Last seen: escaping over the edge of his pack 'n play crib after bedtime Thursday night after repeated reminders to shut up and go to sleep and stop bothering his brother and sister. Wearing: pjs with a lion on the front, overflowing night diaper, size 6, smile like the sunshine itself.
Answers to: 'ding-dong' 'little boy' 'young man' 'barfmeister flex' 'yackatoa' and 'get back here you!'
Reward: A visit to the Russian River beach house with no air conditioning, constant traffic noise and spiders galore.
We tried to entertain them with art one morning, you can see the play dough and fingerpainting J was trying to maintain control over simultaneously. While the art was a success, all over the paper, their clothes and the deck furniture... It was barely 45 minutes of entertainment. In a 3 hour morning. Good lord children have the attention span of gnats. And naturally, we had literally nothing else with which to entertain them besides our silly smiles and exhausted clown faces.
We have found that we must take them somewhere where they can run approximately 8 miles total in a small containable area in the mornings, or else the day goes to hell. They are all going to be marathoners, it's clear. While the rest of us will be in physical therapy for the next few months....
Daddy, B, Mommy, J, Grandma, A, strangers plus baby
Daddy and B, Mommy and J
Grandpa and A
A successful morning and a lazy afternoon recovering. It sure takes everything out of a 5 man team keeping triplets occupied at an 'amusement park.' Just ask us when we try to pry ourselves out of bed tomorrow. Oh god, there is a whole tomorrow to fill too isn't there?
Day one has been accomplished, and all went well. Except that I didn't get to sit down but once for 20 min the whole stinking day. But we have established that one kid loves the water, one thinks it's ok but she's going to keep to the shallows and the third is not going to have anything more to do with it after one false landing including water in the face.
I'm exhausted. Nice place if you could find a house without an interstate running past your bedroom window. Definitely worth exploring if there is a better house to rent.
Well so far I am totally impressed with the way they took photos to make this place look huge. I mean, the photographer? Should be a professional real estate photographer. Made this place look like a mansion. And it is not quite how I imagined what with the back yard with 2 foot tall grass and down a set of stairs instead of something the kids could just run out to.
Also, the lack of air conditioning? Apparently is a problem. The heat is stifling in the house around 6 pm. What happens around 6 pm you might ask? Um, bedtime for triplets. So open a window you say? Um, apparently River Road, a most unassuming road winding through several small towns and villages between Santa Rosa and the coast is the busiest highway this side of the Mississippi. Especially at bedtime.
Yay. But, thanks to an eventful day full of shots (2, and not as painful because I insisted on some topical anesthetic I'd read about so they were much happier), a great pediatrician check up, visiting grandma's house for 3 seconds, a nap, and then 3 more seconds, and then arriving at a strange place full of sharp brick corners and kitchens with easily reachable household chemicals, we were exhausted. All of us.
They are asleep and I head that way too. We are not miserable, but things are not quite the rosy picture painted in the Russian River Rentals e-brochure. Oh no they are not. Because the housekeeper? Apparently doesn't do floors.
Well I'm not promising when I might have time to write again. Tomorrow I pack up all the kids, load up the minivan, stop by the pediatrician for a check up ant 2 shots which are guaranteed to make my kids cranky all day and maybe into the next one, and head out of town for a 'vacation.'I will not have time to blog tomorrow. Hopefully, Saturday will be nice and easy on the river and nap time will be blog time. Let's just see how this goes.
Wish me luck and ponder these photos for a moment.
We go for our one and a half year check up on Friday. We love these particularly because it gives the pediatrician a chance to laugh at my paranoid mommy questions and make me feel like my kids are doing just fine. At least for a day. But we have a problem. We don't talk yet.
I mean A has 2 or 3 words, B has the same, and J? Well he's never in a hurry to do anything first so he sure isn't going to say anything first. He says one word reliably: ball. Without the 'll' of course. I got him to say 'bear' once although it was just a variation on the ba sound since the 'r' isn't going to come so easily. A and B say 'baby' which I think is due to the nanny bringing her baby along most days to care for them. And B definitely likes saying "no" which so far we maintain is a fun word and seems slightly meaningless to him. Tonight at dinner he and I went into a rousing chorus of "no's" while we both laughed. I hope to keep fooling him that it's a fun word for a long time yet.
I'm beginning to believe there are some happy accidents that may be the beginning of words though. Every once in a blue moon B repeats "thank you" back to the person who said it to him. But try as you might, he will never ever ever say it again. Until some time the next week when he feels like it. So you never quite believe you've heard it. But wouldn't it say something about his mommy if one of his first words was "thank you?" I think I'd claim all the credit.
So what if the doctor says we're behind? What if we have to go in for testing? I like children who excel. Well, who doesn't? So far we've been the biggest, tallest babies and I've taken that like they are exceeding expectations. Like growth patterns are some kind of achievement I can take credit for. But honestly? With all the guilt I carry as a mom? Let me take credit for something I'm doing right. I mean clearly I'm feeding them well and not pounding them on the heads with a mallet to keep them small. That's a good thing right?
So I walk in with trepidation. Maybe he'll say that it's normal for triplets to be this behind. Maybe he'll suggest testing isn't a bad idea, just to make sure. Maybe the shots wont hurt. A girl can dream.
"They" say that when a kid is defying you by not listening or even reacting to the fact that words are coming out of your face that the worst thing you can do is yell. They list a bunch of other things you shouldn't do, but they actually said yelling was the worst. Because, of course, the little bugger is trying to get a reaction out of you. And yelling? Doesn't scare him yet. He doesn't know that in a few months, when he's emotionally ready to understand punishment? Yelling will be the warning that its comin' on and you'd better get ready for some pain. Emotional pain that is of course. You know, the suffering that comes from sitting on the naughty step and all.
But, really? How am I not supposed to yell? J is grabbing B by the collar of his shirt and pulling pulling yanking dragging him down to the ground because he feels like it and I'm all "J....J.........J.......J.... GODDAMIT J I'M TALKING TO YOU!!!
Because I know he can hear me. He passed his hearing test just fine. He hears the call to dinner just fine. He hears me tiptoeing through his room at night just fine. That boy just wants to kick his brother's butt and there will be no stopping other than physically prying his tight little fists finger by finger from his brother's shirt. This sibling rivalry starts early and it ain't pretty.
I'm just kind of concerned about how it's going to go down when they're 8. Because they'll know judo and ninja moves by then. How many trips to the hospital am I in for between the two of them fighting over stuff? Not to mention the usual silly boy antics that crack open skulls on a regular basis.
But not yelling? That might send me to the hospital. The mental ward. I am a yelly person. If I have to maintain some sort of weird unnatural calm in order to have control over these kids? I'm doomed. And I'd rather screw them up a bit than end up in the padded cell.
I'm just sayin'. Listen to your mother. It's better for your health.
I just can't wrap my brain around how much crap I need to pack up and get ready for our trip on Friday. And I'm not trying really hard. I'm trying to get all the errands done this week and hoping that Thursday I can use my packing list to do a nice quick job of it. How does one even pack for 3 kids for 10 days?
First, there's the diapers, 6-8 diapers a day for 3 kids for 10 days. Just bringing a whole box. Wipes? We use a box of 700 each week. I guess I'm bringing a whole box. Laundry detergent, well thank goodness we can do laundry because then I don't have to pack 10x3 kids worth of laundry. Then there's the weather unknown. Is it going to be hot every day? Do we finally get to wear out the summer clothes that fail in San Francisco weather? Or is it going to be rainy some day, foggy ever, whatever?
Then there's the equipment. We have to bring toys, but how many? Books, videos, cameras, computers, pack n plays to sleep in, I mean why not just pack up the whole house? I do have a pretty large minivan. Then there's strollers, wagons, highchairs, baby pools, sand toys, life jackets......
I suppose the older they get the less we will have to bring. I have this fantasy that this house we are renting will be so great that we'll return year after year but I wonder. I hope they can play in the river, that would be a great change of pace. I hope the town is nice to wander through and has a park or two for the kids to play in while we eat lunch or something. I hope I get some time to read the apparently 8 books I will be bringing to read. I'd better not stay up late reading and make myself exhausted though.
I really hope this feels like a vacation. We will still have to cook for ourselves, clean, entertain the kids, put them down for naps and bedtime, bathe them, soothe their nightmares, and generally run a household, it will just be a different one. With fewer stairs. Let's hope that makes all the difference....
The annoying thing about starting off a pregnancy fat is that there is this really long period where you just look really fat instead of pregnant. Since my uterus is all stretched out already (nice image eh?) it popped out much quicker than it would for a 'normal' woman with one baby in her abdomen. That's nice because I like looking pregnant when I am since I can't have the words "I'm pregnant" tattooed across my forehead, what with the "I have triplets" banner already there.
But I just look fat. Because a baby bump under 3 inches of fat layer? Just jiggles like fat. And looks like a beer belly. I can look generally guessably pregnant if I wear a maternity top. The empire waist ones specifically, because the drape gives it a better shape. I also have to be careful not to wear anything with a tight waistband because then I get the delightful double roll look. But if I wear maternity pants with the stretchy band waist, I can create a smoother rounder look that impersonates a pregnant belly. But it ain't great.
And I'm at the stage where everyone knows better than to ask because it isn't grindingly clear that I'm pregnant. That only reaffirms my belief that some people think I might just be fat in a really strange pot bellied way. Good lord, if I'm ever fat and only in my belly region? Just shoot me. At least I should get some pleasure of beer drinking if I'm going to have a beer belly. Not that I like beer.
I'd also like to ask the gods how we could not have invented a pair of maternity pants, in this highly advanced society with all sorts of manmade stretchy materials that suck and tuck and tighten and tone and so on, that actually STAYS UP??? I mean I am walking down the street looking like some damned hoodlum idiot teenager because I'm all step, step, step, HIKE, step step step, HIKE with these damned pants. It is not attractive for a woman to be yanking her pants back up every 3 steps. And so my style-o-meter score has dropped yet again. And we didn't have far to fall. And at home? I'll be damned if I'm going to wear pants that fall off with every move I make. So I have resorted to constantly wearing 'leisure' pants again. Just like when I had newborns.
Makes me look hot for the mailman for sure.
That and the food stains and snot slime marks on my shirts.
I played with my birth control, got lost in the dark....oh baby baby..
I mean, oops. I'm pregnant.
So, now that all of you have picked your jaws up off the floor. It's true. I didn't pay anyone and I still got pregnant! I have triplets, which means I get to have sex maybe once every 4 months? And I still got pregnant.
I am actually very excited. Apparently the universe must think I'm doing an ok job to throw another helpless infant at me. Or maybe they were caught looking the other way but how fun is this? I get to see what being pregnant with one baby is like! (So far? Sucks.) I get to sleep with a baby, possibly breastfeed, give birth 'naturally' (why am I excited about that? Who knows), and generally allow my children to do the bulk of the childcare. I mean, why else have three older kids? Babysitting? Check.
No really. I am terrified too, but if you must know, I wanted another one. Pregnancy is weird and woman hormones are weird. It wasn't too long after I gave birth that I wanted to be pregnant again. Which is pretty pathetic considering I spend every single second of every minute complaining while pregnant. Triplet pregnancies suck. But this time, lucky for you, I'm finding the second trimester to be a bit nicer on me. I'm only 3 days in, but forgive me for enjoying the fact that the first trimester exhaustion, nausea and mood swings have been gone for 3 days.
And count yourselves extremely lucky that you missed all the whining that went with that period. Expect, however, third trimester to be a nightmare. Especially as I get closer and closer to the possibility that a large sized baby (this family makes none other) will be exiting by a method I have not experienced as of yet.
Ok, let's hear it. Only, if you're going to berate me for being pregnant again? Don't bother. I'm too happy.
3. done or said heedlessly or negligently; unconsidered
4. not caring or troubling; having no care or concern; unconcerned
My husband and I had a 'discussion' last night about carelessness. We didn't agree what it meant and so I'm still thinking about it today. I refuse to be called careless. Sure, I'm a klutz, distractible, a multi-tasker who sometimes needs to slow down, but not careless. Because my definition is #4 up there and some of #3. I think it's a pretty negative thing to not care. It sounds like I'd be running through life kicking over vases and smashing my car into the car in the parking space in front of me who took up 1 and 1/2 spots with his tiny Yugo while I try to fit into what remains of my parking space.
That's so not me. I spend endless hours of the day caring 'too much.' I agonize over peoples opinions, try to anticipate their needs, smooth the wrinkles out, clear the pathways and hope that no one ever has to ask me to do something for them that I haven't already done. When someone is waiting for my parking space? I haul arse to get out of that spot, even if it means spilling coffee on myself in the rush to stick it in the holder. If I knock into someone while passing them in a store? You can bet I apologize, even if it's their fault. (And can I ask why people don't care to move out of MY way once in a freakin' while? I mean, I am not large in diameter by any means. My purse is of average size. Give me a few inches!)
But the endless bruises on my thighs, shoulders and sometimes head gives my klutziness away. I consider it an inherited trait as my mom couldn't ride a bike without wiping out at least once every time. And it was always when she borrowed my bike. Not that she'd tell me she'd fallen on my bike again, I'd just walk out the next day to ride it to school and the handle brake would be knocked over to the inside of the handlebar. Hmm. Wonder how that happened? Anyway, I consider the klutz also to be due to my multitasking mind. I'm usually off to do something rather quickly when I do run into the baby gate/doorknob/doorframe/nothing or trip over the steps/doorjamb/completely flat floor. Does multitasking make me careless? I don't think so.
My husband, on the other hand, has cultivated a personality characteristic that I think took him years. I'm not sure you are necessarily born 'careful.' I think he chose, early on in life, to carry himself so carefully through the world that he is not only highly unlikely to ever trip or run into anything, but he is also preternaturally quiet when moving through a 1914 house where every floorboard squeaks. I respect this talent. But I think it takes a lot of effort. By now it's second nature to him, but I imagine at the beginning he had to think all the time about where he put his feet, where his arms and hands were as he walked, how to navigate tight spaces and whether every hair on his head was in place or not. (Just kidding!) Just thinking about that exhausts me.
I won't do that and in a way I respect my life choice. I run through life talking a bit too loud, feeling free, laughing at my bruises, arms flying in whatever direction. It doesn't mean that when I break something or dent the minivan for the 715th time on the stupid narrow garage door opening I don't feel bad. I do feel bad. It sucks to have dents. If I break something truly important like an family heirloom I do agonize. But I can tell you that if it's a hole in the wall that can be repaired, a glass that can be replaced or heck, even a nice object that can't be replaced, I will not be beating myself up for days. Life is to be enjoyed. Houses are to be lived in. Things are to be used and sometimes broken. And apparently, minivans are mine to destroy. Life goes on. Does that sound careless?
Trying to conceive of getting my house ready for sale while there are still three toddlers running around is complicated. I will not make my life 10 times harder on a daily basis for the sake of 1 or 2 open houses a week which may or may not bring customers rather than 'lookie-loos' from the neighborhood. I am aware that I have to de-clutter, which will be nice regardless for all of us. It is amazing how you can live in a place and not notice how much crap you've accumulated that doesn't need to be there.
After getting in the habit of dumping stuff on the front hall bench you forget that it all belongs elsewhere. It's surprising also to find that most of it is garbage or could be gotten rid of. And God bless the inventor of 'totes' or the big old tupperware tubs you can store things in because I am going to need a lot of them. But to find old coats from the nanny that quit suddenly 3 months ago on it? Makes you wonder why they weren't burnt in the bonfire exorcism I performed after she left.
But there are many things that just can't get put away. The changing table, for example, has to have lotions and creams and medications and wipes and sanitizer and so on. Do I put it all in tubs and stuff them under the table just before open houses? Exactly how many boxes of crap am I going to have to relocate to the basement every time we have an open house? I suppose I'm lucky I live in a city where they only show houses by open house rather than lockboxes that mean people could look at my house any old day. But I suspect I am going to be doing a lot of carrying up and down stairs (kinda the point of moving was avoiding that?) And a lot of driving the kids up to Petaluma for the day to get them out of the house.
The other trick is how to not lose money. We have not lived here long enough, or rather in the right economy to sell for more than we bought it for. We have lived here long enough to create permanent damage and wear and tear on the place. Meanwhile we have installed miles of baby proof gates in all doorways and stair entrances. I know that makes for an attractive house showing. I'll have to be careful that the house doesn't smell like poop, sleepy children, diaper pails of urine soaked diapers or recently cooked broccoli. I need to find me one of those candles that smells like freshly baked cookies. No really.
I am getting excited about a new house though, because so far almost every one I've seen online has a much nicer mommy bathroom. Mommy likes this. A bathtub that would fit all of my appendages? Heaven. A house with enough rooms to have a scrapbooking room for me? Delightful! This one has a laundry room bigger than my current kitchen. Sad, I know, but that excites me like nothing else. Laundry being done in the hallway? Bites.
So, I will return some day to topics other than this, but for now I'm trying to wrap my brain around all the stuff I have to do in the next month just in case I find my dream house tomorrow. Anyone know a good organizer?
This house just isn't working anymore. 800 stairs up to get the kids out of bed, 800 stairs up every time someone needs to be helped back to sleep, 800 stairs up for every nap. 800 stairs down to take a walk to the park, drive to the Dr.'s office, go to the zoo, go to the grandparents house.
When we thought we were only having one kid at a time, this seemed reasonable. And, truth be told, you are not going to find a house in SF without the 800 stairs. But I'm getting old. And I have three kids at once. Early on, I could carry two at a time to reduce my stair running by one trip. Heck, in an emergency I had a laundry basket plan for all three. I often contemplated installing some sort of rope and pulley system though, because when they were taking 3 naps a day that meant running the stairs with them 4 times a day minimum. Too bad I don't have a tight ass to show for it. I guess the sitting on the sofa every other possible second of the day kind of counteracted the stairs.
So our beautiful 1914 house, with custom paint on the inside, a mural to beat all in the nursery and neighbors I've bonded with over the last couple of years? Going to have to be sold. We are going to have to move to the 'burbs. Not only to find a house with fewer stairs but to afford a bigger house with enough bedrooms. A house with an office for my husband so our marriage can survive another decade. A house with a yard and kids playing in the street and schools you don't have to play a lottery system to get into. Well it does sound good in a lot of ways.
But I had intended on living here forever. Everyone but me bought that one. I thought that mural would be painted over maybe when the kids were 9. Maybe. It is the hardest thing to let go of.
Oh yay, the kids have come up with a new and exciting way to drive me crazy at 6:30 am: they lay on their backs in their cribs and kick the gate side, which then rattles like thunder through the house. Imagine three at once. I should be proud that they are creative and inventive, no? I should be impressed by their imaginations, but you know? I think I'd rather sleep.
And, naturally, I can't do much to stop them because if they get attention from it, negative or positive, it will just be more fun. So, no yelling, threatening, begging, pleading or even tying them down to their beds will do. (The latter mostly because I'd get arrested.) So we get to 'live through it.' We get to ignore it and hope that even though there are three of them to cheer each other on and give them the reinforcement that they need to keep wanting to do it, they will get bored of it eventually.
Or the gates to the cribs will fall off and we will have insta-toddler beds. That would be great. Three kids running loose in their bedroom at all hours of the night. FAN-effing-TASTIC.
Why does mommy always have to be the 'tough guy?' The police officer, the law enforcement, the mean guy, the punishment provider? I mean, here I am, before even punishments can be doled out, feeling like the bad guy.
I'm talking about being firm and 'training' the kids not to play me. I'm talking about being the only one who can resist a temper tantrum thrower until they're done. Somehow, I end up feeling like the mean mommy seeing as how I won't let Grandma pick the screaming fit thrower up and Grandpa has already left the room.
Not to mention that I have the least patience in any situation where whining, fussing, sobbing, squealing or angry yelling is going on. Yes, I know, it's easier to be patient when you get to go home at the end of the day, but its only just beginning!
So it seems to carry on, this age old tradition of mom being the bad guy who metes out the punishment or the mean rules that don't allow you to pick up my wailing child. I guess it's really because we can read them so well. I know perfectly well the difference between a tantrum and real upset. I am perfectly comfortable sitting with them during the tantrum but there will be no comforting, patting, picking up, entertaining, or sweet talk. These kids gotta work it out themselves and they had better catch on quick that momma ain't buying that basket of goods. But why do I feel so mean?
Ok, those of you without children will have to suffer this sentimental comment, but when all three of your toddlers start coming to you with outstretched arms and puckered lips and then place their slimy wet mouths on yours and say 'mwah' just like you have for 18 months? It's the best thing in the world. Kids learn so much just watching what we do and studying how we do things that they will amaze you. A has been 'kissing' on demand for some time, but the boys never showed a propensity. Why did they all of a sudden 'get it?'
A has been an imitator for a long time. She was the first one to get that you smile back when smiled to. Then she started fake laughing when we laughed. I think girls are naturally more likely to get those type of social interaction things sooner. So she soon realized that imitation brings attention. My little flirt loves attention!
Conversely, J loves to be imitated. He starts with a noise and we copy and he does it back and he thinks it's hilarious. But clearly he watches because, while he's always the last to do new things like walking, he does it quicker. He learns from their mistakes, watches them figure it out and then just does it. Smart little bugger.
B imitates his siblings and immediately wants whatever one of them has. He's not so into imitating us but he sure wants our attention. He is the king of tantrums where his eyes constantly rove around looking to see who's being affected by it (Grandma!) and who is going to come to his rescue (bad Grandma!) He is a great clown with funny facial expressions and body postures that just make you laugh out loud.
It's amazing how kids learn by imitating, but it makes you start to think what kind of role model you are providing. I need to get up off my butt, because if they imitate me they're going to be couch potatoes from minute one. They will also be complainers. Perhaps they will catch a little of my frustration level and be grumpy. I hope not. Because they are such cheerful little people right now, unless they're fighting over toys. I will have to make sure I'm a more positive person so I rub off on them the 'right way.'
Although having another 'hilariously sarcastic' person in the house might not be terrible?
Oh them crazy kids. You go through all the trouble of training them at night by not responding to every cry and they start sleeping through the night (say at 6 months of age?) only to find that 6 months later you're right back where you started. Somehow, unbeknownst to you, child A has started a pattern of waking every night at 4 am, sounding like she's had a nightmare. So you rush in, night after night and stupidly wonder, why the increase in nightmares? Maybe she's going through a developmental change? Maybe she's getting sick?
No. She's just training your stupid butt to get up every night at 4 am and pat her. Sure the first time was innocent, she probably did have a nightmare. But nights 22 and 23? Probably not so much. So it takes an aside question, asked while at the doctor's office for freaking hand, foot and mouth disease, about supposed increases in nightmares around this age to be set straight. Because the kind doctor in all his wisdom basically tells you that you're being taken for a ride.
How did I not recognize this for the 89th time? I mean how many times does one of my children have to take advantage of my kindly sleepy stupid self before I realize it on night 2 instead of night 22? Or rather, before someone else calls it to my attention? I mean duh? Every night at 4 am she has a nightmare? Really? Is sleep that predictable?
And another question I'd like answered. How is it MORE disruptive to B's sleep when I go in and shut that girl up within moments (tiptoeing silently as humanly possible) than leaving her caterwauling for 20 minutes? But oh it is! The minute I turn that doorknob, silently mind you, because I have developed the instincts of a ninja when it comes to making no noise, that boy is up and looking for attention. And god forbid I give attention to the screaming child first, he then screams himself. Or heck, even if I give the screaming child second shrift? He still screams when I give someone else attention.
So, my nights are about to get easier. I have, for the past 2 nights, lain in bed listening to the varying cries of my daughter, and she is inventive I must add. I have struggled, felt guilty, analyzed every nuance of those cries, because she changes them up just to throw me off. And yet, she is alive in the morning. Smiling, happy. And we are both more rested. What a freaking paradox children are. Now the trick is to find all the other ways they are fooling me. Think I stand a chance?
Cooking. This is the bane of my guilt stricken existence. When am I going to start cooking for my kids? Right now their meals consist of lots of pasta and noodles and sandwiches, soup, fruits, applesauce and yogurt, and some oatmeal and smoothies too. All of which requires perhaps a 10 minute boil on the stove max. Most of which is microwaveable. How pathetic.
I keep meaning to whip out the casserole recipes thinking I could logically make them and me dinner at the same time and have leftovers. However, I haven't really cooked in years. My husband always worked later than I eat dinner, so when I first moved to SF I used to work hard and make him dinners and require him to be home 3 days a week to eat them. Well, that just stressed him out. Then I'd make dinners that did well in the reheat, but that was less than satisfying because essentially I was cooking for just myself. I find that a thankless and unnecessary act. I'm perfectly happy eating take out and frozen dinners by myself. Why cook?
When the babies were just starting to eat I was willing to steam up and puree a bunch of stuff, because, again, that's pretty stinking easy. A lot of machines to do the job for me pretty much. But I sure thought that by now I'd be cooking. I've had several false starts, shopped and bought chicken and ground beef and turkey, as well as herbs and veggies and cans of creamed soups. All sits and rots. Where am I supposed to find the energy? If they're happy with pasta and soup and I'm happy with take out, who cares?
Me. I feel like a failure of a mom on this one. I don't expect to make everything they eat from scratch, I'm no earth mother. I just expect to, maybe 4 times a week, turn on the oven and use a pan and throw at least 5 ingredients together in it and bake it. Good lord it doesn't sound that hard does it?
Ok, it's time to thank the good spirits that I have three happy, healthy triplets in my life. I am blessed. Sure, they are sick again. Sure, it might be hand, foot and mouth disease (oh that's a real disease folks!) but overall we are strong, mentally and physically.
I can't be funny because several of my triplet mom friends are struggling with new developments in their triplets' lives. They all love their kids as much as I do mine, and they will love them regardless of what pops up but one has to feel extremely lucky to come through the multiple birth process with three completely healthy kids.
There are so many things that can go wrong. And in addition, when you have 3 at once, your statistical chances of having one with a genetic defect are higher than when you have one, right? So it's scary. You could get a mixed bag genetically, and then, since they are usually born premature you have damage due to that, developmental delays, physical damage during the birthing process, etc.
So many things could have 'gone wrong.' But I ended up with three wonderful, bright, healthy kids. I am counting my blessings today. That's all I've got to do.
Why is it I'm the only one NOT hearing my children say words. My mother in law, husband, nannies, and apparently everyone else are convinced they've heard words come out of my childrens' mouths and all I can think is...."wishful thinking." I hear a close approximation of a syllable that may or may not be them imitating what's coming out of your mouth but I wouldn't call it a word folks. You say 'shoe' A says 'so' or 'sho' and you call that saying 'shoe?' Hmm.
Am I just too hardline? Should I accept a marginal syllable as a word? I mean we are getting pretty desperate here with almost a year and a half gone by and not a word to be found. Other than the usual 'mama' and 'dada' which can be used for at least half a dozen different things other than mom and dad. Sure, triplets take their time and it's quite clear that they understand one another and follow directions and know the parts of their bodies, so I know they aren't 'slow.' But this lack of words is starting to drive me nuts. I keep counting down to their 18 month dr appointment saying we have to get some words by then or we're going to look bad!
I do not want to need intervention, my kids are clearly smart, but perhaps we're just so good at interpreting what they need without words that they have little need to try them. Sigh. Is it time to whip out the flash cards? I am so not a high pressure mom and our pediatrician is just the same and always makes me stop worrying but come on kids! I need a word! Not just 'ba' for ball, I need a complete word like 'up' or 'baby.'