Mommy's not enough

I just don't understand certain things sometimes. For one, why I don't have that magical mommy touch that makes everything better for my children yet. I don't mean it really cures things, just that somehow it should make them feel like everything is better just because I'm there. I am hurting right now because it happened again.

Because my mother brought another illness into my house I have three sick kids, right? They are doing their thing where they each have a terrible night and tonight is B's. He was up there since bedtime hacking and coughing and sometimes whimpering because he can't sleep in between all the hacking and coughing, naturally. Finally, he's outright crying, and who would blame him, he's exhausted. So I grab my Children's Motrin and a syringe and head up there to medicate him, hoping it would make his cough calm down or at least soothe his throat.

Well, first you have to get the medicine in them. And why, when they are perfectly happy to swallow pink candy medicine during the day, are they so resistant once it's after bedtime? It's the same stuff, it's the same person giving it to them. I have yet to give them medicine that tastes bad so what's the deal with the refusal? So I struggle with him and eventually get the 5ml in him only to have him immediately cough and barf all over the place.

Now admittedly B has a talent for barfing. This boy cries until he barfs quite effectively, although it's tapered off a lot since infancy when he used to projectile vomit his formula seconds after you finished feeding him. But when he's sick? Watch out. Any excuse to vomit and he'll be the one doing it. But this is a stupid cold folks and the medicine tasted like freaking bubble gum. WHY DID YOU BARF???

So, now he's hysterical, I have to change him and the sheets and the other two in the room are asleep so I must maintain some way for them to stay that way or face the triple threat scream fest. I throw him in the next room pack and play and try to calm him down. That's failing so I go change the sheets and clean up in the nursery. I come back, change his pjs and try to calm him down.

This is where I run into the problem. I sit in a rocker, I soothe, talk, rock, try to find a nice position for him, all to no avail. He's hysterical unless I let him sit on my knee and play with the footstool. Why is laying against momma's breast while being rocked and sung to not the answer? Why am I not that person to him? And really very rarely to any of them?

I want them to relax in my arms and fall asleep while I rock them. They don't want any part of that. I want them to hear my voice and calm down, I want them to let me sing them to sleep. It makes me hurt and furious when it doesn't work. What did I do to create this?

I have an inkling it's because they're triplets and I couldn't do it much when they were infants. There was no rocking to sleep, there was a lot of singing but at some point they figured out singing translated as 'go to sleep' and even objected to that with wails now and then. I mean, I hear about people with single babies who have to slowly wean their toddlers off of needing to be rocked in their arms to sleep or something and I'm flabbergasted but it couldn't have happened with three, right?

So is that all it is? Or am I not warm enough, did I miss some key moment to show them this thing I can do, or is it not what toddlers want or what is it?

Because, honestly? It breaks my freaking heart. I want to rock them and soothe them after a sick moment or a nightmare. I want being held in my arms to be automatic comfort to them. I want a kid to fall asleep in my arms. I want to be that mommy. Why am I not?

Should I give her detention?

I got a call from a principal about misbehavior Friday and my kids are not even 2.

Sigh.

No, what happened is that I got a call from my mom's assisted living facility telling me she was misbehaving, believe it or not. I'm not sure what they expected me to say but here's how it went:

"Hi Mira, this is E from Rhoda Goldman calling regarding your mother. We are having a hard time getting your mother to cooperate with us regarding her illness. We have asked that she stay in her apartment so as to not spread her infection with the other residents and today she went for a walk in the rain. The other residents are concerned, also, when she is coughing while eating her meals in the cafeteria."

Who, MY mother? Couldn't be.

Why she's the most thoughtful, respectful, never would think of herself first, cooperative resident ever. My mother would never show up at my house on Wednesday, wherein reside three toddlers who just spent 2 months sick with colds and various bugs and a highly pregnant lady who might give birth at any moment to a fragile infant, and share her news that she was sick again and had asked her doctor for antibiotics because she was coughing. The next day, when I had gotten my full anger on, she would never listen to me explain that she was not to come to my house when she was sick again because she needed to consider the consequences of making me and my three toddlers sick and then deny that she was really sick despite having contacted her doctor the day before asking for medicine.

Oh yes she did say this: "Well no one has actually declared that I am sick."

Excuse me? Then why did you contact the doctor for meds? I think that would be YOU declaring that you are sick. But, naturally, wouldn't you say whatever it took to not be kept from visiting my children?

But I digress. So, after laughing a bit about my mom being such a pain in the ass to the administrator I asked what the real consequences of mom's misbehavior were. I mean, could she get herself kicked out of this place and force me to find her yet another facility to live in and move her for a 4th time? Um, yes. It hasn't gotten to that point yet but it's a possibility. So I put on my good mom face and told Ms. E that I would talk to my mother about behaving herself better and following the rules. E asked me what they should do if my mom went walking in the rain again while sick and did I want them to call me. I pretty much said that if my mom wants to kill herself by doing stupid things while sick there wasn't much I could do about it so, no, please don't call me. Just shake your head and cluck to yourself.

I then called mom up. "Hi mom, sounds like you've been getting in trouble again." Her response? "Oh these people are just crazy here I tell you." You know I had to say "I told you so" right? I mean I told her she was moving into a facility that was going to be far more up in her business than the last one. I had no idea they would put her in isolation for a cold but what can I say, it's pretty funny that I was right. But I let her know that she was not to get herself kicked out of that place and if I had to move her again there would be suffering on both of our parts, capiche? She gets all "Oh Mira don't talk to me like that, they've been talking to me like that all day."

Well, perhaps, young lady, if you started acting like a grown up people might talk to you like one?

I mean it's like having a teenager already. Do you think I might be prepared by the time one of mine actually is one?

Honestly people, if she gets herself kicked out of that place? I can not be responsible for my actions. If I have to find her another place to live I might remind you that there are many definitions of "place to live." The next place is likely to be a full lockdown mental ward.

For me.

I don't know, it just seems like she is determined to keep stirring things up. Even if I was able to relax in the rest of my life she'd keep finding new ways to throw me for a loop. Now, in the back of my mind, I will have this little niggling worry about whether she's going to behave in such a way that I really will have to move her again this year. With a newborn and triplet toddlers and trying to move and find a new house of our own and so on.

Not that it's not predictable. My mother is a maelstrom. Life is always chaos around her. Those who come into contact? Likely to be sucked into the crazy. This is why I have been in therapy for years. Years my friends. Years.

And apparently I have years left to go....

Slacker Sunday photo

As usual a box is worth a thousand toys.

The man, the legend, J-dogg

So, in my final of three mostly unread blog entries, here's Mr. J:

He tends to look angry or drooly in almost every picture so I have a hard time finding casual ones to use. He's not as into being photographed as my other two, definitely does not want a career in show business and doesn't run towards the camera the minute I pick it up. This little boy is definitely the baby (for now) and loves mommy a little more than the other grown ups in the room. He takes his time to warm up to people but once he does warm up to you you'd never call him shy. He is just more suspicious of strangers. But he's not really a snuggly one, he just wants to sit in my lap.

He loves dress up, hats of all kinds and for a while he loved a giraffe costume we have. That ended after Halloween when we forced him into it because he suddenly didn't want to wear it. Ah well. But he loves putting on layer after layer of costumes until he looks like a homeless person in winter. I don't know what that's about. He hates getting anything stuck to his fingers and will come over to you to clean off his hands when you can't even see what it is that is bothering him. He knows the difference between chocolate chip and vanilla animal crackers and you'd better give him chocolate chip. He is definitely a sugar addict already. Sorry for being a sucky mom kid.

He has a great 'watchoo talkin bout Willis' face that he inflicts on new people and anyone who is doing something that doesn't make sense to him. He's funny as heck when he laughs and will make you do whatever it is that is funny over and over again so he can laugh some more. But he really likes his routines. He wants to put on his jacket before he goes downstairs, no matter your explanation that you're going in the car and not outside. He wants some warning before anything changes, and that's fair because he doesn't get to control much does he? He also wants to be the first down the stairs but also be the only one on the stairs and will defend his territory to the death (or until we intervene and make him go down the durned stairs now!)

He came out the smallest, having been wedged up against my diaphragm all bunched up without room to expand. But he's now the largest (by a slim margin) and the most athletic. When he runs you can see the football player and he can throw overhand and catch and do all those coordinated things that amaze. If he wants to, I think he's going to be a great athlete. But who knows if he'll want to?

I know he's going to struggle with the new baby situation seeing as how my lap is 2/3rds his most of the time. He isn't a momma's boy, he just likes having access to me. And I lap up the attention of course. How can it not be gratifying to have a kid really prefer you. He has had the most nightmares and night terrors and so I've felt more concern about what he's scared of than the others. I think that even though he's a leader at play with his siblings, he's going to struggle with new situations like school and making friends. But I'm sure that if he's given a chance people will love him to death like I do.

And that's my little cowboy. He's the sensitive, suspicious, kind, funny, imaginative, athletic tough guy!

The brilliant Mr. B

Continuing in the triplet personality introductions:

This little blond man is clearly on his first ride as a human. It's hard to explain but the difference between the way he approaches the world and the other two make it clear he's never done this before. He just seems more clueless and curious and much more surprised by it all. He is the middle child, and as such I think he does have to fight harder for attention. He's not the responsible oldest nor the baby of the family. Supposedly middle children are peace keepers but I haven't seen any of that yet. What he is is totally full of mischief.

He has that thing going that is terribly dangerous for us parents, by which I am referring to the fact that you can be totally mad at him and all up in his face and he just smiles. That smile? Will knock you over with laughter every time. You have to do the fake cough/yawn/retch thing to cover the fact that you are about to explode while attempting not to smile. He knows too. He knows he's cute, he knows people smile back when he smiles at them and his smile is just beyond your imagination. It lights up the room. It has from the beginning been a special smile that just brings joy to your heart. I can't describe it adequately, let's see if I can find a picture.

That'll have to do but the camera doesn't apparently capture the smile very often. He's a very happy boy most of the time. I wouldn't advise being the one who wakes him from nap, but other than that? Happy boy. He had the most interventions in the NICU but none of my kids had much. He just looked like a little old man for a while instead of a baby and needed the bilirubin lights for jaundice and a little more oxygen. He resided on my right side during the pregnancy, all stretched out and comfy I suspect, oblivious to A's headstand and J's being crammed up top. He was more needy as a baby when it came to getting to sleep but we've established by now that he's just a night owl. He messes around in bed for at least an hour after the other two pass out but my bet is he'd sleep in in the mornings if he had the option.

This boy of mine is just snuggleicious if you ask me. He loves to be tickled, loves it! Will come back again and again for neck tickles, which I don't understand at all. But it makes him giggle in the most delightful way, so you gotta do it. He is a little slower physically than the other two, less coordinated and I suspect it's from my side of the family. We were not fast or talented on the field. Ever. He also gets the worst of every cold or flu. Tends to barf more, snot more, cough more. Seems as strong as the others but his body takes the insult worse for some reason. He also is talented at screaming until he makes himself barf. I'm not sure that one will pay off in the long run.

Overall, he is a joy to have around. He is going to be a good loyal friend and be fearless in general (watch him leap off of tables and you'll see) while also wanting lots of affection and appreciating discovering new things any time they are around. I look forward to watching him find his footing in this family since now there will be two middle kids!

The fabulous Miss A

Well every other triplet mom I know seems to do a blog about what each of their triplets is like so I figure it's about time and it's not like I've been a font of inspiration for my own self anyways. So, on the eve of their second birthday I present to you my fabulously interesting triplet personalities.

Beginning with the Fabulous Miss A:

It's hard to know if some of her characteristics are due to being the typical 'oldest' or being the typical 'girl' but she does seem to like being more responsible than the others. She picks up stuff and puts it away, loves to help clean up, sings the clean up song all day long in fact. She listens the best but that doesn't mean she doesn't rebel. She is just more interested in what we have to say. She often can be caught 'scolding' her brothers in complete jibberish but with the perfect inflections that let you know she's telling them what's what. She will also tell them 'no' when they're doing things wrong and try to stop them. She regularly shames me by sounding just like me when talking to her brothers who might or might not be misbehaving at the moment. It's humbling.

She is the ultimate performer. She shows everyone at music and movement class how to do it. She does the moves sometimes a step before the teacher and does them at home too. She may be the next Madonna, I don't know, but it sure seems like she likes the spotlight. She will be the first to warm up to strangers visiting and she will definitely show off for them if they smile at her just right. She is delightful to watch perform, dance, smile, run, giggle, and play with her brothers.

What surprises and sometimes worries me the most is her rage. Sure, most toddlers throw tantrums, but remember I have three brands of tantrum here. I can compare quite regularly. This girl gets A.N.G.R.Y. She will throw herself on the hard wood floor and bang her head with fury. You had better not try to control her because you will lose. There are ways to cope with it but I guess what I wonder about is the level of rage. I thought I was a child full of rage but I thought it was due to my circumstances with my parents mostly. Not that I'm parenting her perfectly but her rage is not due to the same things as mine and yet I recognize it personally. It is white hot and yet can be fleeting. Just stop trying to control the situation and give her a minute. She'll let you know what she needs. I respect it too, but it's scary as heck sometimes and, as a parent, I wish I could spare her such rage. Perhaps I will yet.

This girl is going to be amazing, that's one thing that is certain. She came out a fighter, butting her head against the exit for most of my pregnancy, growing the largest in a crowded womb and holding her head up while still considered premature. She wont take too much crap from these brothers of hers before putting them in their place. She is delightful, smart, defiant, beautiful, funny, strong and mischievous. She will make me laugh and yell and cry all probably in the same moment. I look forward to many years of trying to be the best mom I can to her!

Undulations

Being pregnant with one baby is so weird! I can feel everything this kid does inside me. I spend hours watching my belly move in crazy alien ways. Well not hours, because I happen to have triplets, but minutes at a time.

You might think that having had three inside me at once I would be over this baby movement thing. You'd be wrong. I think they were kicking each other last time. I felt hardly anything last time (or I've blocked it out) except when they'd lodge a foot in my bladder or somewhere painful. It was not like this. My skin undulated just a little bit now and then. Right now my abdominal skin is like a waterbed with a toddler on it.

And what's with the sensation that they can reach into my right hip and poke my thighbone? That's just nuts.

The kicking of the floating ribs is getting old though.

I was asked today if I was feeling the excitement of this pregnancy. Naturally, I had been talking about last week's crisis of limbo when this came up and anyone who knows me knows I'm not a happy pregnant girl. It's just an uncomfortable set of physical experiences so far. So, excitement? Hard to come by. Mostly I have a lot of anxiety. Having been through a pregnancy that was all about excitement and being special and different, this normalcy is odd. I'm just another pregnant woman and people assume I've done it all before. Meanwhile I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. The bad news, the body giving out, the kid shoving his way out early one way or the other, or something.

And then there's the post birth anxiety. Will I survive the exhaustion? Will it be worse or better than pregnancy plus triplets exhaustion? Will I recover fast and get my butt out of the house on long walks to be all exercised and full of energy? Or will I be me. Sitting on the couch sleeping the minute the infant does? Kinda more likely.

I am excited about the possible positive birthing experience I'm dreaming about. I've read so many accounts from books and blogs at this point that I know it can happen. I am excited to meet this new personality, see who he looks like, take the time to snuggle an infant and see what the fuss is all about (wasn't really time for that with 3), and in general I guess I'm excited, but it's hard to get past the rest.

Meanwhile I'll just sit here and watch my stomach roll around. I keep waiting to see a discernible foot or something like I've seen in photos, but I think I've got a wee too much fat layer for that to happen. But the flip turns are awesome. Just stay head down kid. Just stay head down. And pick your exit in a timely manner. Preferably mid-day on a weekday. Ok?

Limbo limbo

I am a fantastic crisis manager. I love having more to do than time allots, I loved jobs that were running from minute one to the end of the day each day, I could multitask like nobody's business.

I suck eggs at limbo.

So here I was, leaving my OB appointment yesterday trying to figure out why I was so depressed I could barely put one foot in front of the other. Stupid, considering it was a great appointment. I am basically back to being a 'normal' pregnant woman with some pregnancy induced hypertension. Fantastic news eh? Nothing really to worry about as long as I take my blood pressure medicine. I am no longer in crisis mode with a possible pre-eclampsia on the horizon (not that it couldn't happen but it clearly wasn't happening like we feared) and a c-section inevitable.

I now have the usual 4 week window during which I could give birth at any time. I mean, ANY TIME. Who the hell knows when this kid will make his entrance? Could be early, could be late. Could be VBAC, could be c-section. Could be emergency, could be planned (if we get to 42 weeks and see no action.)

Folks, this makes me nuts. I can't plan! How do you plan for that?

Oh poor Mira, you're thinking, while people are dying in Haiti she's all at loose ends and can't make her birthing experience into a controlled situation.

Sigh. I know. It's crazy. But I SUCK at limbo. I suck at hanging out here waiting to see what happens. I am not as good at emergency preparedness as I am at right in the thick of the emergency dealing. And having had a whole not-normal pregnancy before, I am uncomfortable being told just to go about my life. It's just weird. Something has to be on the edge of going wrong, doesn't it?

So, I ate cookies and cried a bit yesterday. Not easy to understand seeing as how those around me would see cause for celebration over my normalcy. And you know what else sucks? My best crisis partner was my dad. While I was in crisis mode last month over my pregnancy seemingly going down the tubes I missed him like all get out. No one better to bounce ideas off of and tell of my success in handling tough situations. In fact it was quite funny to me that the minute my bp went up the person I wanted to talk to about it was dad. Those things are always amazing about mourning people. The strange things that make you think about them and suddenly the ton of bricks hits you in the face again at a truly odd time.

I wanted to share my crisis with dad, now I have no crisis. I am just a typical pregnant lady with no crazy stories and nothing to deal with or handle or prepare for. Other than pushing a kid out at some point. It's just odd being normal.

Guest as a dirty word

My definition of a guest is anyone who doesn't live in my house who comes to visit. That seems reasonable doesn't it? My mother disagrees. Apparently calling her a 'guest' offends her. Let's see how this plays out:

Friday, at the end of one of her thrice weekly visits to my house, I call her a cab like usual right at the dot of 5 because basically I can't wait to get rid of her. The cab arrives, and I holler at her to get out like usual. She says "oh, I don't need a cab today. My friend is picking me up." Hmm, well there's a cab sitting outside right now, what the heck am I supposed to do about that one? Now she knows bloody well I call her cab every time without talking about it, it's a routine. She's been at my house for 2 hours, when was she going to tell me she didn't need one? Oh, apparently later.

So I dismiss the cab and come back in and ask her exactly when is this friend coming. "I don't know." Um, what? Well could ya find out? I asked her how late, she said no later than 6 but she didn't know for sure. Now it already annoys me to have her here 5 minutes later than usual, so an hour is starting to itch. I know way too well that she might be wrong so I decided to call her friend myself. Oh, he's not picking her up until 7. Ish.

ho ho hooooooold on a minute here people.

She's staying 2 hours late, without asking? Um. NO.

My head pretty much explodes and I yell at her that she can't just stay 2 hours later than usual without even talking to me first. And I happen to include that she's a guest in my home in my tirade. Seems like a reasonable point?

It's not just about me not wanting her around, those of you with children must agree that having someone 'new' around at bedtime can screw up the whole damned thing. Jazzing my children up with strange energy right before bed is not something I'm generally agreeable to. Add in that it's a person I don't like spending extra time with and we're in totally unacceptable territory. So apparently I threw a big enough fit that she decided to go home first and be picked up there. I mean it's a 10 minute ride home for goodness' sake. What did she need to stay here for anyways?

So, as she's leaving, in a typical parting shot she turns to me and says "It just really hurts me that you keep pointing out that I'm a guest here." Like I keep saying I hate her and guest is another word for beeyotch. I mean honestly people? I'm not that subtle. If I meant the B word I'd use it.

I keep mulling this over because my immediate response was just to reiterate that she doesn't live here therefore she's a guest. What the heck else would I call her? I asked my MIL if she'd be offended to be termed a guest and of course she said no, but she is not the type to take offense honestly. And the truth is, mom is not right to think she can just show up here and do what she wants. It is my house. Staying 30 minutes late without asking? Not a problem, just irritating. 2 hours? Unacceptable. Get some manners lady.

slacker Sunday photo

Not that he's a trouble maker or anything.

Aliens vs fetuses

You know how in the Alien movies those dudes walk around, supposedly for weeks, with an alien growing in their chest cavity, and have no idea until the thing erupts at the dinner table ready to suck face?

I'm here to tell you people that there is no way in hell you can have a fetus of any variety growing inside you and not know.

At the very least, when their 8 (or 2) legs twitch and stretch and move you are going to feel it. You are going to feel that foot kick your kidneys, shove your liver out of the way, stretch towards your diaphragm and lodge in your ribcage. I mean really, where else are they going to put it?

So this theory that they could ignore the movement of a multi-legged animal growing in their chest? I don't think so. The heartburn alone would kill them. Not to mention the other digestive issues that come with having your organs displaced and squished to one side, the heart palpitations, the sleep disruptions and the mood disturbances. Sure, the hosts are mostly guys in the movie (right?) but even guys aren't that oblivious to changes in their body. And it's funny that something that big could be inside them and they don't even notice some weight gain or even a pot belly? I mean where do all their displaced organs go? Are the aliens dissolving them as they go? In which case I have to protest again that they would not notice.

All I'm saying here is that when a 4 lb baby is inside you, anywhere? You know. You know pretty  much 24/7. And as they take that left foot and lodge it in your pancreas, and then take that right foot and try to lever it agains your abdominal wall, while taking their left hand and jabbing into your hip while maintaining a handhold on your urethra? It just is not comfortable. Because, deciding whether to pee, eat or breathe first is a losing proposition. And God help you if you sneeze.

The scales of relativity

So I guess it sounded like life's still sucking in my last post. I should make it clear that on the actual scale of suckitude I am quite low relatively speaking. I mean there's the suck scale of not pregnant, not raising triplets without a crazy mom and then there's the suck scale I live on permanently which should be the one I refer to and on that all inclusive scale, I'm doing well.

I hate to be the negative blog poster so some of the reason I've been so silent this month is due to things being a bit harrowing. But the harrowing part is passing and so now's the chance for me to grab the chance to blog about how it's all better. Here comes the sun and all that. I mean let's list the positives:

1. I am still pregnant. Despite my heart trying to overcompensate by sending my blood pressure into the atmosphere and my kidneys giving me a wee scare by spilling protein enough to make the doctor send me to get steroid shots in case the kid comes early, it's actually going 'well' compared to last time. Thankfully, my doctor is back from vacation so the fact that I spent last week actively mourning the loss of a natural birth prematurely, due to seeing an OB who might be termed hysterical, is all in the past. I'm a little bitter about all that emotional trauma but the truth is back on line and I might still push this sucker out the normal way. I just have to keep calm and mellow and stress free and relaxed. Ha Ha Ha Ha freaking ha.

2. My mom only ruined a tiny bit of Christmas. And I predicted the manner in which she'd do it. Somehow, at the age of 75, my mom is still not able to take care of herself in a responsible manner. Thus, a cold turns into pneumonia no matter how many people are telling her to rest, take meds, see a doctor and that she's actually really sick. So I ended up taking her to the ER Christmas Day. Delightful. But it wasn't Christmas Eve, the important one, so let's call that a victory. The fact that she wants to blame everyone else around her for her visit to the hospital? Typical. Doesn't even make me raise an eyebrow. Really. No really.

3. The triplets did, in fact, have 87 colds, flus and viruses over the course of November and December. No really. I slept maybe 2-4 hours a night for over a month there. And pregnant. I cleaned up a heck of a lot of barf. And poo. And the good news? I was too tired to blog about it. This one's good news for you people. Not me. But my good news? It's over. Until the next one.

4. I did survive no nannies for 10 straight days. I had a few fun experiences like taking the kids for walks around the neighborhood where they got to explore whatever they wanted. That was fun. I knew it could be done but it was exhausting and I almost didn't make the last 2 days. Because they were still not letting me sleep. And then with mom in the hospital I couldn't nap at naptime because a good daughter visits her ailing mother. So, come day 9? I almost killed a kid. Or a husband. Whichever makes you like me better.

So, see? All positive. I am spending this week recuperating, contemplating paperwork and bills, re-imagining my birth scenario, and being shocked at how much more uncomfortable one baby rolling around inside me is than 3. I have figured out that the triplets must have kicked each other a heck of a lot more than they kicked me because if this is how much they were kicking? I escaped quite unscathed. This little beastie rolls around, rearranging my organs and making me breathless with a little pressure to the diaphragm while dragging the other leg down the front of my abdomen in a positively alien manner.

And apparently he needs baked goods. Now.

I have been eating baked goods for approximately 48 hours now and there's no end in sight. Thank goodness I haven't gained weight in 2 weeks so I have a pound or two to spare. Oh, wait, no I don't because I started out 30 lbs over. Ah damn. Well, what's another cookie?

Stumped

I'm stumped. Truly stumped. So much has happened, so much of it ridiculous and comical in a sad and pathetic way, so much of it interesting or possibly thought provoking. So where to begin?

I'm still here. I should reassure you all that. It has been a while and I was in quite a state the last I spoke or wrote.

I'm still pregnant. For better or worse, without the reassurance of a calm and peaceful pregnancy, but still pregnant.

Mom's still crazy. Still able to find new and exciting ways to ruin my holidays.

Kids are still alive, despite their best efforts to sick themselves to death.

And now I have to return upstairs for the 3rd time to smack the child who is actively trying to wake his brother and sister, who are kindly asleep, by banging his water cup on the crib wall. Had I more forethought I would have removed said water cup on my previous visit 5 minutes ago when he was kicking the side of his crib with enthusiasm. 3 hours after bedtime. Little snot.

It's hard when you have a late night owl kid, an early bird kid and a go with the flow kid all in the same room. Not a recipe for anyone to get the sleep they need. A good recipe for me to spend the beginning and end of each night contemplating tying someone down to their crib with some duct tape to the mouth region.

Off I go and I will return tomorrow with a 'real post' I hope.