The Triplet Crown

It's about the books

2012-01-20T08:36:00.000-08:00

So, one might ask if they still cared, where the hell have you been all this time Mira?

Well, I took a little detour through self pity land, and stopped writing because I'd pretty much written 8 months of miserable posts. Who wanted to read more of those? Not me. But then we moved. And I discovered.....

dun dun dun!

Books. Wouldn't cha know?

I rediscovered the joy of reading. I'd been reading newspapers and magazines on parenting and Oprah, but I hadn't read books unless I was away for a few days. Which, naturally, was rare. But I got this book from my mother in law and started reading it skeptically. It was historical fiction and I had been reading mostly fluffy chick lit for all my rare chances to read so I wasn't sure. Brain? Meet Diana Gabaldon's epic tale about some damned woman who got transported back 200 years to Ireland and fell in love and so on.

Segue into musical interlude of "books glorious books" to the tune of the orphans and Annie singing about food.

In any case, I haven't been able to stop since. After I read a couple in actual paperback form I downloaded one onto the iPad. The problem with this was that books and iPad were never there when I needed them. Then I realized that I had the patience of a saint and could read books on my iPhone despite the fact that there are about 4 words on every page. I didn't care, I could read anywhere!!

I read while sitting outside my childrens' doors after lights out in between super nannying the party animals they had become after transitioning to big kid beds. I read while on the toilet, I read instead of paying bills, I read while waiting in line at the checkout. People, I read. Even two sentences at a time.

It was/is glorious. I love books. I actually reached a point where I ran out of suggested titles on iTunes and worried I had read every historical fiction book out there. Not true, but at current time I have read 63 books. Since last March. On my iPhone.

Addicted? um, yes. Happy as a clam? Yes, despite the people from collections interrupting me now and then. Getting stuff done I should get done? Not really. But I'm happy?

Well, feel free to use me as a warning tale. But honestly? It's not drugs, or alcohol or cigarettes or food. So I'll take my chances. Oh, and if you see me at the playground staring at my iPhone instead of my children? Well, at least know I'm not just texting or FBing. You know, because that makes it alright. Right?

Anyone still here?

2012-01-19T14:21:00.000-08:00

Hi folks, how ya been? Don't remember me? Well that's ok because I"m not the same person I was a year ago. A year ago I was stuck in a horrible temporary apartment, crammed in with my 4 kids, struggling to keep my sanity, 50-60lbs overweight, feeling ugly to my core, about to lose my marriage and sick to my very soul.

Today I am none of those things. I have had lots of "learnin's" my friends. Lotsa.

I am in a big, beautiful house. I am exercising regularly and enjoying it. I am eating better and losing weight. I love my husband better than before. I am a better mother.

And I am happy. Gloriously happy most days. Just alright on a bad day. I recently got a huge kick in the teeth and instead of falling apart and laying in bed moaning and feeling sorry for myself while eating a pound of ice cream with a spoon I took it and dealt with it. I'm still dealing with it, and the fallout will go on for a while, but you know what? I'm strong enough to handle it. I have my sh*t together. I'm ok.

I will be sharing my learnin's with you soon. But for now, lets do a photo or two to suck you back into my cute ass family.

There Ain't No Magic

2011-03-25T21:47:00.000-07:00

When I called an astrologer in August to get some hope that my 'stuckness' would end eventually, I got some. She said that things should already be getting better but around January the house thing would finish up. I was stuck with a house that wouldn't sell, stuck in a crappy small apartment which led me to be stuck with children who were not potty trained, unable to cook them real meals, or for myself either. I was stuck in my life, feeling like I couldn't work out, eat right, do paperwork, be the mother I wanted to be. I was stuck in my marriage, trying to work in a hopeless situation where neither of us had the space we needed nor the private time together we needed to have a healthy relationship. I was stuck in the same old routines, probably depressed and just waiting for everything to change.

In December I emailed my astrologer asking her why I was still stuck in total misery, suffering physically and mentally the worst week of my life I can remember during the week of Christmas, when she had said things were supposed to be going my way. She wrote me an essay in response which I still retain and truly mean to read word for word, but between my pink eye swollen lids I skimmed enough to gather that I had to be the change I wanted. I couldn't just sit back and have it happen, planets aligned or not. So I cleaned my closet. Voila! The house sold.

I moved into my new, beautiful house three weeks ago. The events leading up to the move were exhausting, frustrating, and infuriating. Nothing happened the way it was supposed to, in the time frame it was supposed to nor as well as it was supposed to. But my children have beautiful rooms, a fantastic mural and I have a peaceful haven of a bedroom to collapse into at the end of a day.

But the reality of change is that it is hard. I wanted to wake up here day one cooking breakfast for my children every morning and cook healthy full meals for my whole family, be the mom who has craft projects ready for every rainy day, take the kids on hikes in our new property, participate in my kids' days more energetically and enthusiastically, potty train all of them at once, get on the treadmill every day, and so on and so forth.

The move knocked me flat on my face. Whether I kept all my feelings bottled up these ten months I was trapped in that apartment and was actually depressed back then, or the move itself just kicked me harder than I could take in my fragile state, I am down for the count. Sure I get up every day, eat breakfast with the kids and spend the time with them I am supposed to. But their meals are still what they were in the apartment, frozen things, easy to prepare meals. I still stick them in front of a movie too often when it rains, although I did try two craft afternoons and I suppose it wasn't my fault they failed. Who knows what a 3 year old will be interested in and that I have the only 1 year old on the planet who has no interest in fingerpaint.

But I feel like a failure. I actually feel like it's possible that the ways in which I sucked as a parent in the apartment had nothing to do with the apartment. Maybe I'm just lazy. Maybe I am not cut out to be a mother of 4 full time? Maybe I will never cook meals regularly, maybe I would rather have me time than create a craft for the kids for the afternoons. Maybe I'd rather sit and watch my kids watch movies because it's easier. Maybe I really really suck as a mother.

Or maybe I'm depressed. I sure hope its the latter, because there are 4 children with no choice as to who their mother is and I sure hope to live up to their expectations. And I hope those planets kick in soon.

Clean your closets

2010-12-29T19:08:00.000-08:00

This is a public service message from your local beat down, put upon, stuck in hell mommy of 4 to those of you finding yourself similarly mired in some sort of muck that makes any progress on any front impossible.

Clean your closet. Your closet reflects your state of mind and your state of your life. That is my firm opinion. I cleaned my closet today, and you know what? My house was set free from eternal escrow bondage, my children were well, I'm making better eating choices (yes just one day) and I feel like a million bucks and I bet it's going to continue.

Next I need to clean my car, my purse and my dining room table. And then my life will be free flowing and successful as it can be. I just know it. Too bad it's another holiday weekend and I don't get another morning child free for a week. I'll figure it out. A few minutes a day will make progress. I'll see signs of change. I'm excited. Because I have been stuck stuck stuck for so long. I couldn't see what I was doing to stay stuck and I couldn't see any way out. I am not going to be stuck anymore. The house will sell, my new house will be found and purchased and I will find myself again.

I even found some sense of humor in the back of the closet while I was cleaning.

No, really, I don't think it's a coincidence. We'd been waiting on the results of a re-appraisal of our house for sale for 3 days. Suddenly we get it and it's better news than we had even hoped for. We will be getting a reasonable amount for our house and we will be free by the end of next week. Free to find our dream home and start a life where my kids have room, privacy, good sleep options, freedom to do crafts, run in and out of a house, and even help mommy in the kitchen.

I can't wait. It's going to be great, with the usual spots of pain in the butt. Moving is never easy. Finding a home is never easy, negotiating sucks, and we will have to spend more than we want to but it'll all work out.

I'm on my way! Oh I'm relentlessly cheery today aren't I? Hard to even recognize me.

The learnings

2010-12-28T07:00:00.000-08:00

Over this complete hell of a Christmas week I have learned many things I think you could benefit from hearing. I had 4 sick children, too much to do, no nannies, The Flu and two pinkeyes myself, and too much family exposure. Lets see what we can take from this.

1. Get your freaking flu shot. It is WORTH IT. The flu is days and days of total destruction upon your personhood. And if it happens when you have no nanny and your other helper is sick? You're screwed.

2. Nobody really cares if mommy has the flu. Just get your arse out of bed and do your job.

3. The more you need a nap due to being on your deathbed with the flu the less likely your 4 children are to take naps.

4. Movies only distract toddlers, not 10 month olds.

5. The croup comes in many flavors. One is sneaky and practically silent.

6. When you put your baby to bed sounding like he's breathing under water? It's hard to sleep.

7. When you put the cold air humidifier on full blast all night, the whole room is soaking wet in the morning but the croupy baby sleeps like a.....baby?

8. Opening presents is only fun when you can see them.

9. Your daily evaluation of how you look in the mirror with receive a total upgrade after seeing yourself with tragic levels of pinkeye for a week. Just be lucky you can actually see yourself.

10. Vicodin and pinkeye are not friends. One dries out the eyes and the other....dries out your eyes.

11. If you screw with your pinkeyes too much you will end up with 2 black eyes. Think you have explaining to do in public with 2 pinkeyes?

12. Your kids don't care if you can't see when it's book reading time. Read.

13. Driving your kid to the Dr. with two pinkeyes is a bad idea. I'm pretty sure it's worse than texting, breastfeeding and watching a dvd while driving.

14. When the baby has finished barfing and you're talking to him soothingly and he looks at you and opens his mouth? CLOSE YOURS.

15. The baby has never finished barfing.

emotional reactions

2010-12-27T09:53:00.000-08:00

I'm a very emotional person, I know that surprises you all terribly much. But I don't hold much back, well that's not really true, because I do actually censor myself a lot or else I'd have no friends or family left at all, but for the most part people know how I feel most of the time. This came about due to a childhood where I felt unheard and invisible, my reaction was to shout louder so maybe someone might hear. The less I felt heard the more I cried and yelled and talked about how badly I felt, hoping surely if I got dramatic enough someone would react.

No one really did. They just didn't have the capacity to see someone else's pain, they were too wrapped up in their own mental illness, alcoholism or narcissistic way of life. They were not going to take notice, and thank god I didn't do the final act I dreamed about: doing some dramatic suicide attempt so they could discover I was really in trouble and finally do something about it. Knowing my luck and circumstance, no one would have found me in time, and just look at what I would have missed.

But I have noticed that there are three kinds of people I run into who react to me totally different regarding my emotionalism. It's pretty easy to categorize them:

1. The over-reactor. This is the caretaker person who can't react in proportion to the problem at hand. A splinter in my finger is a code blue emergency that must be handled immediately with bandages, pain killer, ice cream, calls to the ER for backup, a police escort and possibly even a helicopter evacuation. This person drives me crazy because I then have to be all "my head hurts -butI'mreallyokpleasesitdown." My mom used to hear I had a headache and call me the next day to see whether my migraine had gone away. No, mom, headache. I'm fine.

2. The under-reactor. This person is pretty much totally uncomfortable with any display of emotion whatsoever due to whatever their upbringing where they were taught that stuffing their feelings waaaay down deep and showing nothing in public is the 'right' way to handle things and you should just pull up your big girl pants and get over it. Well I disagree. I respect that this is another way to handle your crap and sometimes I wish I could just shut the heck up but I also don't have some nuclear quality bomb growing inside me that might blow up on the wrong person and I don't need to be passive aggressive about my anger. I am healthier when I can express myself, I just think I could use a little calming down. I don't hurt people's feelings, I don't scream in the middle of the grocery store, I cry in my own home amongst family. That seems fair.

3. The just right reactor. This is my best friend. This person listens to my crap, lets me get it all out and moves on in her life without worrying too much. She knows I can handle pretty much whatever is thrown at me and just need to vent to someone safe now and then. Or all the time. Whatever. However, when I get down at the bottom of the pit and can't find my way out, she'll call in the national guard to get me out. She reacts when the time is right and she'll react with all due speed and force necessary, but she gets when and how the reaction is necessary.

We all have our own ways of dealing with life's curves, but sometimes life hands you so many lemons you get buried. When that happens I talk about it. I try to find someone who will listen. And if I feel no one is listening I lose my cotton picking mind. I just want an ear.

Yelling

2010-12-18T07:00:00.000-08:00

I come from a family of yellers. One might not be surprised that having alcoholics for parents and loud family arguments kind of go hand in hand. It wasn't until I was 30 something that I put 2 and 2 together and understood why so many family dinners dissolved into screaming and fighting and crying. As a child I also couldn't figure out why the arguments always went so wrong; I was constantly misunderstood and consequently constantly defending myself. I developed a deep emotional wound that even the smallest misunderstanding could trigger and send me into paroxysms of explaining and apologizing until I would hopefully be 'let off the hook' by those I offended.

Exhausting.

My husband comes from a quiet family. Now admittedly, this may have been in reaction to their own family histories. Grandma on one side was known for dish throwing and temper, my guess is she wasn't quiet about it either. So her child naturally was drawn to a quiet person who dealt with their feelings in a calm way. Oh heck, my mother in law never gets above a 5 on the loudness meter even when at her angriest.

My husband chose me, however, so this aversion to emotionally demonstrative and slightly verbally intense women seems to skip a generation now and then. I instantly felt out of place in their house when I went for the aforementioned grandma's funeral, I was the bull in the china shop. My family would have feelings all over the place, including the good ones like funny stories about the deceased. Here I felt like I was in a monastery, which is emphatically not where I fit in.

However, I loved the peace and silence at times. I've written before about christmas in this family and how delightful a drama free season was (well, as drama free as it could be since my mom knows how to dial a phone,) and how I relished the safety of a home like that. Now it doesn't mean that people weren't thinking things I suppose but it sure seemed like a judgement free atmosphere and certainly no one yelled. Ever.

Except me. The funny thing is that I only have to raise my voice 2 levels to be accused of yelling by my husband. I often pause in confusion thinking, I wasn't yelling? You wanna hear yelling? But the main point of this essay is my feelings on yelling at my children. Good God, does anyone really WANT to yell at their children? There are long conversations in my triplet online group about our guilt that our triplets regularly push us so far with their behavior that we end up yelling at them. Half the time it has more to do with our tiredness or our being sick more than them really behaving any differently than usual, but those with children will agree that some days? Those kids are just full of terrifying ideas.

And they seem to hone in on when you're vulnerable due to some other trauma going on in your life and really sock it to ya that day. And you could have your best poker face on and be singing along with them when they decide to just say no to everything you say or ignore you or pick on a sibling until you are a roiling ball of rage with veins popping out all over while you shriek like some lunatic about what the heck is wrong with them anyway?

And when you're yelling you tend to say things that you really never meant to say. Things your parents used to say to you: "Why are you doing this to ME?" "What is your problem?" and "Why are you being so bad?" Those may seem minor but to a kid who isn't always sure that you love them all the time no matter what it can be poison. It can seep into their souls and convince them that there IS something 'wrong' with them. That there's some horrible side of them that makes them a bad child and that deep down inside there is some dark part of them that no one would love.

Or at least that's what happened with me, so I can't let it happen again. Mommy needs to take more time outs. Kids respect time out. Kids might learn something about being a grown up or how to control their own anger by watching mommy take a moment to calm herself instead of screaming whatever comes into her head. This, of course, is way harder than one might think. The rage is like lightening for me, one minute I'm handling the children calmly and rationally and the next the control line has snapped and I'm grabbing and spitting and yowling like a rabid cat. My own rage from childhood even feeds into the lack of control because I'm recognizing that I am not in control and my being their mother is not 'good enough.' Just like the way I was not in control as a daughter and never a 'good enough' daughter.

It's amazing and terrifying. I want to be a loving role model to my children and have a house of peace, not crazy drama like my own childhood. I am not an addict, so that's a step in the right direction, now I've got to get my rage under control. It is not fair to visit the sins of my father (and mother) upon my children. Thank god I'm already in therapy.

Just believe

2010-12-15T07:00:00.000-08:00

I have never put too much stock in "the power of positive thinking." In fact, I remember that in high school I was certain that if I thought I was going to get an A I would curse myself into getting a C but if I thought I had screwed up I would definitely get an A. It sure seemed like my grades had little to do with my effort or self evaluation, so it made sense to come up with a superstition to get me through the anxiety of waiting to see what random grade would be assigned to my work this time.

I took that superstition with me in life and felt that if I ever got too excited about something or started to get my hopes up I would definitely trash any chance of it happening. I know a lot of people have small superstitions about saying things out loud and jinxing their luck but I took it further and recited the negative in my head in order to appease the gods and have a small chance of getting what I wanted. This all convinced me and others that I was a pessimist.

The truth is I'm an optimist. A brilliant therapist once said that what I was actually doing was thinking positively because I was thinking negatively in order to achieve a positive outcome. Well that blew my mind. I started to reconsider my personality type which had been sporting that pessimist label since high school.

When that whole "The Secret" thing came out and got on Oprah and everywhere I took a chance on it. Maybe I could change my life with the power of belief. Maybe I was dooming myself by thinking about what I didn't want to have happen instead of what I did. After all, hadn't I created the triplet pregnancy merely by stating to anyone who would listen in the 4 months preceding my fertility treatment that I was going to have them? Like hell I was going to go through fertility treatment twice people, so I declared to the world that my one time was going to pay off. And what do you know? So I knew it seemed to work.

And so I tried, I really tried. I created one of those dream boards. I went out and purchased poster board and magazines and cut out pictures of what I wanted and what I hoped to achieve. I meditated on it daily. And, while I haven't looked at it in a while, I'm relatively certain I did not lose weight, start exercising, or become the highest earner in my Partylite region. Hmmm.

It just felt uncomfortable, all that positive thinking. I kept worrying that I was ruining things by getting my hopes up. I kept wondering if every stray negative thought had ruined the whole set up. I eventually hid the stupid board so I'd stop looking at it. And I stopped trying so hard.

But when we got the offer on the house and the quick close was part of the package, meaning we would be free to write offers on our own future home immediately, I got excited. I declared to the world that I was moving in January. Be it January 31st at midnight or not, I didn't care. I was not staying in this apartment a minute longer. So then the anxiety set in. Was I setting myself up for disappointment if January came and went without a house? We aren't buying an 'ok' house, this is going to the The One. How can I find that in a month? Then there started to be problems with our own home, the inspection, and now the appraisal fell far short of the value of our contract. What was happening here?

Was I experiencing a comeuppance? Was this my punishment for getting my hopes up? Should I stop stating that I was moving in January? Did I need to make it more clear that I was not just moving but moving into my new house in January in case the wicked fates decided to throw an earthquake to make me move out of the apartment and into some kind of gymnasium shelter somewhere just to make a point? What am I supposed to do?

I am holding fast to the belief that I am going to find my dream home in time to move Jan 31, but it terrifies me. I know our home has been just waiting for us to be free to make an offer on it and I believe things happen the way they're supposed to but what if I'm supposed to spend 6 more months in this apartment? Good lord. That just can't be right. So, Universe?

I AM MOVING INTO MY NEW HOME IN JANUARY.

Prove me wrong.

Inside my head

2010-12-14T07:00:00.000-08:00

Inside my head I am a hot 25 year old redhead with great shoes and some extra cash to spend on myself whenever I want to. I am a reasonable size, I am highly educated (Masters in Education), entertaining to men and women, and pursuing my passion for rescuing animals, knowing it's my life's calling.

Inside my head I'm a great writer, who has several book ideas, mostly autobiographical in nature focusing on my crazy mother and my hilarious journey to my current position in life, and one trashy romance novel I'd like to try writing, although the sex parts make me blush to write.

Inside my head I am a cool, calm mom, who has a particularly accurate intuition into her childrens' needs and a head for handling too much at once, key for surviving a multiples household. In my head I am fair to a fault, always put others first and easily forgive.

Inside my head on a bad day I am fat, wrinkled, tired looking, lazy, a boring writer, running out of money, wasting my education, without a calling in life, an impatient mom who yells too much and prefers her iphone over her children's attention.

Inside my head it seems to be black and white, good or bad but never just average. In life I am completely tolerant of almost any failing in someone else, barring animal or human abuse, but inside my head I have no tolerance for my own. I berate myself in a way I would never do to my children, beat myself up in a way I would never show, and belittle and mock my minute to minute actions like some cruel abusive husband to myself.

Inside my head there is a small dark cloud that on most days stays isolated in a non-critical zone but on bad days spreads like a toxic plume from a burning oil spill until it fills my head and my vision with images black and violent to my psyche.

Inside my head there needs to be some major renovation, because children learn from their parents and I will not saddle another innocent child with the mindset of an addict or an addict's loved one. That crap won't fly anymore.

You know, sometimes our children save us from ourselves.

Obligation

2010-12-13T10:42:00.000-08:00

Throughout my life I have had a struggle with people feeling obligated to me without cause. It started with boyfriends in college. You know the kind of relationships where, because you live in the same building and eat at the same cafeteria, you basically move in together on day 2? Well I would just be cruising along in that style when suddenly it would all come to a crashing halt. The reason? The dude felt "obligated" to spend an evening with me when he should have been studying so now he has to break up with me so his grade point average didn't suffer. I didn't ask him to spend every second with me and if he had just said something he might have found out that I was completely willing to give him the space he needed, so how did this happen?

In the same vein, I've helped more guys dump me or not even start relationships with me than I could count. I've had these crazy conversations where they're dancing around the fact that they are not really sure if they should or shouldn't kiss me or make a move and they always ended with me saying "if you have to think that hard about it, it probably means that it isn't the right thing to do." And so it ends. Are guys really that unsure of themselves that they wrestle with the first kiss out of some obligation to the fact that they had been flirting with me for a few days? Good god, then what? After the obligatory kiss then how long are you required to date me before you have fulfilled your obligation?

The final straw was when a guy was living with me, the guy right before my husband came along, and we were struggling pretty intensely with our relationship. One evening he and I are talking through our problems and I'm saying, once again, that if you have to think that hard about it it's probably not what you're supposed to be doing (being with me of course) when he drops the bomb: well I just felt obligated since I am living in your house....

Really? Um, don't do me any favors?

The thing is, do I really seem so weak and breakable that if you disappoint me I'll fall apart? Is it really better to pretend to me that you're interested or even keep living with me than to cut it off clean and move on so I can find someone who really wanted to be with me? What the hell?

This crap pisses me off. I do not require jack from anyone. If you want to give? Give. If you want to be with me? Be with me. But I am no frail flower. I have stood on my own two feet, quite alone, for many years. The real fact is that I have a hard time leaning on someone. My husband has to struggle to help me because I'm unwilling to accept it. I do incredibly complicated dances to ensure that no one feels obligated to do anything for me or even reciprocate something I've done for them. I bend over backwards to make people feel free to screw me over if its what they need to get by. So apparently I'm living in opposite world. The more I try to keep people from feeling obligated the more they feel obligated I guess. Or rather, the people I tend to come into contact with are intensely guilty people, the kind who manufacture reasons they have to do things they don't want to do for people who don't want them to do it.

And even knowing this? I feel guilty that they feel obligated to me. There's the irony. I feel obligated to ease their obligation that they shouldn't even feel. Perhaps I should change tactics and assume everyone has an obligation to me and the guilt cycle might end.

I wonder, are there guilt free people walking this planet? I haven't met one yet.

And then it happened

2010-12-06T07:00:00.000-08:00

The day I wrote about selling the house, we got an offer. And the next day we got a ratified contract. We may actually have sold the freaking house.

We may actually have sold the goddamned, dead weight, chain around my leg, holding me back from beginning my new life, pain in the arse HOUSE.

Now I think that's funny. Was I supposed to blog about the lessons I'd learned in my long tenure in this stupid apartment? If so, would that I had done it a wee bit earlier so I could spend christmas in a new home? Oh how irritating.

In any case, I am now on the hunt for the dream home. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. I am almost free of this crazy prison we call a temporary home. And that makes me completely crazy.

In fact, seeing the light at the end of the tunnel makes the tunnel feel like 100% of the crap it has been all along and I haven't admitted to or allowed myself to feel crappy about all this time. And so it hit me hard on the day after the ratified contract when I went to look at houses to buy and found not one with what I needed in it. And then I came home to sit in this uncomfortable place with all its problems and things that make life harder and I began to lose it.

And because I was already starting to lose it, it snowballed. The next day started terrible, stayed terrible in the middle and ended terribly. I tried to start over Friday and was defeated almost instantly. Saturday the baby started in on me at 4:20am. I had no chance to recover. I'm not sure what the formal name for it is but when you are losing your mind, there is this tendency for the world to keep kicking you while you're down. Or so it seems.

I hope to regain my balance soon, but it's tough. Knowing that I'm almost there but not there yet. And not knowing an absolute end date. Until I find our new home I can't make and end date and I am determined it's not going to be another 6 months but who can say when your dream house will appear? I have set my mind to the determination that I WILL be moving into our new home in January. That means I'd better work fast.

Anyone know of a great home for sale?

slacker Sunday photo

2010-12-04T20:49:00.000-08:00

Nothin' but cute

An apology of sorts

2010-12-01T19:30:00.000-08:00

I'm the child of an alcoholic. Actually two, but my mom was less obvious in her way until she got into pain pills. Then she was terribly obvious. But I was raised by a kind, gentle, friendly man who was a great success in life and generally happy until he drank too much. Then he got belligerent and argumentative.

My aunt is a lovely woman, I always refer to her as one of my favorite people in the world. That was always true and still is today despite what happens between us. I have never spent a lot of time judging people for their ways of coping with the pain life brings. Some choose God, some choose working themselves to death, some choose therapy and some choose addiction. My aunt became pregnant at an early age, married an abusive man, and in her early twenties had to decide between abuse and single motherhood of 4 children with a high school education. She then proceeded to help my grandfather through his old age until his death, my father through the loss of his son, then lose her own son to a stupid medical mistake and finally lose her best friend, my father, too early as well. I have the benefit of not being an addictive personality so I can't sit on my high horse and judge her decision to drink more each time a blow came. When she's sober she's wonderful. I love that woman. I wish I could be with her more often and I relish phone conversations and cards from her.

But I can't stand drunk people. I can't even stand my happy drunk husband when he's just celebrating in a seemingly appropriate manner. I get mad, uncomfortable, and close up. And put me with an angry drunk person who is someone I admire and look up to? I get mad.

And so I did, and I aired my anger here. And who knows if she ever read it or ever will. I hope in some ways she gets some of the message but not like that. I don't ever want to hurt her. She has never intended to hurt me and it's I who went in with unrealistic expectations of her and the situation. I knew her well enough to know what the risks were. I had no right to expect her to be a different person than she was. The problem was I hadn't ever been honest with myself about who she really was. And the childhood fantasy was finally over, nobody's fault, but over. And that's crushing. Add in my helpless feelings about my sick child and not being able to save my aunt from killing herself with the choices she's making and I felt doubly overwhelmed.

As for my cousin with the jerk husband? Who am I to judge a marriage? Many people might look at my marriage and not understand it. Everyone struggles in their relationships. Who am I to say what is and isn't worth it when someone will love you and raise a child with you? I am told he was in worse form than usual and who knows if he felt he needed to show off to me but whatever the case, I don't have the right to sit in judgement on that one either. I don't have to like him, but I have to suck it up if I want to spend time with her and I do.

Who knows, maybe I've burned these bridges. I hope not. Family is very important to me but I can't help my scars showing and my wounds bleeding in public sometimes. I happen to have a sharp weapon here in this blog and I have wielded it rarely and always with bad consequences. I like being honest but I have to be sure I'm ready for the results it may cause. And if I've hurt someone I love that's not ok. And if I spend hours feeling guilty then I know I've gone too far. At least I figure it out eventually.

And now it's off my chest.

A good list to have

2010-11-29T07:00:00.000-08:00

Things NOT to do when trying to sell your house:

1. Believe it will sell quickly

2. Move into a tiny apartment with you 4 children because your house will surely sell fast if there are no children in it.

3. Pay lots of money to stage the house because it will make you hundreds of thousands of dollars more than you paid for the house. No really.

4. Pack lightly, like you were going on a vacation, because you'll only be in the apartment for 2 months max.

5. Don't bring the hand-me-downs for the baby because surely you'll have your stuff back in 2 months.

6. Put every decision and choice on hold because you'll be moving into your 'real house' soon and can do it then.

7. Continue to remember that every day you are in the apartment you are at LEAST 35 days from moving because that's how long it would take MINIMUM to get to closing if you got an offer on your house today.

8. Delay potty training your children until you are in your new house because you don't want them having accidents on the rental furniture or carpets.

9. Choose an apartment that is in the middle of a steep hill and the middle of nowhere so that any time you choose to walk your baby anywhere it involves an arse kicking climb and nothing to look forward to at the end.

10. Bother to even look at houses to buy since you can't buy them.

Please lord. Please sell my house and let me move into a real home. Please?

slacker Sunday photo

2010-11-28T07:00:00.000-08:00

Would you really mind if he were laughing AT you?

"Women" - B

Mommy dreams

2010-11-24T14:53:00.000-08:00

When I imagined myself a stay at home mom years ago it wasn't nuthin' like this.

Back at the (now I see I was young as hell) age of 31 when I suddenly wanted to have babies (after declaring to anyone who'd listen that it was never happening) I knew it was all I wanted to do. I was in between jobs anyway and I had such trouble finding my next occupation because there was this voice in my head that would interrupt every line of thinking saying "BUT I JUST WANT TO HAVE BABIES.'

And it would pause for a moment and then say, even louder.

"N. O. W."

Mind you I didn't even have a stinking boyfriend. That year I was back in the internet dating pool and was enduring the four seasons of weird boyfriends: too thin, too fat, too short and just plain ugly. Lest you think I am a mean old beeyotch, I really am not kidding. At the time I tended to date anyone who liked me first, so when it came to internet dating I didn't have to reach very high. Any man who approached me in a non whore like manner was in. You wanted to talk and walk on beaches and love someone forever? In. You're not married? In. You have a pulse and all of your appendages, even better!

So in the midst of this lack of choosiness I got to experience a wide range of the human male. And as I'm typing this I'm pretty sure my husband has turned off his computer and gone to sit in a dark room. Ah well. Blogging isn't for the weak of heart.

While I was dating the last one (just plain ugly) I started watching those TLC shows about birthin' babies. Oh good god, I got sucked in and all teary and sobby and when a close friend went and got pregnant on me and then showered me with all her pregnancy hormones it was all over for me I guess. I got the bug. I wanted to be pregnant. I hadn't thought through most of the rest of it, I just wanted to be pregnant. That's why I blame it on her hormones. I haven't ever and don't really like babies. Although my own seem to be above reproach, but that is now, not then. So it wasn't so much that I wanted babies as that I wanted to be pregnant and I was certain that if they would just pop out already 9 years of age I'd be fine.

Fast forward to the present, invitro assisted million children I possess and you'll see that I was ill prepared for stay at home motherhood. I was sure while I had the triplets gestating that I'd handle it myself. Heck I had cared for 400 plus sick animals all by myself on a daily basis, why not 3 kids?

Well, strangely enough it didn't work out that way. I am dependent upon not only my mother in law to come 5 days a week to my home, but also 2 nannies who cover 6 mornings a week. I've never admitted to anyone online how much nanny time I have, and the truth is that before I got myself all pregnant again I was weaning off of them and down to 3 days a week, but that pregnancy stuff isn't for the weak of spirit and apparently I suck at it so much I went right back to 6 days of help. And I haven't quit them yet despite my best of intentions. I mean to take my children back for whole days at a time other than Sunday. I really do. I just can't get it together. The very idea of managing the triplets and the baby 24 hours a day gives me palpitations.

And as I sit here on the cusp of a 4 day holiday with no nannies I start to hyperventilate. I surely never thought I'd dread 4 days of 24 hour childcare on my shoulders. I thought that I and motherhood would form a close bond. That I would thrive under the stresses and challenges of this new "calling" of mine just like I had every other job in the past. That I would sit at the end of the day and be happy that I was a full time working at home mom. That I would never wonder what the hell I was thinking.

What the hell was I thinking?

This mother stuff works for some ladies, and I don't think the solution is for me to get a job because I still think I want to do this, but I somehow have to make myself do it. When we get out of this ridiculous "temporary but is turning into a long term hell" apartment and into our forever house I do intend to take charge again. I am just terrified that I'm going to fail I suppose. That, when faced with fewer breaks and more face time with each child on a daily basis I might just turn into a superbly bad mom. I might figure out I'm no good at this. And I suck at being bad at something even more than I suck at anything else in this world.

Happy Thanksgiving!

The boring mommy blogger

2010-11-23T18:58:00.000-08:00

A blog I read regularly wrote today about something completely different (doppelgangers, a typical thoughtful blog of his) but in the midst mentioned a friend who had become a mommy and then become boring and so he had drifted away from their friendship. He has mentioned parents becoming boring before and way back when I started my blog and found his, he used to read my blog, perhaps for about 5 minutes until he decided that I, too, was a boring mommy blogger. I think he enjoyed several of my non parental blog entries but then became disappointed as the majority of my posts were parental in nature. His rejection felt personal back then and still does now, almost 2 years later. I was certain I wasn't a boring mommy blogger.

But his criticism, which appears regularly in his blog posts, of boring mommy blogs really keeps me on edge. Knowing that for some reason my second pregnancy took the humor out of me far more than my first, I have worried over this blog a lot. I haven't been regularly funny, like in the old days, for a long time. I only have one commenter anymore (thanks The Mother) although I know many people still read. But do they not comment because they are disappointed in me too? I am disappointed in any case, I am a funny person. I started this blog to be funny about my crazy life with triplets and a crazy mom. My life is full of hilarious stupidity.

But, today as I read this other blog I wanted to tell this dude something: people evolve. His blog recently has been more morose and serious. He has also lost some of his sense of humor, and I think the reason was revealed in a recent post about some sort of health crisis he is enduring. Or rather he's evolving as well, into a serious, contemplative writer rather than a silly, funny writer. Sure he and I both have our moments of brilliant hilarity, but they are fewer and farther between than they used to be. Does that make either blog boring? Well, I'm certain that he has lost fewer readers than I but no has had the guts to complain to me directly so I can only guess. It all depends on what you read blogs for. Triplet mom friends of mine still derive something from my honesty. Friends or readers who have crazy moms might. Or people with 9 month old babies. Who knows.

I guess I fret, as usual, about whether I am pleasing the masses. I know there are better blogs and when I have time to really write every day and concentrate on it I am sure mine will show it. For right now, this is what I do. I write when I get inspired. I write the best I can and I try to find the humor in it when I can. Thanks for reading.

slacker Sunday photo

2010-11-21T07:00:00.000-08:00

Eating the sprinkles is much more fun than decorating with them

Once you get the angry face it's pretty much all over for you

A sucker born every minute

2010-11-19T07:00:00.000-08:00

I'm being taken for a fool. By a 9 month old. Everyone thinks I'm some old pro at this child rearing stuff simply because I have three older kids. Well let me disabuse you of that notion. Three at once not only is not the same as one baby at a time but it has the power to erase the memory of rearing said children mere days afterwards.

In other words I have no idea how to raise a kid. Still.

This baby has been a lot of fun because I've had the luxury of, well, babying him. So I rock him to sleep. You can't do that with three babies and it's such a great moment. At the end of the day I'd sit down and sigh with relief that the day was ending as I rocked and sang until he relaxed into my arms. It took 10, 15, max 20 minutes. Not a problem really.

This week? It's been taking 35-60 minutes. He sits and babbles and laughs and looks around and wiggles and then gets almost to sleep and then, pop! Awake again. Or he falls asleep and I lay him down and bam! Awake again. Wednesday night it took the whole hour, with three lay downs before the last one stuck. NOT. OK.

Like I have nothing better to do than fight with an infant over whether he's going to sleep or not? And this is happening with all the naps too. So 3-4 times a day I'm going to fight over whether a child sleeps now or later? I THINK NOT.

So now I have to figure out how to disabuse him of the notion that he has as much time as he wants to fall asleep. Or I have to start drugging him. Because when I hit the 30 minute mark, that cute, relaxing, loving moment with my son who can bring tears to my eyes just by laying there with his eyes closed snoring a little bit? Not so hot. I get mad. I have to leave the room sometimes I'm so mad.

Go. To. Effing. Sleep. Child.

I'm not a cry it out person, so that's not on the table, but I'm most confused about how to even get him to start falling asleep NOT in my arms. I imagine I'm going to spend a lot of hours hunched over a crib patting and rubbing and shushing a baby who wants to play instead. Or I lay him in there and wait an hour for him to get mad and cry himself to sleep while I run in and out soothing him on occasion. That's going to suck too. But the question is how long will it take? I have barely the stamina to let him cry for 5 minutes right now since he's also awakening at 5am or earlier and insisting on being paid attention to right. now. I need more sleep to handle a problem such as this.

Always the loop. I have a problem to fix that is causing me lack of sleep but in order to fix that problem I need more sleep so I can do the mean mommy routine. I'm just stumped, though, on how to even begin. I feel stupid asking for parenting advice but I'm at a loss. It's in his best interest to cut it out because once I'm fed up I'll make him do it. I did it with the triplets, or so it seems, because their butts go to sleep on their own just fine.

I just need a little more sleep. And a little less sucker tendencies. But he's so cuuuuuuuuute.

Times gone by

2010-11-18T11:09:00.000-08:00

Well I wasn't planning on posting but then an old friend got in touch (Hi Jeanne, would you like some exposure?) and that led to me Facebook friending her and then I got all started thinking about friends from that era of my life (1990-94ish) and so I friended another friend who then linked me to other friends and so on and so forth so that through the magic of Facebook I am suddenly sitting back at Valley Mill Camp in the 90s.

Whew. What a time. There I was 18+ pretending to be a grown up, acting as a counsellor to impressionable young women. My first group of campers were 11-13 and I was way more scared than they on day one. Would they think I was cool? Would they like me? It was worse than high school. Thankfully, by the magic of just being a college student I started out with a large helping of assumed coolness and things went pretty smoothly. I remember a few of those first campers, I guess like teachers remember their students, but not all of them. Genna (Jenna?) and Eileen are names I remember. Narda and Hilary stayed at camp for years after, becoming counsellors alongside me and friends of a sort. But I had no preconceived notions of their futures. They were so interestingly different all of them. I wanted the best for them and experienced my first parental feelings I think, having to wipe away tears when they would do fantastic at the horse riding show.

Funny enough though, I was certain I never wanted to have children. I liked teenagers, hated babies and just thought it would never happen that my mind would change about the subject. I knew that part of the reason was that I was terrified I'd be like my mother to any children I might have. It didn't occur to me that right there at camp I was demonstrating otherwise. I was certain it was inevitable. It wasn't until years later that my therapist put the major reason into words for me: I had already raised a child.

My mother was obviously never capable of being a mom to me. She was the most important child in our family. Her insomnia ruled the house in the mornings, her depressions and highs determined how the day went and we all adjusted our selves and our lives around her needs. Every time we were about to depart on a family trip I counseled her out of her belief that it was a mistake to go. Every time she felt a distant relative had offended her I talked her through it. Present giving was about what she wanted us to like or what she might have wanted to receive at our age, not about what we really wanted. And there was no way to say you didn't want what she had given you, the rejection might kill her.

Somehow there was an unspoken rule that her psyche was so delicate we all had to tiptoe around her. So why would I feel parented in that situation? I was the parent, dad was oblivious, and only my brother and I grew up I guess. I always was a little older than my years. The death of my brother and the total deterioration of my mother sealed that deal.

So, I look on these women today who were children back then with me and am so proud, amazed and slightly self satisfied that perhaps I had a hand in who they've become. My proudest moment that first summer was when one of my kids called the other one "gay" and the second kid parroted back what I had been saying all summer "gay is not an insult." I hope that stuck. The next summer I learned from the kids to lighten up. I had been sticking the rules so hard down their throats that they told the boss I didn't like them. How horrifying. I loved them! So I learned some of the balancing act a parent has to do between rules and loving enough to let some rules slide. From my friend Jeanne, who started out as a peer but ended up as the boss lady the last two summers, I learned the value of not giving a crap what anyone thinks of you, whether it be on the improv stage (she is the best drama teacher ever) or on the dance floor. And years later, when she was my bridesmaid, we boogied down together without a care.

A lot of these lessons were not learned immediately, rather they percolated for years. Now I can see some of them becoming part of me and I hope that means that I taught those girls a thing or two also. Now I'm faced with the reality that 4 human beings are stuck with me for years, not just a summer, and I will determine a great deal of what they believe and who they become. I hope to heck they grow up wanting to parent because they want to be like me. I can only hope that they look back on my mothering with a laugh about the mistakes I made and a positive feeling about how I made them feel about themselves. Because I think they're neat as heck and thank God I decided to become a mother after all. Lord knows the world needs a few more people with my sarcastic sense of humor around.

Mommy's weekend away!

2010-11-17T21:42:00.000-08:00

Oh I'm finally learning. I've been waiting all year for this weekend and I almost gave it up. After coming home from terrible trip number 2 I almost decided to hibernate. I thought I was cursed. I know, I know, part of it was bringing an infant along and this weekend is decidedly no infants allowed but I just felt like I never wanted to leave home alone.

But I'm doing it. In 36 hours my ass is leaving town. I'm going scrapbooking. I'm going to nap, eat good food, read books and/or magazines, listen to music, watch movies and scrap the hell outta some baby pictures.

Heaven. Cursed? I hope not. But this time I'll be a 2 hour drive from home. I can cut out early if it sucks but I've done this before, it would be hard pressed to suck.

I am so excited that I decided to go. Daddy is less so. For the first time I'm leaving him with 4 children, not just the three he's grown accustomed to caring for alone. The youngest, who has spent all week convincing me I've created some kind of monster who refuses to go to sleep in a reasonable amount of time, is all his. Bwah ha ha ha ha!

I wish him the best of luck with the kid. I have repeated to myself again and again that the kid will be fine without me for 2 nights and 2 days. I'm used to leaving the triplets, they're pretty big, so I don't worry about them having a disrupted routine really. But the baby has had a night alone with grandma twice. Never two. Never no mommy for 48 hours. It's about time I guess, the big lug.

So I take a deep breath and drive away. It is for my sanity. I hope to return fresh and ready to mother, blog, Christmas shop and give a crap again. Later!

slacker Sunday photo

2010-10-31T07:00:00.000-07:00

It's very important to arrange your pumpkins to her specifications. I'm just sayin'.

I tried to tell him pumpkin pie was worth waiting for, but he was starving. Because I don't feed him.

And again

2010-10-28T19:34:00.000-07:00

Silly me. I tempted fate. I claimed I had flown across country with my infant for the first and last time.

Dare the universe and usually you end up losing.

So here I go again next week. Flying to San Antonio to the bedside of my favorite relative, to whom I owe a huge debt, while she recovers from a surgery. That's the short story, here's the long one.

As many of you who read this and know me are aware, my father died of pancreatic cancer in 2008. He struggled for a mere 6 months before quitting all treatment and going home to die in November. 4 months before he was diagnosed I happened to have triplets. Leaving infant triplets at home alone with their father was really not realistic for most of the time, so I was able to visit twice for a weekend each. My aunt, his little sister, was there for him. She spent weeks visiting. She attended doctor meetings, studiously taking notes. She kept him company in the hospital. And, in the end, she held his hand as he died, 8 hours before I arrived fresh off of Thanksgiving weekend.

I owe this woman for doing my job for me when I could not. I owe her a debt of gratitude I can never repay. I owe it to her to be there for her like she was for my father. And so I will.

Monday she is undergoing a femoral endarterectomy. And some iliac thing. You doctors understand. A possible bypass. Her left leg has no circulation, the right still might be ok, but they at least need to go in and scrape all the plaque off the inside of the left femoral artery. Which sounds disgusting. She has every risk factor on the list practically: lifetime smoker, high cholesterol, high blood pressure, inactivity and family history of heart disease. Bam, bam, bam, bam, bam. She is in so much pain right now but I think she doesn't know how in danger she is otherwise. Perhaps it's intentional on her part. In any case, after this surgery they say she needs 3 days in the hospital and 5 days off her feet at home. Her family lives near the hospital, so they can cover that shift. Once she gets home, though, all she has is a husband. A husband who neither desires to be nor is a caretaker.

So here I come to save the day. Yes, I like to save the day. I hope I can come and entertain her, feed her, clean her house and generally pave the way for her to have an easier life for a couple of weeks. I will only be there 3 days so I'd better work fast. But I love this woman as if she were my own mother. In fact I spent a great part of my childhood wishing she were. She is a lovely, gentle, genteel, southern woman with a tendency to drink too much and worry herself to death. I've spent a lot of time with her but not in the last few years, for obvious reasons. What I get out of this visit is time with her and a chance to do with her what I couldn't with my own father. She is the last repository of family history, recipes, names, funny stories and pride. I want to sit and absorb all I can because who knows when I'll get another chance? She is only a couple of years younger than my dad and he died 2 years ago.

This is going to be another emotionally rough trip but thank goodness I get to stay in her house and I don't have to tote the kid around in the heat and stink bug craziness. I hope the logistics being better makes all the difference. I hope that being aware that there will be some crazy emotional crap going on will also help. And good god, I hope the boy sleeps on the plane this time. Benadryl anyone?

The trip report

2010-10-11T20:57:00.000-07:00

I know many of you have been hanging on the edge of your seats to hear about my trip to Maryland with the infant. Those of you who even knew I went that is. I think it's telling that the only photo I have of the whole weekend is this one:

Yes, that's my child chewing on the very common airport chair.

It started out well enough. In fact I'm quite suspicious there was some kind of bait and switch thing my child did on me but I have no way of proving it. Truth serum only works on those able to form sentences. So, we headed out in the early morning hours of a Thursday to the airport. He slept in the car as I had hoped. He was great in the airport despite the computers breaking down and them having to hand write my boarding pass. Security, no problem. Bad decision to carry him to the gate after that combined with him choosing to roll off the changing table in the bathroom while I dug through the bag for a diaper shook me a bit, but I was more worried about him getting crabby in the waiting area. I am pretty sure we scared most of the waiting room into thinking they were getting on board a plane with a nightmare about to unfold, but I was not sure yet. I knew he was tired.

Thankfully, he fell asleep on take off, let me eat breakfast, awoke, and played and then fell asleep again on my chest for most of the rest of the flight. I was bored once I was done napping, and he left a foot wide swath of drool on my chest but that's better than frantically managing a screaming infant. I arrived on the East Coast in good shape, got lost like an idiot who hadn't lived in the area for over 10 years, but made it to the hotel and collapsed with my favorite chinese food. Folks, I got to sleep in a bed for 11 hours with only one interruption requiring my attention the whole night. 11 HOURS.

What mom can say that?

Well apparently you moms with one child. Or maybe one child with an ear infection, who missed his nap and is doped up on ibuprofen. Whatever.

In any case, one might think that the cough cough sneeze barf that occurred mid-day Friday all over the car seat was a bad omen, but I had a great Friday. I ended that day thinking this one kid stuff was a breeze. This traveling with a sick infant to a place where the temperatures had soared over 100 degrees while maintaining the humidity of a steam sauna and harboring a plague of stink bugs from a foreign land was easy!

Right.

Somehow the honeymoon ended Saturday. I started crying about 10 am. I had driven for over an hour to try to get the kid to take a nap in the car only to find him just as crabby as if he hadn't had one, found that he had a taste for dirty hay strewn about the floor of the infirmary where I was to spend most of my time cataloguing silent auction items, come to the conclusion that I sure as heck couldn't handle the heat in that area and then realized that this child was not going to let me get jack done without swallowing a stink bug or some foreign object requiring surgery to remove.

Now for some information you need to understand my tears. For the last 8 years (I think ) I have been the savior of this silent auction. I usually had the luxury of spending hours there in the 3 days leading up to the event and 12 hours on the very day of the event running the auction while the rest of the fundraiser went on around me. It is chaos I turn into control. I feel like a rockstar and am told how fantastic I am multiple times per day while I'm there. Meanwhile, I get to revisit one of my favorite areas on the planet, the green, leafy, wild animal filled woodlands of Maryland. The old houses, the stone walls, the winding country roads. I love visiting even if I don't get to see friends. But this year I found myself incapable of accomplishing what I come there to do. I couldn't save the day if that infant wouldn't let me work!

In any case, not to draw out a long and boring story, I still managed to make it work. With the invaluable help of some 12th hour childcare I was freed to make it work with the time I had left. It wasn't as much fun as usual but they apparently made 12k off the silent auction alone, so we'll call that successful. But I had spent a lot of hours driving around the Maryland countryside thinking. Thinking about my dad mostly, and how little he knew of what I knew.

Did that make sense? My father didn't really take the time to find out what I knew. He was such an expert on everything that I guess it didn't occur to him to find out what I was an expert about, something a parent should really do. I think most of you will agree with me on that. I hope to be an expert on what my childrens' strengths and powerhouse skills are. I hope to be constantly amazed by what they know that I don't know. But then I'm the result of how I was raised. Maybe I'll err in the other direction and they'll think I know nothing. Whatever. But the result of all this thinking was not apparent to me until the day after I returned home. I hit full on mourning my dad again. The second anniversary of his death is the end of November. Apparently it's still raw, especially when I'm back where he and I shared such a love of the area and spent hours driving around together and now I'm driving around with MY kid in the car. Heavy.

So, after an exhausting couple of days in the heat and bugs we returned to the airport with a sense of confidence. The flight shouldn't have been any different than 4 days before. Same time of day, same seats, whatever. It was Not. The. Same.

This child would not sleep. He teased me with a short nap on takeoff. But then? When I was desperate for rest? Not a chance. I was physically exhausted from the day before at the auction, I was mentally exhausted from caring for an infant 24 hours a day for 5 straight days in weird circumstances, I was emotionally exhausted from dealing with dad stuff. I lost my COTTON PICKING MIND. I was bawling 3 hours into the flight knowing there were two hours left and this child was going to explode any minute and there was nothing I could do about it. I bawled and couldn't stop. I would slow down and then catch a glimpse of a flight attendant or another flyer and think how much they must have been pitying me and I'd start all over again. At one point the flight attendant just walked over and handed me a gigantic Snickers bar. That's how pathetic I was.

Well whatever, he slept in the car on the way home. While I bawled a bit more. The worst he got on the plane was some loud talking and this yelly thing he does when he's mad. Who knows if anyone got irritated, I was in my own world of self loathing. But we survived. And I had to have some help the next day from the therapist to get to the bottom of all the grief. Knowing it was about my dad made it a lot better and maybe I can just ask my psyche to next time not hit me with a two ton load of misery on a public plane where I have an infant so I can't go hide in the bathroom, Ok? Thanks.

So there ya go. Something I will never have to do again: fly cross country with an infant while bawling like, well, like an infant. That can go in my life book. Yippee.

Slacker Sunday photo

2010-10-10T09:00:00.000-07:00

That woman there is my best friend.

The real woman behind the curtain

2010-10-09T22:28:00.000-07:00

I read somewhere once that women, on average, see themselves as 20% heavier than they actually are when they look in the mirror. I found that very interesting because, at the time, I usually found that I saw myself as thinner than I really was. I'd look at someone and think I was the same size as them and be shocked to find out they were one or two sizes smaller in reality. Of course, when you're only a size 10 you're doing ok regardless of how you look in your mind's eye.

Now I'm apparently average. I'm pretty sure I see myself as far, far worse than I actually am. I am, quite honestly, 50 lbs overweight. There is no denying that. But I have always carried a few pounds well hidden as I carry it in the waist. Up to a point that works for you. It's much harder to disguise a big butt than a bit of a tummy. Wear an empire waist and you're set. Stuff it all into some control tops and you're good. No one believed I was a size 14 when I was one. So, most likely, now that I am actually obese, I probably only look overweight.

So my challenge to myself tonight is to go find some good pictures of myself lately in which I don't look so bad. Because I have noticed that in some pics I don't look nearly as fat as I think I do. And when I find myself sitting in the nail salon waiting for my pedicure (oh yes, I do have some me time) while trying to hide my spare tire with my arms, I know things have reached a new low.

Let's see what we have:

Oh, ok fine, none of them are full body shots but let's go easy on the girl. If I didn't already know noses continue to grow your whole life I'd be more upset about the number of huge schnoz shots I came across in this exercise because I apparently never look at the camera anymore, just down at the kid with me, and that is not a good nose angle. In any case, I think these three pics should be shoved in my face any time I think I'm just plain ugly. Because I may be chubby, but my face is still ok. And if my face and upper body doesn't make me look like the gigantic blob I have in my mind's eye then I probably just don't look like one.

I just need to take my mom up on her offer to pay for my lipo. But honestly? After that c-section recovery? No thanks.

A bachelorette party

2010-10-04T21:33:00.000-07:00

So my best friend Ellen's bachelorette party was this weekend.

Obviously in my younger, pre children days

I'm a bridesmaid in her wedding so I was instrumental in the planning of said event, but it was all about her. She wanted a wine weekend, so it was. She wanted penises everywhere, so it was. She wanted to spend the night in a house recovering from a day of drinking? Well, it mostly was. A cottage like hotel room. On which they used ridiculously exaggerating wide angle lenses to make it look like 9 girls could sleep in it. Only when you got there you found out the 'double beds' were built for 8 year olds. But I digress.

This weekend made me feel old. Old and out of touch.

Miz Ellen is 7 years younger than I. Her friends ranged from 7-15 years younger than I. They were thin and cute and smart and happening. I am none of these. Well I used to be smart, but then I used to be thin too. Most of that is just gone. I didn't know the music they played (very well, I mean I have heard Beyonce but I don't know the words) I don't really like wine so I had to pretend all day at wine tastings that I had a clue, I ran out of steam at about 4pm (seeing as how my infant had me up at 5am that was no surprise) and I am just not quite at the raunchy level of drinking through penis straws in public.

And I still let her near my children

I will do anything for that girl though. Even fondle a penis covered wand when she thrusts it in my face. Only once, but I will do it.

Now some of you may be remembering my bachelorette party. Sure, I got a lap dance from a drag queen with waaaay better boobs than I have, and yes, I danced in a cage AND on a stripper pole, but somehow one does lose one's inhibitions on one's day. Because this weekend I was feeling quite prudish. Or just old. Or I just don't like penises. I'm sure my husband is thrilled.

I'm sure you're all wishing I had pictures of my own party but somehow I don't have them on this computer. My friends are welcome to contribute but you'll have to just imagine me in a feather boa and a crown attempting to return the lap dance to my buxom friend on stage in front of everyone. Oh that seems so long ago. But I did learn something that night: I learned how to cut loose. I had always been very self conscious in public, even when dancing. And I knew I needed a costume to let it all go, but let it all go I did. I danced and stopped caring if people were looking, I laughed, I drank and I acted a fool and just stopped looking to see how people were reacting. And I was able to do the same on my wedding reception dance floor.

I can't say I've kept it going all this time, though. Having children out in public has given me a new self consciousness, the worry of how people are judging my parenting. And this weekend I felt very self conscious. I was the person who wanted to belong. I would love to be 30 again in some ways, but the truth is I wouldn't have fit in with these ladies even if I were 30. I'm a geek, a dork, the kind of person who would be at home reading a book or doing a sudoku puzzle in front of the tv. I'm not a wine tasting, party all day, penis gag gift fondling person. So whatever. It was interesting. It was a window into my best friend's life. She had a great time and that was my goal. I would have had to fall on my knife if she was unhappy with her one and only bachelorette party. So it's all good.

But god I've gotten old.

slacker Sunday photo

2010-10-03T20:04:00.000-07:00

Who's sizing whom up?

slacker Sunday photo

2010-09-18T19:17:00.001-07:00

Baby burrito then

Baby burrito now

Finally, a cut

2010-09-15T22:30:00.000-07:00

The Before J, B, A

The Waiting

The After A

The After B

The After J

Sumthin's a changin'

2010-09-14T18:52:00.000-07:00

For some reason, when I look in the mirror lately, it doesn't look as bad. A few weeks back I looked and saw actual ugly. I've never seen myself as ugly ever before, even all swollen up with a triplet pregnancy or sick from giving birth. I saw ugly, and it surprised me.

I saw a huge belly, saggy boobs, fat on my thighs where there had previously been none, stretch marks, brown spots all over my face and a tired, haggard looking woman. I'm sure you can't imagine why. But I didn't just look tired. I looked horrible to me. My nose was too big for my face, my eyes were just blah, my lips shrinking from their previously young and plump state and, of course, the bags and wrinkles. It just all looked bad.

Last week I made a decision. The only way this body was going to get better was if I just accepted it. Counterintuitive I know, but true. Fighting myself, beating myself up when I ate cookies to survive, starving myself (if I ever could), none of that was going to make me thin. It was time to accept I have a mom's body. I have an apple shape. This is what I look like. Sure, I'll wear Spanx and good bras and makeup, but day to day, this is it girl. Get over it.

And you know I didn't even really do much else besides have that thought. A couple of times I looked in the mirror and decided my belly didn't stick out that much. A couple of times I caught my silhouette in a store window and I looked like a normal person, fat around the middle and all. And last week my date night dress seemed to really disguise my stomach from the front at least. So I went out on a date feeling like I might look ok.

So the face looks good on good days. Certainly a smile helps. Good sleep makes the face look better too, and I've been eating better, so maybe the skin is happier, who knows. I still have brown spots all over, and bags, and the wrinkles didn't go anywhere but perhaps I'm looking a little less harshly. And today after getting ready for date night I thought, ok then, that's not so bad.

This is fantastic. I will take not so bad over ugly any day. Because a woman who walks around thinking she's ugly probably is to the rest of the world. She's not likely to be smiling. She's not glowing or shining or radiating or anything positive. So we're getting there. Perhaps people who see me now think I'm average, or think nothing of me, but I won't be ending up on the People of Walmart blog, thank god. And that's all a girl can ask for sometimes.

Maybe by October I'll think I'm kinda pretty?

Who is that woman?

2010-09-13T11:24:00.000-07:00

Grandparents day. A made up holiday, sure, but there it was. Mom asked that I bring the kids to her assisted living facility so her friends could see them in person. I had no excuse not to. Truthfully, it turned out alright anyway. I thought the kids would cower behind my legs and not smile at anyone but instead they decided the activity room chairs were fun to climb on and chased each other around the room. Having the fat one along (R is now 27 lbs at less than 7 months of age) helped. He sat and provided the smiles and personality while the triplets burned off steam running people in walkers down.

But here's the thing, I heard it again. That refrain I have heard time and again and sort of sat in disbelief about for so long. The phrase "we just love your mother here, she's so great."

Who?

My mom? Enjoyable company? Loved? Easy to get along with? Um. Huh?

I don't mean to be mean, but I grew up with this person. I personally witnessed her getting enraged at cashiers at the grocery store when the computer had the wrong price for her item, accusing them of personally trying to cheat her, (thanks to growing up in Russia where they might just have been.) I personally have felt the impact of a poorly chosen tease of the woman with no ability to laugh at herself. I have doused the flames of her anger over slights that no one might have imagined they committed.

Where is this person I knew? Who is this person they know? Which one is the real her? Because I'm aware that my parents never saw the way I was to everyone else, I know we are all different with family than with others but I don't see how the ugly never shows through to her 'friends.' I guess she has a winning personality in there somewhere, and I'd love to be a fly on the wall to see how it appears. I'd love to find a way to think my mom's 'great' or find a way to love some part of her personality. I admire her will to survive that she used to have, I respect that she has every right to be as crazy as she is due to the circumstances of her upbringing, but like or love her personally? No. We would not be friends if we met on the street.

So I will remain clueless to this part of her. This person people want to spend time with. This person who already has a man wanting her company to restaurants and even the opera after moving in only a half a year ago. This woman who people 'love' and find endearing. And I will always wish I could see it too.

slacker Sunday photo

2010-09-12T06:53:00.000-07:00

His fatness enjoying a whirlpool spa.

A quiet moment, thanks to musical greeting cards.

My daughter, hell cat

2010-09-10T20:54:00.001-07:00

I have this fantastic daughter, you see, who is a hell cat. Or is that hellcat? Tonight, when she didn't want to get out of the bathtub I gave her a choice: get out yourself or I will get you out.

That seemed fair, no? At least I gave her a choice.

I counted down from 5, which is what I do, and she still refused to exit the tub, even though it was empty of all water and she must have been getting cold. So I reached in and grabbed her skinny, wet self.

Enter hellcat.

That child knows how to throw every limb in two directions at once while simultaneously becoming limp like some passive protester at a peace rally. Being covered in a slightly soapy water film did not help. I threw a towel on her to get some traction and held her around the waist while she flailed. I don't actually know what to do in this circumstance. Letting go seems like she wins. Holding her down seems wrong too though. And this girl was mad.

Everyone else exited the bathroom and I let her go. She retreated to the wall, her side to me, just like a feral cat. And I tried to control myself. I really did. But I had to laugh. With respect! This daughter of mine isn't going to take crap from anyone. She is stronger than I ever was already. She is also a little wild, and I love that.

Now I have dealt with insane cats at the vet where I used to work. It took at least two vet techs sometimes to hold a cat still for a simple physical exam. I have dealt with feral cats in my cat rescue. Catching them was a game of the mind. You had to use surprise and outwit them so you could grab the scruff before they had a chance to defend themselves. I was not scared of them, but I respected them. If you stopped respecting them you got hurt. I am scared of her though.

Not really scared of her, just scared of doing the wrong thing. I'm not some lay down parent who gets walked all over, but I do respect anger. Emotions of any sort. And my daughter's anger? I recognize it. It is me. If I could have fought like a hellcat when I was a kid I would have. But it would have done no good in a family with people who didn't even see me. I screamed and screamed and no one noticed. And for certain no one ever thought to ask me why I was so angry.

So I asked her why she was mad. Tell mommy what you are so mad about. And do you know what she did? She walked back over to me, laid down and submitted for the diaper and pjs.

Just because I respected her. And stopped to ask her why she was mad.

I think I guessed right. Today I am a good mom.

Things that suck

2010-09-10T12:20:00.000-07:00

I've spent weeks now, even months, not posting because I don't want to bore you with my whining. I don't want what used to be and was supposed to be a funny blog to become my place to bitch and moan. Well screw that. Don't read it if I make you miserable. Because the truth is I'm never going to get past this miserable if I don't write about it and the other truth is that usually even my miserable blogs have some funny bits. I can't seem to find the funny if I don't write about it. So here's to trying again to blog regularly and hopefully you all can bear with me while I work through this particularly tough time I'm going through. Just to recap:

1. My cat is dying of a yet unknown form of cancer
2. My crazy mom is still my problem and seems to be hitting the crazy stride again. It is fall after all and all of her suicide attempts have been between September and January of any given year.
3. My stupid house won't sell so I'm stuck in a teensy tinsy apartment with too many children and neighbors who apparently don't know how to close a door without slamming it and any number of noisy delivery trucks right during nap time.
4. I have too many children. Or rather, when they're all sick and whiny or not getting the aforementioned naps, I have too many whiny, snotty, pushing, shoving, hitting, hair pulling, drooling, crying and generally crabby children under the age of 3.
5. I can't potty train said children because I am in someone else's house with someone else's furniture and rugs. I'm quite sure they don't want my children having accidents on their rugs. Therefore I (or someone helping me) change an average of 20+ diapers a day, a lot of them containing poop.
6. I am fat because when said children are misbehaving, not sleeping or disobeying me I choose to keep from slapping them by stuffing my face.
7. I can't cook nice meals for myself or my children because the kitchen is directly across the hall from their bedrooms and any noise, no matter how small, transmits immediately into their sleeping ears and awakens them. Even the rustling of a plastic bag. Over the sound of a white noise machine. Even in the dead of REM sleep. And if I cook when they're awake they will dismember the couch stick by stick, nail by nail, while I'm not watching. They are that good.
8. I can't get a nap because the timing of infant naps and toddler naps shall forever remain vastly different. And the infant will only sleep 35 minutes at a time so by the time I fall asleep it's time to put him back to sleep. And drugging him is only justifiable when he has a runny nose. And that only really extends the nap to 45 minutes.
9. I am in an un-airconditioned apartment in an area that apparently reaches the 90s regularly. And thanks to global warming, reached 105 last week. Ever tried to make a toddler go to sleep when they're sweating gallons per minute out of every pore of their body? Not successful.
10. All of my life's possessions are in storage. Because I was only staying here a couple of months. So I packed for a vacation. And I'm serving a life sentence apparently.

Ok, that's it for now folks! Updates to follow!

Sorry folks

2010-09-08T19:25:00.000-07:00

Life is just hard on a funny girl sometimes. You get problem after problem piling on you until you just can't see the humor any more. Today, one more thing: one of my cats has cancer. The one who's been with me for 15 years and drives me crazy regularly with her neediness so much so that I spend most of the day saying 'no piglet' 'leave me alone piglet' 'get off of me piglet' and so on. So much so that now I feel like a terrible mother for a new and exciting reason. I'm now going to be nice to her only because she's dying. I have not had the time she desires for years. I have not petted her enough, snuggled with her enough nor played with her enough for years. And the triplet excuse just isn't good enough.

I have never understood people who treat their pets as second class citizens. My cats are as important as my kids to me. However, when push comes to shove, the humans do win every time don't they? Obviously I adopted her long before I ever thought about having kids but doesn't that mean she should come first? She was here first. I committed to her first. She's just as helpless as my kids and just as dependent upon me.

I can't personally justify treating my cats differently. In a way I'm more responsible for them because I, alone, adopted them. They have no grandparents who could care for them and they can never speak for themselves no matter how old they get. They can't even throw tantrums (although they can do a hell of a job keeping you from holding on to them.) I am responsible for them in a way that is pretty much the same as to my kids. But when I neglect her emotionally, no one comes to take her away from me. She just suffers through it.

So I guess I get a chance now to spend some time with her, I don't know how long yet as they have not diagnosed the type of cancer she has, but some time. Only here I sit with 4 kids, a crazy mom, in a terribly small apartment with a house that wont sell with barely time to shop for groceries much less find a new house to live in, pay bills, take my 4 sick kids to the doctor and wipe my own butt after pooping, should I be lucky to have 5 minutes on the toilet to even accomplish that.

I guess I will just keep on putting one foot in front of the other.

Murphy's laws of too many children

2010-08-17T14:37:00.000-07:00

1. Just when you get the baby to sleep a triplet will wake up. Especially if it's 3 am.

2. Once you get the triplet back to sleep the baby will reawaken or you just won't be able to sleep.

3. If one triplet awakens and screams for 10 minutes, no one will awaken......until you have gone back to bed and are juuuuuust falling asleep. Then triplet #2 will awaken.

4. When an illness descends upon the family each kid will get it 2-3 days apart so that you have a minimum of 6 days of high level whininess. Meanwhile you will also get the stupid cold but no one wants to hear you whine.

5. At least one child out of 4 is having a bad day EVERY DAY.

6. What one kid has, every kid must have. RIGHT NOW.

7. Even though everyone has one it's still not the one they want.

8. There's never enough.

9. If mommy's doing it, I want grandma to do it. If grandma's doing it, I want mommy to do it.

10. I don't care if I liked it yesterday, I don't like it today.

11. There are always more problems than you have hands to handle them.

12. At least one kid probably hates you every minute of the day.

13. Everyone on the outside thinks you're mother of the year.

slacker Sunday photo

2010-08-08T07:00:00.000-07:00

Which one's the model now? Or should I say "Vogue!"

This is not a pity party

2010-08-03T14:13:00.000-07:00

When you're raised in a family where the parents are a narcissistic alcoholic and bipolar who never had a childhood, you learn to take care of yourself.

Scratch that. You learn to take care of everyone else BUT yourself.

You tiptoe around the house trying not to set off the alarms. You roll along under the radar behaving yourself but for your back talk, which, for some reason, is mostly tolerated in this family. You may even scream and scream, literally, to be heard, but you wont be. But you don't learn that taking care of yourself is of prime importance. Because the whole family is about taking care of your sick mom.

And when your brother dies, and your mom falls apart - more - you grow up fast and take on more responsibility. And more. You collect friends around you who are dependent upon you. You attract needy people like flies and wonder why you're so tired all the time. And why you're depressed too.

And then you have a family of your own. You frantically run around (figuratively more than literally) trying to be everything to everyone. Sure, you get a massage now and then. And you do sit on your butt after everyone's asleep instead of doing laundry or cleaning the house. And you make your children crap for dinner instead of real meals, but in your mind you are constantly on guard. You don't know how to let them take care of themselves. Not even your grown husband. You are afraid to sleep train the baby, even though you did ok with the triplets. You are concerned you're messing them up for not having dinner with them at a table every night instead of eating later when it's quiet. There's always something you could be doing.

In theory, you have to run out of energy at some point. But in 38 years I haven't. I do take care of myself in certain ways. I am pretty good at fighting for a few minutes to myself even if it's at the expense of couple time. But I am afraid. Am I going to go so far in the other direction from my parents that I actually create narcissists in my own children? Will they learn that they have to take care of each other, me, their dad or grandparents and themselves in fair amounts? Will they turn into the opposite of me like I did my parents? Is it possible, in the first generation, to create a different story?

And when things come out of my mouth that sound just like my mom and dad like "what is wrong with you?" can they forgive me? Because nothing is wrong with them. They're just being 2. My mom watches them and shakes her head with the honest belief that something is wrong with them. I merely have a momentary thought of 'what has gotten into you' and I can see the difference, but can they? Will they think I think poorly of them because I do too much for them? Will they think I think they're stupid because I help them do things?

How do you parent well when you have not been parented well? How do you not go so far off the other end and create a whole different set of traps? Therapy is helpful, but when those kids have driven you to the edge of your sanity and you haven't slept in weeks and you just want to sit down and eat some damned lunch if they would just nap like they're supposed to......how do you not yell the things you grew up hearing at them? "Why are you doing this to me?" "I'll give you something to cry about" "Don't talk back to me missy!"

I know no one is the perfect parent but I'd like to be middle of the road. Is it possible?

Parental fear

2010-07-28T08:11:00.000-07:00

I was reading an article on post partum depression the other day and I came across a peculiar symptom they listed as a sign that you have it: fear of being left alone with your kid(s).

Um, I've been afraid of being alone with my triplets since they were 3 months old.

I started off with confidence. I was planning on being a stay at home mom anyway, so now I'd just be extra busy, right? After I finally got all three triplets at home I really wanted to try it on my own so I sent the mother in law home to Illinois and started in on my new life. I was practically fearless. I mean, what could happen?

RSV. That's what. For those of you without children, RSV is a typical cold for grown ups that can kill infants. It smothers them with snot. Days after the kids got home from the NICU they came down with colds. The fevers meant I had to get them checked and each time I took one to the doctor they failed the blood oxygenation test. In other words, they were not getting enough oxygen by breathing on their own. They all ended up in the pediatric ward for 3 days on oxygen and having the snot sucked out of them by this dastardly machine they have invented. It was a wee bit scary but under control I suppose.

So after they all got home from the hospital from that, my husband thought it was finally time for him to go back to work. Monday morning he headed out. We had a normal morning, except that it seemed like J went a little blue when I fed him, but I was sure it was a trick of the lighting. He was fine otherwise, and the blue was just around the mouth and his eyes were red but just for a bit.

Yeah I know.

So then it was hours later and I started feeding him again. This can't be right. He's looking all funny again. Red raccoon eyes and blue around the mouth. But RSV is only supposed to be deadly in the first 72 hours! What is going on? My parents were still in town so I called them to come stay with the other two triplets and headed off to the ER. At every stoplight I reached back and checked if my infant was still breathing. I hit every stoplight on the way of course. By the time I reached the ER he was grey. I got fastracked in you might say. His oxygen saturation was 85 or so. Not ok.

That was my first day alone with the kids.

But that wasn't all it took. After several days alone again it was time to bathe the kids one by one in the infant tub in the kitchen sink. It seemed that apparently the other two refused to be left alone at this particular juncture. Screaming ensued. Each time I'd exchange one kid for another they'd change places. the one being bathed was happy as a clam. The other two? Banshees.

Then they started the witching hour business. Have you ever had 3 infants screaming inconsolably at you for even 5 minutes? It is insanity producing. It actually makes you want to grab one and beat the other two with it.

I didn't have post-partum depression. I had post traumatic stress disorder. It's a wonder I don't have flashbacks today. It's a wonder I don't wake screaming in the night trying to swaddle my husband while binkying a cat and bottle feeding the table lamp.

So, being afraid to be left alone with your kids? Somewhat understandable. At some point I called my mother in law and begged her to come back. And then I told her she was never allowed to leave again. These days I try to work myself into some sort of calm state when I'm to be left alone with the kids. Last week when grandma had to head home due to being sick as a dog and I had to handle bedtime alone? It was a challenge I was kind of excited about. And the next night when I had to do baths alone? No problem. But the fear strikes initially. That old feeling that I have no chance in surviving the onslaught of triplets plus one on my own. And then I realize that I can and will be ok.

As long as I have a glass of wine.

Judge Not Lest Ye Be Judged

2010-07-26T06:59:00.000-07:00

It all started innocently enough. A friend posted this to her Facebook:

Ferry Building Farmers Market: one mom, infant triplets, a bus of a stroller. Brave, insane, inconsiderate? Discuss....

And fairly begged me to comment via text. For those of you who don't know, the Ferry Building is a crowded old building crammed with people during the farmer's market. Any size stroller is a pain in the butt there to move around, much less a triple wide. I own a triple wide and I only think it's fit for wide open spaces like the zoo. But I have the luxury of owning more than one stroller. So I said:

Desperate? The poor woman probably can't get out wo them but she could use a double and a baby backpack if you'd prefer! Would be a little more considerate

And thought that was the end of it. But then this appeared:

wait...are we supposed to discuss the stroller or fertility treatment...which can also fall under the categories of brave, insane, inconsiderate. just saying...

Oh ho! Picking a fight with an infertile woman are you? Well then. Here we go again. It definitely inflames the hell out of me that people see a woman with a multiple pregnancy or offspring and instantly 1. know they did fertility treatments (even though triplets do come spontaneously people, even quints do) and 2. get to judge the use of such treatments just because more than one baby came of it.

WTH? So, if I had done fertility treatment and only had one baby I'm above judgement? If I had just accepted my infertile status I'd be above judgement or perhaps even saintly? I'm sorry, did you accept the mole growing on your face or did you get it removed? Did you accept your cancer diagnosis or did you get treated for it? Did you accept that you couldn't walk due to a birth defect or did you get physical therapy and canes to walk with?

What's the difference?

So I lay in bed fuming this morning thinking about it. These young women who have not experienced infertility passing judgement on those who have is inexcusable. First, as women, we should stick together. We don't need beat downs from each other. Second, as a woman, you should understand something about what being infertile might do to your psyche that a man might not. Third, if it doesn't affect you, bug off.

Asking a woman to just get over being infertile is like asking a life long runner to get over not being able to run ever again. It's like asking a life long lover of books to just get over being blind. It's like asking a teacher to get over never being able to speak again. It is a part of (most) women's being that they are procreative. It is part of who we assume we are at birth, we can be mothers whenever we want to be. In theory. When you are hit in the face with the reality that you can't? It's trauma. What you do with that trauma is your business.

And if the doctor tells you that you have less than a 20% chance of having any babies at all with your eggs and so he throws the book at you with every hormone in the book and 6 shots a day and you still only produce 3 viable embryos? You put them in your uterus. And if, by some miracle, against stunning odds, all three of them implant and grow? You are just lucky as hell. Not someone to be judged.

Just lucky as hell.

slacker Sunday photo

2010-07-25T06:59:00.000-07:00

Just Chillin' With the Auntie

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery?

Bad Dreams

2010-07-20T08:19:00.000-07:00

As a parent there are many things you want to spare your children. Bad experiences you may have had, may have heard about or just may imagine could happen. Broken bones, broken dreams, broken hearts, and so on. And in the early years, when they can't talk to you, you spend an awful lot of time trying to decipher crying spells. Is she hurt, physically or mentally? Is he wet, uncomfortable, achey? Is she frustrated, angry, irritated?

My children are no exception. Some of them cry more than others. One in particular, J, seemed to have nightmares right from the start. Terrifying ordeals of him screaming and yelling and thrashing, inconsolable, unreachable in his terror. Sure, we read about night terrors and how they don't remember them in the morning, but how the heck do they know that when the kid can't speak?

And the other thing you have to wonder about is what is a nightmare to a 8 month old? Being hungry and no bottle in sight? Having to take a nap when you don't feel tired? What are they having nightmares about?

The older you get, you figure the more things they can have nightmares about. And, unfortunately, with triplets the language comes later. Mine are just starting to put two words together at 29 months. Singleton children are stringing sentences together at this point. But regardless, in the middle of the night they're mute. You go in to the screaming, crying child and ask them what's wrong. You soothe and hug them and they remain mute. They just stare at you like they don't even recognize you, and then they go back to sleep again quieted for a moment.

So you're left with the question. What are the nightmares about? Has someone done something inappropriate to or with them? Is someone or something scaring them regularly? Is there something you should be protecting them from that you aren't?

And then you lay in bed at 6:20 am in the morning, listening, and find out what the nightmare is about:

"No, no, no, NO! My bucket. My bucket, MY BUCKET!!!"

Things I never thought I'd do

2010-07-19T16:12:00.000-07:00

1. Try to guilt trip my children into going to sleep.

2. Yell at my children until the veins in my head throb frighteningly.

3. Negotiate with my children when I've told them to do something and they say 'No.'

4. See that my daughter is looking at me with the face of "I hate you with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns" and bust out laughing because I recognize that look.

5. Talk about my children when they're in the room like they're not in the room and can't understand English.

6. Decide that they can beat each other to death if they really want to after breaking up the 300th fight.

7. Feed them mac and cheese 2-3 nights a week because I'm tired and uninspired to make something more fancy and nutritionally useful.

8. Wrestle with them physically when they defy me on something that has to be done, like a diaper change, or laying the heck down and going to sleep right this minute!

9. Say "Don't you talk back to me missy/mister!"

10. Buy so many toys that even after only bringing less than half to the temporary apartment we have 3 overflowing boxes worth. And I still keep buying. Why was that last dump truck so important?

11. Lose my sense of humor.

12. Count the minutes until a nanny shows up Monday morning to give me a morning off. Oh, and count the minutes until bedtime once they wake up from nap. Oh, and count the minutes until nap time. Oh hell, I'm always waiting for a break it seems.

13. Wonder if I'm cut out to be a mom.

14. Look at my 200lb body and ever expanding waistline and still eat that cookie.

15. Wish I had a hospital worthy disease so I could get some time to myself and maybe sleep.

A biblical event

2010-07-15T07:12:00.000-07:00

And then God, in his wrath at her constant complaining, didst send down a stomach bug upon her children, so that she would learn humility in her heart as she didst clean barf, and clean barf again, until her soul and the children's beds were scrubbed clean down to the marrow. And then she did know peace, in her bed, for a few hours. And she was glad.

Yay.

MIA

2010-07-14T08:39:00.000-07:00

Sorry I've been MIA again folks. This sleep thing with the infant seems to be a roller coaster ride. Just when I think we've resolved my total sleep induced psychosis by having the husband do the first feeding of the night the kid kicks me in the teeth by not letting me sleep from 3am on most mornings. He sleeps, mind you, but awakens every 10-30 min, just when I'm falling back asleep or in some kind of cycle with a random triplet who is also waking every so often in the wee morning hours.

I suck at lack of sleep. I believe I've said that before. I just had no idea how much I suck at it. Because it isn't relative is it? I mean, before, I was getting no sleep, or 45 min chunks all night long. Now I'm getting half a night's sleep and I'm still tired. It doesn't feel much better, although I am pretty sure I'm less psychologically on edge. But Sunday morning I got walloped by my psyche. I was standing in the kitchen, having gotten the children and myself up and dressed, made their breakfast, started the laundry and packed the bags to go to grandma's house for the day when it hit me:

"I'm never going to be 'not tired' again. Ever."

People, I fell to the floor like someone punched me in the gut. It was overly dramatic, perhaps, but I cried. Thankfully the husband was feeding the kids breakfast while the infant slept, so I could give in to this moment of despair and get myself back together again. I mean, logically, I know this is not true that I will never feel well rested again. At some point I'll be allowed to sleep again regularly.

Like in 2 years.

But that seems like forever. Obviously. And I just lust after a day where I can sleep in, loll around in bed, read a book in bed and stay there all day snoozing and reading all day. It's like porn for my mind that idea. The soundtrack is more ocean waves than boom chick a wow wow though. But I'd settle for a white noise machine.

This having babies thing is nuts. And the nuttier thing? Having another doesn't seem so bad to me. I think it's an addiction, like tattoos or drugs or something. There's this mystique, this magic about the idea of being pregnant and giving birth to another neat little human being at the end. Clearly I've forgotten what a miserable pregnant woman I am. Clearly I'm not looking at my ravaged body. Clearly I'm so sleep deprived that I've lost my ever lovin' mind.

Thankfully, the husband won't let me forget. We will not be having another. Under any circumstances barring divine immaculate conception. Because who could argue with God if he wants you to have a freakin' 5th child? I mean I don't really need the universe to be against me when I already think it is.

So, baby's up. Time to go back to work. If you see me sleep walking while pushing a child down the side of 101 in a stroller, just shove me into the back of your pickup truck and take me home.

Thanks!

slacker Sunday photo

2010-07-11T06:49:00.000-07:00

The lollipop guild

Caught red handed

2010-07-06T15:37:00.000-07:00

These innocent looking individuals were caught literally red handed Saturday morning at 6 am with their fingers smashed in the top drawer of this dresser

which had been pulled over onto their (thankfully sturdy) cribs (by manner of pulling on the top drawer in order to empty it of all socks and accessories) luckily missing their heads and breaking none of those same hands but causing terror in their caretakers due to the fact that these items

were upon said furniture and also dumped in and around the same cribs of the criminals identified above. Although no fires were set, fingers chopped off by fan blades nor expensive camera equipment damaged, consequences must follow criminal behavior or else society may feel we are condoning such actions by individuals of a diminutive size. Thus:

Incarceration for the duration of all sleep periods henceforth.

slacker Sunday photo

2010-07-03T21:02:00.000-07:00

Two boys in a box, almost don't fit anymore!

And one girl who seems to know how cute she is

The blob

2010-07-01T08:47:00.000-07:00

Why am I always hungry? I'm no longer pregnant or breastfeeding. So what's my excuse? Tapeworm? But then I'd be thin too. This post pregnancy belly? Large.

Yesterday someone posted on the multiples group I belong to about getting a tummy tuck and someone else provided a link to a doctor's website. For the first time I took a look. It's not that I'm against the tummy tuck, I fully expect to get one, but I've always said I have to lose the weight first before I 'deserve' to get surgery.

But now I'm changing my mind. I mean they often include lipo in the tuck process anyway since people like me who have all their fat in their stomachs can never really get a flat one without anorexia. And the website talked about loose abdominal muscles due to pregnancy that need stitching together to be flat again. And I thought 'Hmmmm, what if my big old sticky outie stomach is really damage due to pregnancy and not due to my laziness?'

Oh, it was a remarkable concept. I mean I had strong stomach muscles always in the past. And right now? I can't suck it in to save my life. However, it is about twice as big with fat as it used to be too. So, perhaps I've just found a pleasant excuse? The funny thing is I'm not fat all the way around, no spare tire. Just on the six pack area. (Great for heart health, I know!) So maybe if I get these abs shored up with some stitches I'd already be in better shape? And I could coincidentally get that lipo and the extra skin cut off and.....and....maybe I could also fly like superman?

Where is the money for this? Not in my possession. Where is the time to recover from surgery? Not available. Where is the strength of spirit to put myself through what is no doubt painful as hell surgery for just vanity? Not quite present so close to the c-section of doom two years back.

And really? Where is the strength of spirit to love my pregnancy torn body just the way it is, all poochy and stretched out and discolored with stretch marks and spider veins and so on. I have a long way to go to like what I see again. And I'm not usually in favor of plastic surgery when you hate yourself (or the way you look) I'm more in favor of it when you have done all you can the exercise and diet way and need a little help, like with excess skin or droopy post breastfeeding boobs. That I would forgive myself for.

Oh but the vanity. I want to look good now. I don't have the energy and sometimes don't have the time to even go for a walk for myself. I survive lack of sleep and rotten disobedient children by eating brownies. I am steadily gaining more weight after losing the pregnancy weight back to my already overweight size before this last kid. So I'm way bigger than I've ever been. And while I hide it sometimes successfully, I know it's not healthy. But it would be so much easier to have it taken away in a quick surgery by someone! (insert whine here)

Ok, so maybe I have a goal to reach for. I have always said if I work out steadily for a year, and eat well, I can have the surgery. I do feel justified to lose this extra skin the triplets left me with on my stomach. I just have to empty it of fat first. I might feel justified to hitch up the boobies if they deflate too much. I just will have to rob a bank or something.

Or get someone to buy my stupid house!

The making of a monster

2010-06-30T09:26:00.000-07:00

Apparently I will be turning my 4th and final child into a spawn of the devil. Or else he had natural tendencies and I'm just too tired to beat them out of him. I mean, besides the fact that once I solve one problem with him, another one pops up all of a sudden, he gets away with murder.

Back when I had triplets, and I suspect with most first time parents, it all seemed so important. Scheduled eating, sleep training, rigid nap taking, planned walks and so on. And, naturally, with three it was more important. If all three were allowed to eat on demand until they were 2 I'd be insane (more than I am already I mean,) But one baby eating on demand? Eh. I'm up anyway. Some triplet nightmare or something, or just the aches and pains of being old, post pregnancy and fat.

Naps? Well, unfortunately for the kid, he's kinda screwed by association with triplets who only nap once a day and need to get out of the house every morning. Makes it hard for him to nap whenever he's supposed to. So, then when I am home with him, how can I expect him to follow a nap schedule? Sleep training? Well, how do you go from rocking that tiny infant to sleep with tears in your eyes while singing love songs to him to letting him soothe his own dang self? The triplets were never rocked to sleep in their lives. Sucks to be them, but it was reality. A bouncy chair or swing, maybe, but no mommy ever sang and rocked them to sleep.

Ugh that makes me feel guilty as sin.

And so this kid will probably be on the bottle until he's 8, wake at night until he's 18, and live in the basement of our home playing computer games and drinking liters of Coke until we croak or he slaughters us in our sleep due to deep psychological problems. Caused by me. Babying the crap out of him.

But he's just so cute! How do you not also keep thinking that this is the last time I get to spoil a kid, snuggle a sleepy baby, see one of his middle of the night smiles greeting me, or bottle feed him into a food coma? It'll be years before I have grandchildren, I have to soak all this up or miss it forever!

I'll sleep when they go to college. For now I'll just watch them sleep.

The Blank Stare

2010-06-29T08:25:00.000-07:00

The Blank Stare

My son B has perfected it.

And it drives me absolutely batty.

Let's see why! Imagine your 2 + year old kid wailing in bed at 8:15, a full hour and a half after lights out. You rush in to see what is the matter, and he immediately shuts up. Then you ask him what's wrong, what do you need, why are you crying, any number of permutations of 'tell me why you need me' and what does this child do?

He just goes mute. Oh, and he's apparently unable to move in order to point or nod either. He stares at me with his wide blue eyes and no expression on his face.

It's maddening. Because then? I leave the room and the INSTANT the door closes? Waaaaiiiiillll.

So I go in a second time. Mute. Third time? Mute. And depending on my sanity and amount of sleep that day the muteness enrages me to differing levels. Sometimes the muteness seems like insolence. Sometimes it seems like the paralysis of a boy who is too scared to speak. Why the latter would be true until the 4th time I go in raging like some kind of crazy bear I don't know. I'm not scary the first 3 times. I don't even have bed head yet. I likely have a little wine on board. I'm lovely for goodness' sake. So I don't think it's fear. But I'm not sure it's insolence either.

Some argue he's trying to get a rise out of me. Well it works. My choice is to sit eating my dinner listening to him wail or go in and guess what the heck is wrong with him. Is it your diaper, your bear, your boogers, what? I know this boy can speak when he wants to. But he's as good at withholding speech as I am at withholding sex.

Which is to say, damn good.

Too damned good.

If this kid isn't smothered by the time he's 3 it'll be a miracle. That silent look takes on all sorts of evil permutations when I'm already tired and frustrated. He is either an evil genius or he has a mental problem. I'd hate to punish him if there's truly something that prevents him from communicating. But I'm pretty sure he's just a pain in my butt. So I guess you're all thinking to yourselves that not going in is the answer. But that boy can wail a good long time. And half the house is trying to sleep. And that just sucks. As does a glass of wine while listening to whining. Not totally sucky but mostly.

I'm pretty sure this boy was put on the planet to finish my sanity off. Does every mother have one of these children?

I'm getting weaker

2010-06-28T08:03:00.000-07:00

If sleep is for the weak then I'm getting weaker every day. That's right, I'm sleeping again. What's funny about having a backlog of 2 weeks of no sleep is that at first you feel worse when you start getting some. The first morning after getting a 2 hour and a 3 hour block of sleep back to back, my feet hurt, my back ached, and my tendons and muscles were all tight and sore. I guess a lot of healing was going on finally.

The amazing thing is how well my body hid the damage from me that was occurring. Doesn't it seem remarkable that while I was suffering through my 2 weeks of no sleep I didn't feel the feet and the back and so on? Perhaps insanity has some benefits? No physical ailments to speak of. But now that there's time to fix things back up at night? I'm an old lady again.

And wouldn't you love to know the cure that got me all this sleep? Well apparently the cure was to excise the mom from the night routine. In other words, the first night my husband fed the infant his first night time meal? Was the first night he slept for 5 hours afterwards.

Little jerk.

I mean I spent night after night catering to his needs, trying to soothe him to a long and lasting sleep, praying to any and all higher powers for a 3 hour stint (oh who am I kidding? I would have made a deal with Satan if it were necessary) and my husband waltzes in there, feeds him more formula than he has taken from me in weeks and voila! Sleep.

Now I suppose I should be flattered that he liked my company so much that he awoke every hour just to see me, but, ahem, for some reason I'm not. It sure didn't feel like flattery. Felt like torture.

So after 3 nights of 'longer' blocks of sleep of up to 3 hours at a time I am feeling human again. That doesn't mean I'm not crying at the drop of a hat. Oh no, that's still happening. Now I have to sort out whether I'm in the throes of post partum depression or not. Because the slightest little thing sends me over the cliff. Baby not taking first nap of the day? Insane weeping. Children acting like hooligans in their cribs after lights out? Strong urge to beat the bejesus out of them. (Well maybe that part is normal.)

What's hard to sort out is what is old wiring from my childhood and from having had triplets, and what is abnormal reactions in the moment. What I mean is am I losing my mind

1. because I am losing control of a situation and due to my childhood I have issues with losing control or not being able to manage a situation so that it doesn't blow up in my face? Or,

2. because when I had triplets, missing a nap meant 3 overtired children screaming at me simultaneously and I have some sort of post traumatic stress disorder reaction to overtired potentialities? Or,

3. because this is PPD and my anxiety level is through the roof and some kind of medication would help me with this?

I think I'll sleep a few more nights before I decide. I know #2 comes into play a lot. Having just one baby is a whole other way of life. One over tired baby can be handled much easier. You can even take turns rocking him or putting him to sleep. One baby who missed his nap is just one baby who has to be forced to take a longer nap next time around. One baby is not a crisis! Three are and I don't have 3. So how do I stop reacting to him like he's one of three? It's like I'm a highly trained war general and I'm having to moderate a wrestling match. I'm overskilled. My adrenaline over-surges and I'm all over the problem like we have to dig trenches and make more ammo.

So, in any case, let's hope it's not PPD. But if it is, I will not hesitate to take meds. I am a proponent of getting all the help you need, because if you don't, the ones who really suffer are those around you. And my kids deserve a mom who is at her best. Or whats left of her best after having had triplets.

Slacker Sunday photo

2010-06-27T07:00:00.000-07:00

Someone likes to try on other people's hats...

Even if they aren't really quite right for me....B

A List of Truths

2010-06-25T08:07:00.000-07:00

1. Just because they sleep brilliantly from day one does not mean they will on day 55. In fact the purpose is to lull you into a false sense of security that you will not become that sleep walking zombie everyone is in the first few months and then, right when you've gotten rid of the night help, and started participating in life again by taking on daily responsibilities, BAM, there is the sleep deprivation.

2. Just because they are mild mannered and don't cry much does not mean that when they do become an early morning yeller it won't drive you insane just as fast as if they had been crying for months. It's not cumulative, it's instant.

3. 5 am? Get used to it. Try to find pleasure in the chirping birds. Or that one, bloody loud, constantly chirping, right outside your goddamned window, like some type of stupid alarm clock where you can't hit any off switch, want to throw a rock when you usually love birds, stupid happy bird. Find joy in him.

4. Think you're in control of the feeding schedule? Think again. He will eat when he wants, as much as he wants, and if he wants to snack every 2 hours throughout the day and then take real meals at 1, 2 and 3 am? He will.

5. Think you've got that whole breastfeeding thing going just because it's worked for 2 months? Think again. He'll drop your boobs like a hot potato whenever he pleases. And you? Will feel personally insulted.

6. The day you dare to think to yourself "I've got this mother thing down, don't I?" you will be destroyed by every-30-minute wakings the following night. Never, EVER think you've got it under control. That is when the baby or babies make sure you understand who is really in charge. And it isn't you.

7. The minute you tell someone that your child is a sweet, obedient, calm child who only throws tantrums every once in a while is the minute your child develops a tantrum a day habit provoked by anything from boogers on their fingers to you looking at another child in their presence. And those tantrums? Will top anything your fussy, regularly scheduled tantrum child has ever thrown.

8. Tantrums? Come in all shapes and sizes. The best ones? Are saved for the floor of the grocery store.

9. Boogers? Never cease to amaze. They will wake up plastered from head to toe in those things and it's your job to clean them off. It is almost worse than poop.

10. Diapers? Are meant to be taken off in the middle of the night. The only way to prevent this is duct tape and an ever changing parade of pjs too fun to take off for 3 days. Then? More duct tape is the only solution.

11. Baby fatness percentiles (when high) make you feel inordinately proud. As if you did anything that caused it other than contributing your fat genes to the mix. Oh yes, I have a baby in the 99th % of fatness. Did I mention that?

12. Making dinner every night for three very different eaters? Makes you long for formula feeding days. One likes beans, one likes noodles, one likes anything but doesn't want to come to dinner. Every night becomes beans and noodles and vegetables no one eats. yippee.

13. Your sense of humor can be eradicated by lack of sleep. And when you are the type of person who uses humor to get through the hard times? This is a problem. Crying outside the bagel shop while attempting to keep the baby's stroller in constant motion so he wont awaken may be a side effect.

14. You may have only one friend left after having children. And if she's a childless friend you are either really freaking lucky she puts up with you or you owe her money. Or you're a bridesmaid in her wedding and she'd rather not have to find a replacement.

15. If you plan on fitting into a bridesmaid dress 8 months after giving birth? You'd better invest in girdles and diet drinks. Thank god the bride is supposed to look better and thinner than you. In fact, maybe that's why she asked you to be a bridesmaid?

16. Sleep when the baby sleeps is a bunch of garbage. That baby will wake up the instant your head hits the pillow. Instead, keep yourself awake at all costs. Then he will sleep for 3 hours.

17. Sleep deprivation makes for long lists.

More boob talk

2010-06-24T07:00:00.000-07:00

My best friend texted me yesterday: "I hate that my boobs have fallen!" Folks? She's 31 and childless to date. Imagine how saggy her boobs might actually be. Right. Not saggy. And yet she's failed the pencil test apparently. For the first time. And this is a crisis.

Apparently she has never looked at my mother when they're in the same room together. My mom went through a period a couple of years ago where she didn't wear a bra for one reason or another. It terrified me.

People, her boobs were at her belly button.

Why is it, by the way, that one sees all these 70 year old women walking around without bras or if they have bras they should have been burned in the 60s? Do they really just not care anymore about what is happening on their chests or are they trying to scare the crap out of those of us who are younger? I mean, gravity is inevitable but you don't have to share its consequences! I think we got the idea when we were sneaking peeks at those National Geographic magazines back in grade school thank you very much. Boobs empty out and sag. Especially if you have lots of children. Got it.

And so it begins at 31 or 35 or whenever you've finished breastfeeding infant number x. Deflation. I don't care how perky you were, you ain't never gonna be again. Ok, maybe you A cups have a chance. Nothing for gravity to hang on to. But the rest of us?

Screwed.

And so I mustered up a little bit of sympathy for my young friend with the minutely drooping, young, stretch mark free boobs.

Ok I didn't. But I tried my damndest. I mean, even I have my limits. I'm guessing I'd terrify her if we shared a dressing room. Maybe I should so she would know how good she has it. But then again, we're trying to convince her that having babies is worth it. Might be a tad counterproductive to witness the wrath of breastfeeding?

Just wait until the first hair springs forth in a random previously hairless region girl. Then she can complain about the ridiculous things that happen when you get older. Then I'll have sympathy. Because whiskers? Are only cute on kittens.

Thanks dad!

2010-06-23T09:19:00.000-07:00

My dad came to me in a dream this morning. And that's pretty hard to do when someone isn't actually getting any REM sleep. So I'm taking it seriously.

Actually I really needed it after the day I had yesterday. I knew he was dead so I was just absorbing his presence as much as I could, soaking in the normalcy of the conversation. He was telling me about how when he got into work that day all the people were running about flustered and kind of crazy and I was thinking to myself "I bet they were seeing as how YOU'RE DEAD AND ALL." I mean imagine if your dead co-worker showed up at work one day. You might be a bit confused.

And so he kept talking and I caught my Aunt Carolyn's eye (his sister) and was all gesturing at him and raising my eyebrows and she says "I know!" like how amazing is it that he's standing right there.

It was cool, because yesterday? Sucked for the most part. SUCKED.

There I was being so good and walking home from the doctor's office instead of getting a ride, despite the fact that there are no sidewalks on the main road (which I actually hadn't noticed ahead of time) so I'm walking on the shoulder of a very busy road like some kind of hobo/hitch-hiker and life throws me another curve.

In fact, when the sidewalks do appear, I fall off the curb like some sort of sleep deprived dork.

And all the cars slowed down to take a look at me sprawled on the concrete. It was a big fall people. The momentum was awesome. Both hands, one knee and onto the ass. Needless to say I lay on the asphalt for a moment and thought about crying. Like a big, blubbering, hasn't had a decent night's sleep in 2 weeks baby.

I almost did, but I didn't.

Because these days only my children can make me cry really. And when your day is going like yesterday? They almost certainly will. Let's just watch and see:

12:30 children return home to mommy
12:45 triplets put down for nap
12:58 first of threats given to B and A for not sleeping
1:15 J asleep, A and B still playing
1:30 After multiple threats, A asleep, B not, and R is due to be put down for nap
1:35 R, A and J asleep. B nowhere near. Remove blanket from B as punishment
1:35:01 B commences howling
1:36 B given blanket back to bribe him to shut the hell up
1:45 B still screwing around, mean mommy gets in face and threatens some more unlikely punishments
2:15 R awakens so excitedly that may have been given crack while mommy not looking
2:19 B still screwing around so mommy carries him bodily to master BR and dumps him on bed with threats not to move
2:19:01 B commences howling
2:20 Mommy curls up in fetal ball on couch and commences howling
2:30 Grandma arrives. Mommy hands off infant and heads to master BR to deal with B
2:35 more ineffective threats
2:45 mommy gets bright idea to lay down with B in bed and snuggle his ass to sleep
2:48 It works! WTH?
2:50 baby is yelling from living room. Yelling, yelling, yelling, yelling.
2:55 mommy extricates herself from B and goes to living room. Grandma stuck on a phone call. Crap.
3:00 mommy makes formula, picks up baby, heads to nursery and feeds and puts him to sleep
3:15 mommy says goodnight to grandma and goes to sleep on floor of master BR

And so it ended. Thank God it was date night and I didn't have to put them to bed. Cause it mighta gotten ugly.

And so today better be better. But I am completely convinced that my children are designed to make me crazier than the crazy I make all by myself.

Mister Mom You Ain't

2010-06-22T07:09:00.000-07:00

Dear stay at home dads in my building,

Staying at home with your children is a job. Just like mine. It requires constant care of your children until relieved by partner or family members of other varieties. Yes, it means you need to be in the vicinity of your child at all times, not upstairs in your apartment while your 4 year old is unsupervised in the courtyard below. Accessible by any and all people with cars happening to drive by.

You do not live in a village.

By that I mean I am not willing to watch your child for you without being asked and pretty much without you paying me to do so. If you hadn't noticed? I have 4 of my own children to watch. This is not communal childcare. I am not a mom to your child. A 4 year old boy needs watching. I don't care if you've put a helmet on him while he scooters around. That's not what is unsafe about this situation. What is unsafe?

Um, molesters and predators?

Moving vehicles in the parking lot?

Your child deliberately slamming his bicycle into a toddler birthed by a kick ass take no prisoners mommy like me?

Um yeah. Get your kid under control. Is it possible that he misbehaves because of your neglect? Because when he beats up my kids and tries to teach them how to jump off 6 foot tall jungle gyms? I consider marching him up to your apartment in stocks. And punishing YOU.

And other dad of the not as badly behaved kid? When you tell him you'll be gone just a little while while he bikes around the circle? That doesn't mean 30 minutes. How long do you think a 4 year old is content to bicycle around in a circle like you told him to? Right. How tempting is the ramp to the parking lot?

Right.

So, let's review. When I call myself a stay at home mom, I consider it a full time occupation. I consider myself to be primarily responsible for my child. I do not make strangers watch or care for my kid. That's called babysitting and it's a paid position.

Get yourself together and do your job.

Love,
Your neighbor

Lack of REM psychosis

2010-06-21T08:14:00.000-07:00

I had a crappy day yesterday.

Boy that makes you want to read on doesn't it? Another whiney blog by whiney mcwhineyton. Heck I'm even starting to get sick of the sound of my own voice.

But I had such high hopes. I found this farm, you see, that sounded like fun (Tara Firma Farm.) It had hourly tours starting in the morning at the perfect time to get there with the kids, tour, pick out steaks (because they make all their own food of course and it's natural and hormone free and truly free range) and then head to grandma and grandpa's house for a Father's day cookout with the kids.

Well hell. That farm is impressive, and the owners are too. They gave up the corporate life to live the words they believed about how food should really be made and processed and how animals should really be treated and what the label "Organic" should really mean. I mean, because the rest of us idiots actually think the stuff marked 'organic' in the stores is. And we actually believe the animals labeled 'free range' get to move around a bit. Well I knew that last part wasn't true, but what to do about it?

In any case, before I go off on a preachy note, the problem was this: the tour involved a ton of walking.

With two year olds.

In the hot sun.

On crazy uneven surfaces with big rocks and sand and dirt and mud puddles.

Can anyone spell disaster? Or maybe spell 'have to carry toddlers the whole way?'

No, I exaggerate. I only had to carry one. And then he didn't want to go to the chickens, but then he didn't want to leave the chickens and go to the pigs, and then he didn't want to leave the pigs and go back to the car for lunch. Sigh. J? Next time I'm leaving you with the chickens.

But it was interesting, if only for the adults. Just made me feel more guilty about my red meat habit. And my eating of helpless animals habit. And my consumption of the easiest meat available habit. And so on. I am the guiltiest carnivore I know. I'd love to have the stamina to be a vegetarian. But when you don't cook? It's even harder to be a vegetarian. Oh the guilt. All those animals suffer to feed me. Why can't our country have a kind, thoughtfully organized food production process? I feel like the bad karma we create by torturing our animals in life and in death will haunt us eventually.

Whoa, went off on a preachy tangent there, didn't I?

Anyway, after that hot, dusty fiasco, which, by the way, didn't even provide us said steaks because they were out for a week, (slaughter doesn't happen on demand, it happens when the damned cows are the right age and size, naturally,) we headed back to the grandparents house.

Let's just say the baby refused to eat all morning, refused to take his naps as he should have, and basically stressed me out. Then the triplets refused to take their naps, which they rarely, if ever do. And never after a hot, lots of walking morning. They should have passed out immediately. But not on mommy's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. That would be too easy.

So, in essence, due to all 4 children conspiring, I had not one 15 minute period to myself to chill yesterday. And yet I kept wondering why I was in such a bad mood all day? Well the obvious notwithstanding, I figured it out halfway through the afternoon. It was Father's day after all. And where was my father? I guess the second father's day is harder than the first after your father dies. During the first one I hadn't missed him for so many things. I hadn't watched my kids grow for 2 years and wished he could witness so many things or chat about the amazing way they grow intellectually. And I hadn't quite forgiven him for leaving me either. So right about now I've had time to do both of those things. And now it hurts like hell.

I'll have to watch out for these minefields more carefully. Because I needed to be extra nice to myself yesterday and warn those around me to do the same. Instead I crashed through the day angry and crying at every 'failure' and on the verge of a breakdown every minute. Not much fun to be around eh?

But today is a new day. The baby, while still awakening every stinking 2 hours, is eating less and less each time he awakens, voluntarily! So, at this rate, we should have nothing to do when he awakens soon and then that sucker can learn how to put his own damned self back to sleep. Oh the glory of one REM cycle. According to Wikipedia lack of sleep causes death in laboratory animals? I am quite aware that I am bordering on lack of REM psychosis. And would I really know if I had already overstepped that line? I mean who's to say I'm not already psychotic? And you just keep your mouth shut husband.

Just know that those of you not driving on bay area roads near where I live are that much safer. And those of you nearby? If you see a car driving off the road with someone asleep at the wheel? That's me.

slacker Sunday photo

2010-06-20T06:37:00.000-07:00

Beach Babe

Spanx

2010-06-18T05:00:00.000-07:00

Getting comfortable with my post pregnancy body is pretty tough. I know, I know, it's only been 4 months. I know I have a chance that some of this pot belly will reduce on its own still, but I'm pretty sure most of it is up to me. I'm watching the boobs deflate and trying not to take it personally. I'm looking at the gigantathighs and wondering how the heck I'm going to deal with that one. I'm basically feeling like I'm in the worst shape of my life.

Lets face it, I weigh more than I ever have pre pregnancy. And when the kids make me crazy? I eat. My drug of choice is any damned fatty, sugary or salty thing that is bad for me and I want it now and in large quantities.

I can NOT gain any more weight.

And should I decide to take walks in the 90 degree weather with my rickety old stroller and grumpy baby it's uphill straight off. Someone find me the motivation. Because just not looking in the mirror is working fine most days.

Except date night. Date night I have to pull on the Spanx, throw on what is most likely a maternity dress, look in the mirror while I put on my old make up and then go out in public and try to feel good at a nice restaurant with other nice looking people.

And do you wanna know what Spanx do for me? They make me look pregnant. Which would you choose? Fat pooch or fake pregnant belly? Because that lovely spandex that usually makes you suck in and smooth out? Just smooths out my pot belly. And a smooth belly? Looks pregnant.

I keep waiting for someone to ask me when I'm due. And I have no freaking idea what I'm going to say when that happens.

Sure it might help if I got some non-maternity dresses, but who has time to shop and do you really think that standing in a fitting room looking at myself naked is going to help me much?

Yeah, me either. Sigh.

So I trudge on. I keep thinking that soon I will have a recognizable schedule with this young child of mine and then I will work out, oh yes! Truth is I am so not a motivated worker out-er. And diets? They last until a kid stresses me out. Now if only I could convince my brain that a great method of stress relief would be to work out! Wouldn't that be fantastic? Or cleaning house. That would burn calories and clean my world. Why can't I be just the least bit obsessive about cleaning or working out?

Stupid thing to wish for but I'm watching that OCD project on tv right now. I guess I'd rather eat myself to death than become OCD. Small blessings.

Well, thanks for listening. It's another 4 days until another date night, so I shall live in blissful ignorance of the way I look until then.

Customer Care returns

2010-06-17T17:28:00.000-07:00

So, my favorite online ordering service for all things baby has begun to redeem themselves. I just received a call from Brennan, one of the Customer Care Managers. I had a delightful conversation with him about our ongoing troubles and I truly feel heard and understood now. We discussed how throwing money at me wasn't the answer when all I wanted was an explanation of why my orders, which are promised on the website to come in 24 hours, are suddenly all being delayed.

Apparently, in opening their new website Soap.com, there have been some warehouse rearranging and a changing of how things get delivered. This caused my string of unfortunate late deliveries. That and one big snafu last week with a missed pick up. I feel like this was a valid explanation and I appreciate the honesty.

I want to let you all know that I do love Diapers.com and, while threatening to leave them, was secretly praying that they would do something, anything, to help me stay. There is nothing better than ordering your diapers, formula and pretty much anything else baby related, and having it show up on your doorstep the next day. As a mom of triplets, I especially need this as running to the store with 3 or 4 kids is NOT HAPPENING.

I ordered some formula today. Let's see what happens!

And I'm pretty excited about the soap.com which may prove to save me trips to the store to buy personal products as I understand it. I assume shampoos and bath products and maybe even cleaning supplies? Although I already get my safe for babies cleaning supplies from Diapers.com, perhaps there is more?

Oh, heck, I'm a loyal customer if you treat me right. I'll apparently even advertise without being paid. Let's just see if they can return to the company I once knew and loved. If so, I will return to my formerly less bitchy self when communicating with them!

The return of the blogger

2010-06-17T08:21:00.000-07:00

I'm baaaaaack!

This is my commitment to reestablish my blogging daily. Instead of trying to take a nap while baby naps first thing in the morning, which usually only pisses me off due to the shortness of the nap period or my inability to actually sleep, I have decided it's blogging time when possible. I was laying in bed last night thinking of a hundred things I could blog about so I think my mojo may have reappeared on it's own. Let's hope I've come out as funny as before. I don't think pregnancy saps you of your sense of humor. Just lack of sleep does that.

Now, should my impertinent infant actually choose to sleep at night, we might find that my sense of humor returns. I seem to be stuck in an endless loop: I need to sleep train the baby so I can get more sleep but I can't face sleep training the baby until I get more sleep. I'm afraid I'll smother him in the middle of the night when he's crying or not sleeping. Oh, heck I'm close to that already.

It's amazing the psychosis that sets in when you have be denied a REM cycle for weeks. I thought this only happened to new mothers but here I am at month 4 in worse shape than ever. This kid used to sleep in big chunks right from the start. Now? He awakens every 1-2 hours just to kill me. I know he's not hungry. I know I've screwed up somehow. I just don't know how to fix it when I'm having hallucinations due to exhaustion.

The way I see it I have to be in pretty good mental state to beat night waking out of him without actually beating him.

But he is the greatest baby in most other ways. He is so mellow and happy. His smile lights up my world. I wish I could catch it on camera more often, but that poor guy is lucky to have any photos taken of him. Classic last child syndrome. Not a movie has been taken nor a photo in a nice outfit when by this time with the triplets there were hours of movies and pages of photos. All I have are photos of him laying around in cute onesies looking like the pillsbury dough boy.

Good lord he's fat.

This is my modeling pose: "I look casually away from the camera as if at a lover"

Tomorrow we go for our 4 month check up (today is my 4 month birthday!) and we find out how fat he really is. At 2 months he was 97th percentile. Think we can beat that? I think so. He weighed 15lbs 2 months ago. Any bets on how much tomorrow? I wish I had a thing to give away that wasn't used baby clothing or poopy diapers. But guess anyway!

I look forward to finding my funny again with ya'll! Stick around, things might just get hopping around here again!

Dear Diapers.com

2010-06-16T14:52:00.000-07:00

(See update above)

Dear Diapers.com customer support team,

After repeated emails from me and repeated delays in my deliveries from you, here's why you have not even come close to succeeding in retaining my business as of yet:

1. You do not answer every email I send you, making me feel unimportant.

2. When you do answer an email you do not answer it completely, making me feel as if you do not actually read the email I took the time to write, but only skimmed it, filed it under "late order" and sent me a general response.

3. Because you did not read the entire email or research my order history, you continue to respond to my repeated emails as if I have had ONE late order when, in fact, my orders have been late numerous times in a row. Therefore, your excuse regarding the lateness of that current order is insufficient to explain the pattern of late orders I am experiencing.

4. Your last email was written with grammatical errors and in improper english, making me feel as if you have outsourced your customer support to the lowest bidder, perhaps outside of the US, and staffed your support team with those unqualified to do the job. (See below)

5. You have failed to escalate my email contacts to a manager when clearly a valuable customer is about to be lost and a manager might be able to handle the situation better or, as suggested above, research the ongoing nature of my issues and placate me appropriately with a more detailed, expressive and concerned email response.

In short, your customer support seems to suck, which truly surprises me. You are a huge company and mommy customers are your business. Mommies with 4 children, such as myself, have to be a great part of your business as we have no time to shop or visit multiple stores to get what we want and ordering from you is the best deal for us. I am truly disappointed in my contact with you as of late and can't help but wonder what is going on in your company that should lead me to have such a bad experience after 2 long great years doing business with you.

I look forward to hearing from someone above the position of customer care representative. Any managers listening?

Mira

On Jun 15, 2010, at 9:44 PM, Diapers.com Customer Care wrote:

Dear Ms. Mira xxxx,

I am in receipt of your email regarding your recent order being late and you wanting an answer as to why. I am very deeply sorry to hear that you have been seeking an explanation that you have not been provided and also a little embarrassed. The reason for the shipping delays we have recently faced is due to an issue we encountered with one of our shippers.

As the weekend approached, we approached an issue where one of our shippers never came to pick up our orders that were set to arrive for the weekend. As a result, large amount of our orders were forced in being delayed. Unfortunately, we have been unable to know exactly what orders were delayed until it came to our attention. I am very sorry for the inconvenience this has caused you, and for the lack of response you were provided.

As an apology for the neglect you were provided and the inconvenience of the order arriving late, I have placed a credit onto your Diapers.com account in the amount of $131.27. This would make your next order on us! I hope you accept my apology on behalf of Diapers.com. You are one of our most valued customers, and we wish to keep the relationship between you and us going strong. I hope you have a pleasant night!

Sincerely,

Thomas
Customer Care Representative
Diapers.com

Slacker Sunday photo

2010-06-13T19:22:00.000-07:00

I'd be scared if I were that kid in the middle

New hopefully diaper removal foiling jammies!

slacker Sunday photo

2010-06-06T07:00:00.000-07:00

A little book time before bed (J)

an addition

2010-06-04T22:19:00.000-07:00

Fine, you need a picture of him smiling to compare? Here ya go...but he's a bit younger (its from several weeks ago)

Now, who do I look like?

Mix and match

2010-06-04T10:05:00.000-07:00

Who do I resemble?

Here are my brothers and sister at the same age (adjusted for prematurity):

I think we might have a different kid! And the fatness may obscure some of the similarities, no?

The reign of terror ends

2010-06-03T16:11:00.000-07:00

The boy did it, he finally did it.

Rejected the boob one too many times.

I am SO not sitting on a pump 5 times a day in addition to feeding him 87 times and taking care of triplets and not getting enough sleep at night because he boycotts the boobs during the day and has to therefore eat all his calories at night out of a bottle.

What a little pain in the butt. It's a good thing he's cute as hell.

So now I'm walking around smelling like cooked cabbage, and you know that ain't good, because I have the old fashioned boob remedy of frozen cabbage leaves in the bra going on. I think it is helping but mostly? It's making me hate myself. I stink. And frozen cabbage leaves on tender little boobies? Not good.

I'm a little sad, but you know I didn't like this stuff anyways. And clearly he didn't much either. So in order to be better friends in this mother/son relationship, I think it's for the best to call it a day. My triplets did fine on formula. And just look what I get to do now?

Sleep

Drink coffee when I'm not allowed to sleep!

read a book instead of pumping

go to bed at a reasonable hour instead of pumping!

Let other people feed the baby!

Get his butt on a schedule!

get his butt to sleep through the night so I won't need aforementioned coffee to survive!

Get a pretty bra to roll my presumably flat, flappy boobs into in the near future!

Stop eating for 2

Eat whatever I want without worrying about the consequences to the drinker of my milk

Wear a bra without a pad for leaks

Be away from home for more than 4 hours without breastfeeding or pumping!

Wake up in the morning not all sore and full and desperately in need of a pump before anything else

Wake up in the morning and clean my face or take a shower instead of pumping

Go to bed on time instead of waiting for the pumping hour to arrive

Oh my goodness. It's like utopia. I just shudder to think what the girls are gonna look like though. Shudder. Oh the abuse. Oh the stretch marks and loss of volume. I have to say that I am a highly likely candidate for plastic surgery in the next 10 years. I am that vain. I just have to lose the 50 extra pounds I blame on my children before I can even think of such a thing.

50 lbs? Gah!

Another day.

A song

2010-05-26T22:32:00.001-07:00

Do......

Your......

Boobs hang low?
Do they wobble to and fro?
Can you tie 'em in a knot?
Can you tie 'em in a bow?
Can you throw them over your shoulder like a continental soldier?
Do your boobs

Hang

Low?

Sigh.

slacker Sunday photo

2010-05-22T18:01:00.000-07:00

Biker dude B

Deeeelicious thunder thighs

Yesterday

2010-05-11T16:17:00.000-07:00

A day in the life...

3am: feed baby, soothe one triplet, back to bed
5:30 am bring baby to bed and feed, try to sleep again
6:40 baby is up for the day (why?)
8:00 baby snoozes for 30 min, mommy gets dressed, pumps boobs
9:10 feed baby, change baby, dress for day, see off triplets with nanny for morning activities
10:00 baby down for nap, start load of laundry, tidy kitchen, eat breakfast
11:00 feed baby head out for grocery shopping
12:00 return home with groceries, baby sleeping in car seat
12:30 triplets return from museum, break into baby room and awaken him
12:45 triplets down for nap, begin process of settling them down
1:00 triplets gone haywire, jumping, throwing, screaming
1:15 standing in doorway of triplet room monitoring chaos, attempting to keep them laying down
1:25 feed baby
1:45 baby goes down for nap
2:00 angrily throw B into separate room for naptime
2:05 attempt at mommy nap thwarted by loud noises emanating from upstairs apartment.
3:00 all children awakened by painter upstairs in recently vacated apartment dropping what sounds like a refrigerator on the floor.
3:00:01 mommy storms upstairs, pounds on the door and confronts said painter, who naturally doesn't understand english and attempts to apologize while saying he can't do any different as he "has to move the stuff." Mommy storms back downstairs.
3:01-3:20 attempt to calm A down from hysterical awakening, baby thankfully goes back to sleep easily
3:05 mommy grudgingly allows B to leave nap room despite the fact that he slept NOT. AT. ALL.
3:20 mom arrives from SF, asks "where's R? What time did he go to sleep?" as if none of the other three children who said hello to her were important.
3:20 - 4:30 playing interspersed with breaking up fights, keeping children out of baby's room, wrestling with unwilling diaper changees, snack distribution and clean up after stepped on and thrown goldfish litter the room
4:30 start oven to cook dinner
5:00 see off mom, apologize that R did not in fact wake up in time for her to see him
5:05 R wakes up and eats, grandma (MIL) feeds triplets dinner
5:40 baths for triplets, entertainment time for R
6:15 early bedtime for triplets due to lack of nap
6:30 feed R
6:45 R to bed
6:46 placate hysterical B because he can't get sheet off mattress during regular post bedtime destruction hour
6:50 re-pacify R and resettle
6:52 placate hysterical A because B has bear she threw out of crib
6:54 placate hysterical A because B has blanket she threw out of crib
7:00 re-rock R to sleep
7:05 re-tuck in all three triplets
7:15 re-rock R to sleep
7:34 quiet triplets down again
7:45 re-rock R to sleep
8:00 settle down in front of tv to pump and eat scraps from the refrigerator
8:30 realize I might actually be done for the day and relax in front of tv
11:02 re-pacify and roll R over
11:15 mommy passes out

slacker Sunday photo

2010-05-09T19:19:00.000-07:00

My little choo choo engineer

Slacker Sunday photo

2010-05-02T22:23:00.000-07:00

"Yes I get to pick out my own pjs...why do you ask?"

Slacker Sunday photo

2010-04-25T21:48:00.000-07:00

My three boys!

The shirt says it all!

Slacker Sunday photo

2010-04-18T07:00:00.000-07:00

We likes our bootses!

Breastfeeding is awesome

2010-04-11T20:43:00.000-07:00

Breastfeeding is awesome, by which I mean it sucks.

It is awesome to have a poor, innocent, 7 week old infant pull off your boob due to imminent threat of drowning only to have milk shoot across the room at approximate 190 mph, bouncing off walls and impaling cats along the way. Meanwhile you're frantically trying to pat the back of the choking infant, reach for a boob milk container, any container dammit, and save some of the boob milk, by which I mean liquid gold. Because you know you can't let any of that stuff get away, you've worked too hard at creating it. In a panic you even ask your poor husband to hold said container to your boob while you try to comfort the now screaming infant who is currently furious that he is hungry and gasping for air at the same time. Oh, and wet because you sprayed him with milk from the part of your boob that pointed leftwards.

And because he now has nightmares about drinking from your boob but he has no choice but to be stuck in front of the damned thing 8-10 times a day and forced to try he now shrieks bloody murder every time you even lay him down on his side facing the target object.

This is fan TAS tic for milk production. Because, you know, stress doesn't inhibit let down at all.

Breastfeeding is AWESOME.

Slacker Sunday photo

2010-04-11T16:32:00.000-07:00

They look suspicious don't they?

The why me complex

2010-03-27T14:05:00.000-07:00

Does anyone else have the feeling that the universe is constantly trying to kick them in the teeth? Or is that just me?

My friend Ellen assures me that God has many more important things to do than spend a day trying to make me miserable, and yet when I'm having one of those days where everything is going wrong, where does my mind go? To the pity party that is 'God hates me.' (Sorry all my religious friends, I'm sure this column is not for you)

Logically I know it's not true. The universe and God do not spend their days watching over my particular puny life and tripping me. But when you have a day where the baby woke at 6 and never went to sleep again, the triplets are tantruming, the car battery is dead, the bills are overdue and the oven wont turn on, why, oh why do I have to trip as I'm coming downstairs? It's just another kick in the teeth and it's the one that makes me bawl like a baby. Truly I deserve a break. I am overwhelmed, overtired and over it.

What about the theory that you reap what you sow and so, in theory, if my life is full of crap I must be putting crap out there? Well my blog posts would probably make it seem like all I do is complain so perhaps it is my fault that everything is going wrong still. Am I supposed to put a smile on and help an old lady across the street in order to not be tripped up constantly by life's pitfalls?

I mean honestly? If there was something I could do to get this baby to sleep during the day and not to scream bloody murder when I'm putting him on the boob to eat? I'd do it 100 times over even if it meant stripping and running down the street yelling "George Bush rocks!" Please God, tell me what I can do to get out of this hole. I am a nice person. I don't need another bruise, another night of no sleep, another crying jag, another plate of brownies to survive. I just need a way out.

So, is it me? Or is it possible that one's life can just be utter crap for a week straight and it's not about the universe trying to screw me? How do you make it through the tough times? I'd love mantras, affirmations and sheer positivity if you think it'll help!

Nobody knows....

2010-03-25T14:21:00.000-07:00

A lady turned to me in the deli today, while my infant was fussing in his stroller, and said "Oh how I miss those days!" Much to what I imagine was her dismay I said in response "you can have them." Then I realized how I sounded and amended it with "today," so she could understand it was a particularly bad day, not that I never wanted the kid at any time. But how could she forget so easily that 'these days' are regularly horrific? I mean, I admittedly have forgotten exactly why I was miserable when the triplets were infants, probably something having to do with lack of sleep and constant eating, pooping and crying, but I didn't forget that I was miserable. I know I used to overcome the sheer magnitude of the job of packing them all into their car seats, popping them into the triple decker stroller and going for a walk when they wouldn't sleep just so I could have some quiet time in my head, but I also remember thinking how unfair it was that they then got to sleep and I had to walk. I mean how does that really help my sleep deprived state?

So, to take a trip down memory lane, I went back to some posts I made to my triplet friends way back when to see if I was just as miserable as I feel today after a practically sleepless night unaided by a sleepless morning and a nap interrupted by the stupid Fedex guy (timing anyone?) Let's see what I find, oh wait, this sounds familiar:

I'm having a bad day. My babies got their vaccines on tuesday and it's been hell ever since. I have crabby babies who want to eat at random times and cry at the drop of a hat. I mean raelly, the slightest noise. And if one cries the rest follow. I just had a good cry.

Wow, let's try another one, shall we?

Well I've already cried and it's only 7am. The night nanny said it was the worst night ever with them since she started, we've been giving them Mylicon every other feeding and they had horrible gas all night apparently. Don't know what to do next, switch foods or jump off a cliff? So then it's my turn and while they're all peacefully sleeping when she walks out the door, that doesn't last but 30 seconds. DD needs to eat, fine I can handle that, then DS number one starts fussing, then DS number 2 and it all goes to heck because I can't take the time to make anyone completely happy. So they're all crying and fussing and writhing and alternately eating and burping and sitting quietly and at some point I lost my mind and just cried...sigh.

I need a new job.

Ok, well it's clear that I was just as miserable back then. And now I don't get the same sympathy as I had when there were three. I mean, anyone can handle one infant, can't they? I'd just like to see them do it for 5 weeks 24/7 without crying hysterically at some point. I mean no person is any fun 24/7 for 5 weeks straight, especially when you have to do everything for them. I guess I won't be a nurse for the comatose anytime soon.

You know what's really funny? When I miss the attention I used to get for walking a triplet stroller down the street because everyone passing me has their own stupid baby and mine is nothing unique. At least I used to get sympathy from random strangers. Now they all coo at the baby when I'm at the deli but no one knows I have 3 more at home. No one knows I am not glowing with first baby happiness...

Nobody knows...the trouble I've seen. (imagine deep gospel baritone singing old slave spiritual. I sang this song in high school and I know it shocks you all that I'd remember such a sad and self pitying song but I did.)

Ok, bloggy pity party is coming to an end. I'm going back to read more of my old posts from when the triplets were making me cry helplessly on a daily basis. It's truly interesting. I don't suppose I've grown one stinking iota since then. Sigh.

Margaritas

2010-03-15T14:27:00.000-07:00

Have I told you yet that my pediatrician said I could have a drink and not 'pump and dump' yet? Someone explain to me why there is not already a margarita in my hand?

For those of you who don't know what that means there's this idea out there that you have to have your drink and then pump your milk out and dump it so the kid doesn't get any alcohol through the breastmilk right? Now, anyone who has ever had to attach their particularly personal appendages to a machine several times a day for the express (ha ha) purpose of being expressed will understand how completely abhorrent it is to throw any of it away. It's like throwing away money or blood or something. I worked hard to produce that stuff, it is so not being thrown away.

And so, pump and dump was unacceptable. More painful than NOT having a margarita.

But now I get to drink again! Not that I was a big drinker originally, but there's nothing I craved more during pregnancy than a nice cold margarita. Good god, do I still not have one in my hand? What the hell is wrong with this scenario?

This is truly exciting. I'm just going to see how long it takes for my husband to see the benefits of getting a margarita into my hands as soon as possible.

Panic

2010-03-12T21:52:00.000-08:00

Oh the panic. The panic I feel when I've just fed, changed and burped the infant and instead of being sleepy eyed and relaxed the infant is all "where's the party?" It's intense. You'd think I was watching every piece of chocolate on the planet being destroyed forever, the panic is so bad. Especially at 4 am. After only one night with only 3 hours of sleep almost ended my marriage I realized I have a problem.

An Achilles' heel you might say.

It's lack of sleep. Lack of sleep makes me cry. Like an infant, all curled up in fetal position and snot running out of my nose and blubbering. You might think that I would have crumbled with the triplets and all, because they could triple team me at night, but no. See, back then my dad bankrolled some night nannies for me. Oh yeah baby. I had 7 nights a week of actual sleep while wonderful, beautiful, delightful, insomniac Irish ladies cared for the triplets instead of me.

Ahhhhhhh. That was nice.

This time I am personally bankrolling night coverage three nights a week for this month out of what were the proceeds from the sale of my house 5 years ago. My 'rainy day fund' you might say. No more rainy days than one where I haven't slept is all I'm saying, but it sucks to use the money up. And there are still 4 days left in the week, or rather nights, that are all up to me. Because I'm the boob lady.

Kinda hard to make the husband do the feeding until he starts lactating. And while I'd love to see that, I don't need him to be hormonal too. That might send me over the edge.

But I need to work on this one. Because at the end of the day where I had only had 3 hours of sleep do you know what happened? I survived. Shocking really. I can do it. The world doesn't come to an end. Now, admittedly, my kids suffered a bit. I was crabby, short tempered, impatient, and COMPLETELY intolerant of tantrums. Com. plete. ly. But I didn't beat anyone.

No, really, I didn't. I was homicidal but I restrained myself. Because the only thing worse than lack of sleep? Fully body strip searches with orifices included. You know, like in jail.

Yeah, I coulda used a margarita, but I survived on total exhaustion. And the next night I slept like the dead during the 2-3 hour intervals I was given. I hope no one cried, because I didn't hear it. So, the reality is I have to get over this panic. The world will be ok if I don't sleep. The kid will eventually become more predictable in his sleep patterns, and I will get my 4 to 6 hours of sleep a night like I was getting before he was born. And then, when they're all teenagers? I might even get 7 or 8 hours a night. That will be freakin' awesome. I might even try cleaning my own house.

Anyways, I need therapy on this one. It is hardwired. I LOVE sleep. Love it. I miss it. I miss it like I miss the days I could work in the mall and eat a Cinnabon every day for lunch and still be a size 10 (brilliantly skinny for me so shut up.) I just need to hold tight and realize I will get it back eventually and no one ever died due to lack of sleep caused by infants. I think. And I won't either. Right?

Pernicious pitfalls post pregnancy

2010-03-09T20:25:00.000-08:00

So, apparently, according to the breast feeding book I just read, I'm supposed to feel inadequate. It's the nature of the job. Because the kid is always growing and demanding more milk and the boobs have to catch up every few weeks, after a day or two of cranky, demanding, pain in the butt baby behavior, then one really is inadequate, food-wise, on a regular basis and there is nothing you can do until the boobs do their catching up.

That's just great.

Because I never felt inadequate before. Oh no. I haven't spent my whole frickin' life feeling inadequate in some way or another. Who doesn't? Jerks I suppose. Egotistical jerks. Perhaps it's all an act though, because how can you feel adequate in every stinking department?

Eh, well what are ya gonna do? I'm the one who chose to have a fourth kid. Now that doesn't mean I don't get to complain about it. It goes with my belief that I get to feel sorry for myself whenever I want to, no matter if the responsibility for the suckage in my life is mine. I don't see how it matters who's at fault, I can still have a pity party.

But mostly I'm just scared.

The logistics of handling three toddlers and a newborn infant befuddles me. You can't plan with a newborn. They eat whenever they feel like, and if you feed them at 5, thinking then at 6 you could be free to bathe and put your triplets to bed they will wake up at 5:58, fart loudly and say "not so fast Red, get back here and feed me again."Oh yes, they will ruin any and all plans you have. Should you feed them in the morning and head out to get a 'mommy deserves it mani-pedi' thinking you have an hour or two of sleeping infant to count on, he will wake up the minute your hands are soaking in rose petal water, burp, barf, and say "you think you get mommy time? I no think so."

(It's funny, his voice has a lovely hispanic accent and nasal tone in my head, so that sounded more like "Ay noo theeeenk sooo" as I typed it. I'm guessing that with non-hispanic parents he is unlikely to come out with an accent once he starts speaking though.)

And the other thing I wonder about is when to start looking for post partum depression. I mean the hormones are running rampant. I don't even know what I, the real me, think anymore. Is it the hormones throwing chairs at my husband or is it really me who's pissed off? Do I really hate breastfeeding with a passion that could light infernos in a cold hell? Or do I just need to wait for the hormones to wear off? And so, when do I need meds for this crazy in my head? Certainly before I kill one of the kids. But if today the screaming of the infant was particularly pernicious, is it starting or will tomorrow be better?

I have no idea how I'm going to handle the next few months. The triplets will not be bathed and will have to climb into their own cribs at night, the infant will be fed, albeit angrily and resentfully by the boob lady, the husband will be neglected until he all but walks out, and the cats will be lucky if their litter boxes ever get emptied, but I suppose I'll make it out the other side. I mean how much worse can a fourth be than three at once?

(Um, the answer, apparently, is impossible btw.)

The fight I can't win

2010-03-04T12:15:00.000-08:00

I am so not an infant lover. I hate this part as much as I did last time and I thought it might be different with one. If anything it sucks more because it's even clearer how poor a job I'm doing satisfying him. This guessing game? I suck at it. Is he hungry? Gassy? Uncomfortable? Sick? Binky? In the mood to play? Overtired? What? How the heck do you know? It's all the same: he cries! Not a lot, mind you, because I seem to have pooped out a pretty quiet kid so far, but what do the cries mean? When he just ate an hour ago, why is he not asleep? When he just slept for 10 min, why did he wake up?

I have made it my business to anticipate everyone's needs in the general area all my life. I am good at it. I read people, facilitate their lives, smooth their ways, comfort and guide them successfully. But infants? Not so much. No telling if I am hitting it unless he passes out suddenly. And that is rare. I hate this. I hate it hate it hate it.

And I want to enjoy this. I know so many people who love the infant stage. They're all snuggly and huggable and whatever. People? I just want him to talk to me and tell me what the hell I am supposed to be doing right now. Why it's been 5 hours without a consecutive hour long nap. What he needs right this instant so I can finish my blog. I want some communication here. Is that so much to ask?

I would love to just let it go and ride it out. And maybe if I only had him I could. But there are two problems: I know how long this stage lasts from the last time and I can't rest in between 5 hour rounds with him because I have 3 other children to care for.

This makes me panicky. I know I should take it one day at a time. I know I should abandon all hope for a rest for a few weeks. But I can't do either. I fight it and fight it and fight it.

I should stop fighting. But I don't know how.

Any tricks?

The Birth Story

2010-02-27T18:56:00.000-08:00

At 4 am Tuesday morning I awoke to the sound of my daughter crying. She had been having a bad night already, crying multiple times at the beginning of the night for seemingly no reason. I now look back on that as her having some psychic clue as to what was about to happen to her mother. Too bad I didn't get the clue! This time, though, she was crying because her diaper had overflowed onto her pajamas. As I lifted her onto the changing table I felt a warm gush, like getting my period, but not much more than that. It occurred to me that perhaps when I lifted her again into her crib the entire bag of water might explode onto the floor of the nursery, but I took that risk and thankfully nothing happened. I put her back to bed, comforted her and headed to the bathroom to check out what happened.

After verifying that my mucous plug had come out AND my water had broken I called a nurse. I left the husband asleep in bed because I figured I had a couple of hours before we really had to head out. Wrong. The problem with me is I was a VBAC (vaginal birth after ceserean) and I was positive for group B strep (which requires more explanation than you need here but is common. It just means you need antibiotics in your system before you pop out the package.) These two things meant I had to get my arse to the hospital immediately if my water was truly broken. The baby could not start coming out without monitoring.

So I woke the husband and called the emergency babysitter. I felt horrible waking her for a possible labor when I wasn't 100% sure but I had no choice. By 5 am we were at the maternity check in. Frustratingly enough I couldn't prove my bag of waters had broken. They have these test strips that should turn blue when the fluid is amniotic and mine refused. Even when they called in a dr and took a sample from way up inside me it didn't turn blue. Bad nurse lady says "well you know there's a lot of pressure on your bladder from all the weight so maybe it was just that." Um, nurse lady? I know when a fluid has exited my vajayjay versus my pee pee. Come on! I did not like that nurse lady. I know a bunch of women think their water has broken when it hasn't but don't act like I'm too stupid to know the difference between urine and vaginal fluid people. Honestly.

I was presented with the choice to go home or walk around upstairs in the labor ward for an hour. I chose the latter. I was so frustrated that somehow I had to prove myself valid. It didn't help that my contractions were randomly regular. In other words, they were there regularly but at random intervals. That does not mean real labor to these people. Not at all. Thankfully, at the end of my hour walk, my doctor showed up to check out the scene. Apparently, his exam was quite positive. The difference in my cervix opening was nada, but the feeling of the cervix was totally different. He was convinced, I was in labor, water broken or not. I was in.

I walked upstairs to the last room available on the ward and sat in what was to be my labor bed. The minute I sat down, I mean the minute I sat down, 8 oceans gushed from my uterus. I mean really? You couldn't have done that in front of the doubting nurses body? Well, at least I was finally sure. And so began the process. The contractions started hitting harder and were only a few minutes apart but they were all in my back. The husband was fantastic at talking me through the contractions, keeping eye contact, reassuring me and letting me lean against him when I needed to. But the truth was I was in trouble. I was only at 3 centimeters dilated and the pain was out of control. We tried the rocking chair, the toilet, and finally on all fours in the bed. Each position gave me one contraction I could stand and then dissolved into hell. The pain was all in my back, it felt like the baby was coming out my rear end for goodness' sake people. This was just not right.

All I can say is that after about 3 hours of that crap, I was done. The husband did his best to hold me to my wishes, he knew I wanted no epidural and reminded me of that again and again. I tried my best but it was just not going to happen. In retrospect, I think it was just not meant to be. This kid fought tooth and nail not to come out of me as it was so doing it all 'natural' was not likely to be. I totally forgive myself for this one because the pain was unbelievable. Those of you who did it without help, I salute you.

The epidural sucked. It sucked differently than the last one but it sucked all the same. Nothing about sticking needles in one's back is fun so let's leave it at that. Plus, it only took on the left side, so I had to lay on my right side for the contractions to be numbed on that side too. Hilarious, no? When I lay on my left side the juice slowly drained out of my right leg and hip and the contractions came back after about an hour in that position. And so began the long wait on my right side. Meanwhile, my MIL had shown up with a bag full of bagels for me to eat. Immediately I was informed by my nurse that I was not to eat a bite. Already starving I started arguing. I had read that this practice of starving people due to the possibility of surgery was archaic and unnecessary. So I took a bite of bagel. Oh holy heck people, the nurse freaked out. She called my dr and called the anesthesiologist back in to lecture me about not eating. I felt like a child all of a sudden and I had no way out. I didn't want another 24 hour starvation birth scenario like last time. I was going to be damned if I was going to starve when I didn't have to. Sadly, this made things awkward with my nurse, so when she was called away to do a surgery and replaced by a seemingly warmer, funnier one, it was a good thing.

At about lunch time I was still at 5 cm. But my friend Ellen, who was going to be there for the delivery, was too eager to wait and got herself allowed out of work early. She showed up at 3 and brought a new energy to the room along with the new nurse. We started joking and chatting and everyone had their iphone out texting and facebook posting like some crazy internet generation scene out of a movie. But it was great. We were excited and impatient for things to progress. It was weird to have so much waiting. The husband felt odd that we had those three hours of work work work at the beginning and then suddenly sit and wait. And it was so passive. There was nothing I could be doing to hurry the process along. Either the cervix was opening or it wasn't. And frankly, it wasn't.

At 7ish I was still between 5 and 6 cm dilated, but most frustratingly, the boy wouldn't move. In other words, as your cervix opens the kid is supposed to be making downward progress. Kind of obvious that he is supposed to meet me halfway instead of staying stubbornly lodged way up inside me. His head is supposed to be helping make the cervix open, so it stands to reason that if he's staying up high and my cervix is staying at approximately the same opening, we are making no progress. By 9 pm the doctor had to say something. He knew how much I wanted a VBAC but all signs were pointing to failure. We could sit all day and wait but since my bag of water had broken I was at risk for infections and other complications, so it was time to decide. He very kindly said that we would get me all prepared for the surgery but he would check again at the last minute and see if anything had changed.

Apparently a little threat was all it took.

By the time I was shaved, totally numbed with a huge dose of juice making my lower half totally unresponsive, and had signed all the forms, the world had changed. I was 7 cm dilated. Then I was 8 then 9 and by 11:30 I was ready at full 10 cm dilation. Funny thing re-wrapping my brain around a VBAC after only an hour of thinking a cesarean was a given. I was scared again. I had given up and thought of all the reasons it would be better with surgery and now I was back facing the bowling ball coming out of the vajayjay again. It was pretty funny. But I prepared myself again, we all got into position and once the doctor informed me that there was a race now as 4 women were all ready to push at the same time for him I was off and running. I'd be damned if I was going to lose that race.

No, I really didn't think about the race, but I'm happy to announce that I won.

I apparently push like a pro. And considering Mr. Stubborn did not move an inch down the canal on his own, I had a lot of work to do. Not to mention that he was huge. But I grabbed on and pushed like hell and rested in between and felt their surprise at the speed at which I was making progress. I felt far away mentally but kept an ear open, hearing the nurse and the resident making comments about how well I was doing. I knew it wasn't near over until the doctor was near but I could tell they were touching the top of the kid's head already pretty quickly. At one point the dr came in and said he had another woman neck and neck with me but she was on no meds and so I might have to stop pushing for a minute. I thought to myself 'hell no' and pushed harder. He came back in and said 'Let me see what you can do.' I pushed, he said "you win!" and gowned up. It was time.

He moved in and started helping the head come out while I pushed and I thank goodness for all the books I read before I gave birth because I knew exactly what he was doing down there and it gave me a great idea of how far along I was. I could tell when the head was moving out, I could tell when he was pushing the shoulder down to get the other shoulder out. It was fantastic. I couldn't believe how fast it was all over. I only pushed for an hour and 20 min! I would have told you it took 30 minutes tops, that's how fast it felt. The fun atmosphere never left, jokes and sarcastic asides continued between contractions and that, my friends, is how it was meant to be for me. I wouldn't have had it any other way.

You know, it really makes sense in retrospect. I had this dream, based on reading a lot of midwife books, of some earthy, hippy, mellow and deep experience of birthing. But you know, that would not have been me. I am a funny, sarcastic, laid back, use humor to deal with hard things kind of person. And that's how I dealt with this too. I had my husband and my best friend there, both of whom have their own sense of humor that mesh with mine. The doctor was also picked and fit well because of his own great sense of humor. We were the fun room on the ward that day. The resident told us he had his choice of which birth to attend and he chose ours because we clearly seemed like we might be entertaining.

Pain and discomfort aside? I will remember this day as fun. It was scary at times, sure. When they pulled him out of me and set him on my stomach he just flopped there like a doll. They realized pretty quickly that he needed a bit of help and the magic button was pressed somewhere in the room. Suddenly 87 nurses swarmed the place and my kid was being rubbed and smacked and encouraged to yell by all of them. No one was talking to me telling me what had happened, what was happening or that it was all going to be ok. I was in a state of shock that it was all over that fast. The kid was apparently 'stunned' and just wouldn't yell. I have found out in later days that he is just not a yeller. But they tortured him until he yelled enough, and slowly the nurses filed out one by one until a normal amount remained. I was given back my kid and he was fine.

I was done. I had done it. The magic IT. I gave birth the way I wanted to (mostly) and it was great. And that's my story. Since then I have struggled and had good days, cried happy and frustrated and overwhelmed tears, and felt like I have it together only to be knocked down the next day, but that's motherhood for you. I'm happy to report that the kid is still alive and well. And I am sure done making babies.

Oh yeah I did it

2010-02-17T16:31:00.000-08:00

The entity to be known as R

Oh yeah I did it, I did it, I really really did it. (imagine some rhythm behind that) I pushed a 9 lb 2 oz reluctant baby into the world through my vajayjay all by myself (kinda) but with an epidural on board due to unbelievable pain and the aforementioned reluctant child.

Yep. It's nuts. I feel like a first time mom all over again because I've never done this taking care of an infant 24/7 thing off the bat before. The triplets went to a NICU for a month. I feel like my life has taken an unimaginable turn and made a huge change and I have not even begun to comprehend it. I'm terrified and excited. I'm amazed and proud of myself.

Birthing story will follow when I have time and energy, but lets say that NOTHING goes as planned when having a baby. NOTHING. It's nuts.

Off to sleep or eat or something. Delirium.

A birthday picture

2010-02-15T11:55:00.000-08:00

Fine, a birthday picture for you all. Just so you don't think that I never remember to take pictures of my children amidst my ever increasing misery and self centeredness due to an overdue infant. Of course I didn't take this picture either. So, perhaps I never do. Thanks nanny for taking some birthday pics! More to come from our Sunday birthday party at grandma's! To which I forgot to bring my camera so grandma has them all. So, once again I forgot.

Sue me. Or just cut this thing outta me.

Two years ago today

2010-02-12T08:44:00.000-08:00

Two years ago today I was sitting in a hospital bed after a traumatic night that finished my resolve to hold those triplets inside me until 36 weeks. I met with the doctor and told him my last ounce of strength was gone and if he wanted them out I was ready.

Two years ago today I took pictures of my gigantic belly, not even realizing how gigantic it was, but documenting for all time the strains and stresses my body went through to make those gigantic triplets of mine.

Two years ago today I had no idea what kind of adventure I was embarking upon but I thought I could still be a stay at home mom without a nanny. I thought I could handle it by myself since I would have no job other than mom to handle.

Two years ago today I knew I wanted to be a mom desperately, I knew I wanted a large family, and I knew I wanted to be 'only' a mom, the working world wasn't my game long term.

Two years ago today I went into surgery and came out a changed woman, having survived a terrifying cesarean and blood transfusions and complications unexpected. I didn't even get to see or meet those triplets of mine until the next day.

Two years ago today I saw a side of my husband I'd never seen before. The guy who can handle me being incapacitated and seemingly take control and reassure me and never act as scared as he felt. The guy who put it all aside to stand by me during a surgery wherein people cut me open and reached up inside me within his visual range, while surgical fluids coursed through a tube right in front of him, then 7 hours of a scary recovery, watching his wife struggle to come back to the strong, healthy, take charge woman that she usually is while desperately wanting to meet his own children who had been whisked away to the NICU in their premature state. I fell more in love with him that day.

Two years ago today I popped out the coolest, funniest, best looking set of triplets anyone has ever seen. Sure, they were pretty strange looking at first, being all old looking and hairy:

But they have sure turned into some good looking children with fantastic attitudes, interesting personalities and stubborn independence that bodes well for success in this crazy world. Wouldn't be our children if they weren't pains in the butt.

Yeah, I know this isn't a birthday pic. Give me a day at least people.

Congratulations to the best triplets in the world on making it through 2 years with me in charge!

Ah insomnia...

2010-02-11T06:24:00.000-08:00

Ah insomnia, thy name is pregnancy. Whether it be 3 am or 5, or even 12, it still sucks as I have much to worry about these days and given one inch of leash my brain will go on a tear around the whole neighborhood peeing and digging up gardens wherever it may roam.

Sigh.

It hit me during date night that I have not even considered what it's going to be like caring for an infant and three toddlers on days when I have 'no' help. I suppose I rarely have none, I'm going to have to really get over my asking for help issues with my husband and wake his butt up to help me when I need it. And I am going to need it. But how does one breast feed one kid, prepare breakfast for three others and get them all dressed and out of the house? Seems a little overwhelming right now. Not something I should be thinking of at 5 am. There is no solution until I'm in it making it happen.

Then I start thinking of all the areas in my house that need cleaning up, reorganizing and so on, so we can have a nice place but also because we are going to start the 'finding a new house and selling the old one' process pretty much immediately after I get home from the hospital. We can not afford this house any more, we have delayed long enough, and it's time to get outta town. So I have to get paint touched up, all surfaces emptied, all clutter donated or stored and then find time to look at houses elsewhere. That sounds doable while incapacitatedly pregnant right?

Taxes. Ugh.

Taking the kids to the dentist. This I have been talking about for a year. I know I'm delinquent. I suck at caring for my own teeth. I need to do better for them. I am not feeling like it's going to go well, but what's new. And they could surprise me.

Breastfeeding and all that goes with it is another minefield. Let's not even go there.

Is my cat Piglet sick or just old? How many times am I going to take her into the vet thinking something is wrong only to have no findings supporting it? I have never had a cat make it to 13 before. They all got cancer or something terrible much earlier on. Witnessing the aging combined with the guilt of them having to adjust to triplets is wearing on my usually great animal wellness radar. I have lost faith in my ability to tell if she's healthy or not.

Is that a contraction? No, wait, is THAT one? No. Dammit.

I'm hungry. Do I have the energy to get out of bed and do something about it? No.

What have I done by deciding to have a large family? I obviously can't turn back now. Am I going to really be able to do this? Will I ever have the energy to feel like I can keep up with the kids and keep them happy and entertained and healthy and not be dragging myself around like I have for the past year or two? Have I really just been sick and overwhelmed or is this who I am? Oh, to have a weekend on my own without kids and see if I really miss it. I mean, was I happier single, reading my paper with my cats and watching TV alone? Sure seems delightful now. I'm sure I must have been bored. And these amazing personalities I have created could not be returned but still, lord it's hard to consider the next 17 years.

Am I capable of ever living in the present and just dealing with today? Not looking back at what used to be or forwards at what might be but really just sitting here with my current life and experiencing it? This is what I need to practice. My guess is the insomnia might just go away too.

Thanks for listening to my list of worries. Feel free to add your own!

Update

2010-02-09T10:05:00.000-08:00

Just in case you all thought my radio silence meant I was in the hospital giving birth, um, no.

I'm just pretty much cervically obsessed and no one wants to hear about that anymore. I mean obsessed. Any quiet moment I have I sit and imagine that sucker opening up it's great yaw and spitting this kid out. Every time I get nauseated, poop more than once or have some back pain I get excited. It's just that there is nothing else on my mind right now and I shall spare you the details beyond that.

Please keep your fingers crossed that I get the opportunity to at least try out laboring even if it ends in a c-section in the end. I have 2 weeks left to get going on my own. Burn me some incense, pray me some rosaries, I will take any and all spiritual and universal efforts on my behalf. I want this experience. I will be fine if I don't get it but I WANT it.

Updates as progress is made.

Fantasy Island

2010-02-03T12:07:00.000-08:00

On to more fantasies straight from the crazy pregnant lady's brain.

As I'm sitting here eating a bag of cookies while watching the Biggest Loser (because there is no other way to watch this show other than with a bag of some fat or sugar laden objects) I begin to entertain my post pregnancy body fantasies again. When I was pregnant with the triplets it was the same way. I couldn't wait to work out again. I was going to kick ass and take names at the gym. Take long walks with the triple stroller until all the fat disappeared and then I was going to get the 6 pack.

Yes, she thinks she might be able to get a 6 pack at almost 40 with a body that is apple shaped, meaning the only place I will NEVER lose all the weight is on my stomach.

Oh well. Then the reality of triplets. Sure I took a lot of walks at first. I found that the solution to any time they refused to sleep was to pack them all in the stroller and walk. That way I wasn't actively trying to make them sleep, didn't even have to look at them while they cried, and, even though I was also not sleeping, we all got a break from each other. So I lost all the pregnancy weight. It was nice.

But then I went insane. I had to hire help because otherwise? I'd be dead. Electric chair or self induced, whichever. So I outsourced the walking. She walked them every day, not me. I sat on my arse and tried to regain my sanity. For some reason this involved cookies.

By the time I got pregnant again I was back in boot camp. I was trying. I went to work out boot camp 3 or 4 mornings a week. I was going to get back in shape, but why was I so so so exhausted that I could barely drag myself there only to end up coming home and shoving more food in my face? Oh, that's right. I was pregnant and had no stinking idea. So much for that.

So here we are again, in the end stages of a pregnancy thinking "I can't wait to get back to boot camp." Riiiight. I might do it. There's only one infant this time. My sanity may take a lesser blow, but because I'm having to spend all of our money on help right now since I can't lift my kids I will very quickly have to give up many nanny hours to conserve what money we have left to buy a new house and move. That will leave me a lot less time to work out. Now, I will be running after triplets while carrying an infant, no doubt larger than the average as we seem to produce, strapped to my chest, but that does not make 6 pack abs. And time shortage pretty much guarantees bad eating habits. At least with me.

So why do I dream of the 6 pack still? Why not just dream of getting down to my average weight, which I haven't been in 3 years? Oh the fantasies. Will they never end? Just give me a few weeks at the Biggest Loser ranch people. Just a few. And fewer fried chicken ads on tv. That would help too. And a mother in law who didn't like baking cupcakes and cookies quite so much. yeah. And, maybe, just maybe, a different set of genes.

I'm ready!

2010-02-02T18:49:00.000-08:00

How many aches, pains and sudden cramps can one have in the last two weeks of pregnancy that mean absolutely nothing? Apparently a thousand. I have been alternating excited and disappointed with every strange happening in my belly. I have been pleased with pain and discomfort thinking it could only mean progress towards labor and that's just weird. To sit there and endure what probably is an intestinal cramp thinking "maybe my cervix is opening" is just pathetic.

I want to have this baby. I want to have him the 'natural way.' I want my chance. I have read every stinking book out there on childbirth, the history of, being a midwife, meditative practices while laboring, medieval torture of laboring women in the 1950s, and keeping an open mind about what happens at the hospital. I have seen nekkid pictures of women giving birth that have truly convinced me that boobies are like snowflakes and not one pair looks like anyone else's. I have seen more crowning heads and hippie chicks giving birth in communes across America because they are the ones who allowed themselves to be photographed at the moment of birth. The haircuts, especially on the men? Hilarious.

I am ready. If I get screwed out of my VBAC I will kill someone. If I don't even once get to say 'no, no, no epidural for me ma'am' I'm gonna be pissed. I'm so freaking ready!

What's agonizing is that there is no predictable pattern that gives you even a hint of how close you are. Doctor exams on your cervix may give you hope because the cervix is opening or something is changing down there, but truth is? That means nothing. The kid could drop first. Or not. Your water could break first, or not. The 80 other 'signs of labor' are meaningless in that one could happen and it still could be weeks away from the actual labor. Or you could still end up never going to labor in time and getting a c-section.

Meanwhile, I have become incapacitated. The cankles have finally arrived (that means no differentiation between calves and ankles due to swelling.) The least little thing gives me contractions. Useless ones. Lifting my children? Almost impossible. Lap left for children to sit upon? None. Number of children wanting to sit on it simultaneously? 3. Plus 3 cats. Not doable.

Ok, boring post. I'm done. Someone send me some labor vibes. Get this kid out of me and get me on to the next phase. I just am ready to begin recovery. I want to return to the land of the useful. I want to return to sleeping in whatever position I feel like. I'm done! I'm ready!

Mommy's not enough

2010-01-27T21:05:00.000-08:00

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?

2010-01-24T22:28:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-24T07:33:00.000-08:00

As usual a box is worth a thousand toys.

The man, the legend, J-dogg

2010-01-21T09:24:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-20T08:59:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-19T08:56:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-18T12:03:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-15T09:43:00.000-08:00

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.