . that I became extremely sick...only 2 weeks after conception. It was ridiculous. I actually told a couple people that there was either something wrong or that I was having twins because there was no other reason why I could be that sick. Fast forward to my first ultrasound at 8 weeks, and there they were. My two tiny babies. Twins. I was not surprised. I was actually relieved. I think God mentally prepared me for that one. But the sickness continued. There were days that I couldn't even walk because I was so weak. Greg would have to carry me around our apartment. I missed tons of classes (I was still in my last semester!). I lived off of Gatorade ice chips and saltine crackers. I lost almost 15 pounds during my first four months.

Around 26 weeks, if I remember correctly, I went into labor. After a stay in the hospital, we were able to control the contractions and I was put on bedrest. It was just one more thing to add to the situation.

Even though it was physically taxing, it was even harder emotionally and mentally. I thought I had ruined my marriage. No more alone time, no more time to invest in each other. The stress of finances and housing on our young marriage. And it was all my fault. I slipped into depression. I had always wanted to be a mom, but not this early. Not when I thought it would put my marriage at risk, not before I had a chance to pursue my own dreams.

I felt alone. I felt stress. I felt pressure. I felt like life was impossible. I would day dream about my old life...wishing I could just go back and stay in that chapter for a little while and get pregnant later on. I felt so bad for my husband. He had to take care of my physically. And our "honeymoon" phase was brought to an abrupt end. He didn't deserve that.

My husband was patient. He listened. He held my hair. He carried me. He snuggled me. He spoke words of encouragement. He did not doubt. He cooked. He cleaned. He prayed.

I vividly remember the conversation that helped me come to terms with our new situation. He said, "That reality that you dream about...not pregnant, living at our old place, when life was easy...God does not exist in that reality." He reminded me of all the blessings we would not have received had I not gotten pregnant. The miraculous provision of Greg's job at CCF-willing to work with his schedule to finish up his senior year of college. All of the relationships we made that wouldn't have been there if we moved away after graduation. Our beautiful house. The love and support shown by provision of needs for our two precious babies. And countless other things. After that conversation my guilt started to lessen and I began to feel peace.

Our birth story is great. My water broke at 3am. We got to the hospital around 4am and contractions didn't start to increase in pain until about 4:30am. I chose not to have medication, though every time a nurse came in they tried to get me to change my mind. I threw up a lot. I wanted silence...so I yelled at my mom and brother-in-law when they were talking. I had back labor and wanted Greg to massage my back with an ice pack. A nurse tried to get him to do a technique that supposedly helped with back pain, but it made it worse so I yelled at him. I only yelled those two times though, so I'm pretty proud of myself. I sat criss-cross for most of the labor, closed my eyes, and just breathed. I reminded myself of God's special purpose for me and how he had made me perfectly cable of doing it. I was ready to push but they made me wait because I wasn't at a 10. And that was stupid. I had to give birth in the OR due to possible complications with twins, it was cold and impersonal. The anesthesiologist was rude and tried to not let Greg stand by me, but Greg stood his ground. I didn't push long. Jack was born around 10:30am. Traeh had her arm above her head so my doctor attempted to get her to move it...and that was the most painful part of the whole labor. After about 15 minutes, she still hadn't moved it so we just decided to go for it. Thankfully, after breaking my water, the force moved her little hand out of the way. Her heard rate started to drop so they told me I had to push without breaks to get her out safely. She was born about 5 minutes later. They are exactly 20 minutes apart.

I look at my labor and delivery as a little gift from God after having such a hard pregnancy. I could not have asked for it to be any smoother physically. My recovery was quick and easy as well.

Now my kiddos are almost 3. Life is definitely more insane with them, but also a lot more fun. I am thankful for my whole journey with them, and very proud to be their Momma.

When I Can't Protect My Children.

This thought has been on my mind a lot lately. It seems like every other day I see a sad story of a 2 year old on the news. It hits me hard. I never want anything to happen to my precious little two year olds.

Missing, abducted, neglected, abused, dying. Scared and alone, yearning for love. I ask God why He isn't protecting them, loving them? If He could just give them to me, I would love. I would protect.

As parents we do all that we can to protect our children. Sometimes it works, sometimes we go overboard and they rebel. Sometimes we fail. And still other times we have no idea what to even do to protect them. My kids know that outlets are dangerous, the stove is hot, and not to chase a ball that rolls into the street. We hold hands in the parking lot, I buckle their car seats, they wear sunscreen.

But I can't stop sickness, disease, heartbreak or failure. I can't stop fear and spiritual warfare.

I'm not in control.

And this is where I am right now. Our son has had trouble sleeping throughout his life. But not the typical "my kids don't sleep" type of not sleeping. My husband and I believe fully that it is spiritual warfare. Satan knows that if you want to make a parent weak, attack their children. When he was younger, Jack would wake up numerous times a night terrified. Shushing, bouncing, lullabies...nothing seemed to help. We didn't know what was going on. And in our delusional, sleep-deprived state, we could not muster up a prayer more than "Lord, let him sleep."

After several months, we got serious about praying knowing it was the only thing that could help. But Jack did everything he could do to stop us. Anytime we prayed, sang spiritual songs, or read scripture, he covered our mouths, kicked and screamed, and pushed us away. It remained intense for a couple of weeks but then miraculously stopped.

It has been almost a year since he has been attacked, but he started being scared again last week. His reactions this time are different and I am thankful. Instead of rejecting God, he's embracing him. He asks for prayer and even prays himself. We will walk in and his hands are clasped and he is talking away, then he says "amen." He asks us to sing and also sleeps with his "Jesus Book" (the Bible) almost every night. He knows Who to turn to for comfort when he is alone.

One night after Jack had been crying for over an hour, I went back in to comfort him again. I told him I would be right outside the door, always there to protect him.

But then it hit me. I can't always protect him. It was then that I bursted into tears and could only say, "God will protect you...God will protect you."

And I must trust Him to do so.

I can try to prevent what I can, and prepare them for life's challenges, but the most powerful thing I can do is pray. Pray for His protection, pray for His peace, pray for His assurance when I feel He is absent. He is not. And I must trust.

God protects in ways we cannot understand. Though I may watch the news and wonder where God is, He is there.

He cares for His children. He loves them. He protects them...in a more extravagant way than I can imagine or attempt on my own.

I am so thankful for the Lord, my Protector.

Thanks for the read. -Kate