Mommy's not enough

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Tao of caring

Careless:

1. not paying enough attention to what one does

2. not exact, accurate, or thorough

3. done or said heedlessly or negligently; unconsidered

4. not caring or troubling; having no care or concern; unconcerned

My husband and I had a 'discussion' last night about carelessness. We didn't agree what it meant and so I'm still thinking about it today. I refuse to be called careless. Sure, I'm a klutz, distractible, a multi-tasker who sometimes needs to slow down, but not careless. Because my definition is #4 up there and some of #3. I think it's a pretty negative thing to not care. It sounds like I'd be running through life kicking over vases and smashing my car into the car in the parking space in front of me who took up 1 and 1/2 spots with his tiny Yugo while I try to fit into what remains of my parking space.

That's so not me. I spend endless hours of the day caring 'too much.' I agonize over peoples opinions, try to anticipate their needs, smooth the wrinkles out, clear the pathways and hope that no one ever has to ask me to do something for them that I haven't already done. When someone is waiting for my parking space? I haul arse to get out of that spot, even if it means spilling coffee on myself in the rush to stick it in the holder. If I knock into someone while passing them in a store? You can bet I apologize, even if it's their fault. (And can I ask why people don't care to move out of MY way once in a freakin' while? I mean, I am not large in diameter by any means. My purse is of average size. Give me a few inches!)

But the endless bruises on my thighs, shoulders and sometimes head gives my klutziness away. I consider it an inherited trait as my mom couldn't ride a bike without wiping out at least once every time. And it was always when she borrowed my bike. Not that she'd tell me she'd fallen on my bike again, I'd just walk out the next day to ride it to school and the handle brake would be knocked over to the inside of the handlebar. Hmm. Wonder how that happened? Anyway, I consider the klutz also to be due to my multitasking mind. I'm usually off to do something rather quickly when I do run into the baby gate/doorknob/doorframe/nothing or trip over the steps/doorjamb/completely flat floor. Does multitasking make me careless? I don't think so.

My husband, on the other hand, has cultivated a personality characteristic that I think took him years. I'm not sure you are necessarily born 'careful.' I think he chose, early on in life, to carry himself so carefully through the world that he is not only highly unlikely to ever trip or run into anything, but he is also preternaturally quiet when moving through a 1914 house where every floorboard squeaks. I respect this talent. But I think it takes a lot of effort. By now it's second nature to him, but I imagine at the beginning he had to think all the time about where he put his feet, where his arms and hands were as he walked, how to navigate tight spaces and whether every hair on his head was in place or not. (Just kidding!) Just thinking about that exhausts me.

I won't do that and in a way I respect my life choice. I run through life talking a bit too loud, feeling free, laughing at my bruises, arms flying in whatever direction. It doesn't mean that when I break something or dent the minivan for the 715th time on the stupid narrow garage door opening I don't feel bad. I do feel bad. It sucks to have dents. If I break something truly important like an family heirloom I do agonize. But I can tell you that if it's a hole in the wall that can be repaired, a glass that can be replaced or heck, even a nice object that can't be replaced, I will not be beating myself up for days. Life is to be enjoyed. Houses are to be lived in. Things are to be used and sometimes broken. And apparently, minivans are mine to destroy. Life goes on. Does that sound careless?

Thunder dome

Oh yay, the kids have come up with a new and exciting way to drive me crazy at 6:30 am: they lay on their backs in their cribs and kick the gate side, which then rattles like thunder through the house. Imagine three at once. I should be proud that they are creative and inventive, no? I should be impressed by their imaginations, but you know? I think I'd rather sleep.

And, naturally, I can't do much to stop them because if they get attention from it, negative or positive, it will just be more fun. So, no yelling, threatening, begging, pleading or even tying them down to their beds will do. (The latter mostly because I'd get arrested.) So we get to 'live through it.' We get to ignore it and hope that even though there are three of them to cheer each other on and give them the reinforcement that they need to keep wanting to do it, they will get bored of it eventually.

Or the gates to the cribs will fall off and we will have insta-toddler beds. That would be great. Three kids running loose in their bedroom at all hours of the night. FAN-effing-TASTIC.

Wouldn't puppies have been easier?

Great green meanie

Why does mommy always have to be the 'tough guy?' The police officer, the law enforcement, the mean guy, the punishment provider? I mean, here I am, before even punishments can be doled out, feeling like the bad guy.

I'm talking about being firm and 'training' the kids not to play me. I'm talking about being the only one who can resist a temper tantrum thrower until they're done. Somehow, I end up feeling like the mean mommy seeing as how I won't let Grandma pick the screaming fit thrower up and Grandpa has already left the room.

Not to mention that I have the least patience in any situation where whining, fussing, sobbing, squealing or angry yelling is going on. Yes, I know, it's easier to be patient when you get to go home at the end of the day, but its only just beginning!

So it seems to carry on, this age old tradition of mom being the bad guy who metes out the punishment or the mean rules that don't allow you to pick up my wailing child. I guess it's really because we can read them so well. I know perfectly well the difference between a tantrum and real upset. I am perfectly comfortable sitting with them during the tantrum but there will be no comforting, patting, picking up, entertaining, or sweet talk. These kids gotta work it out themselves and they had better catch on quick that momma ain't buying that basket of goods. But why do I feel so mean?

Mom's a crab

You know, when I was a single, stupid, ignorant fool, I thought my friend was a little hard on her kids. She had three pre-teen to teen age girls (actually she had 5 but the other two were all grown up) and I hung out a lot with them. She would place them all in the back seat of a car and within 10 minutes there was whining, crying, or complaining about the abuse from the other occupants of said backseat by one of the three if not more. She would very rapidly move from talking normally to telling them in no uncertain terms that they could be left by the side of the road to walk home if they did not SHUT. UP. Well she never used the words shut up, but you know what I mean. Speak and die.

I always cringed a bit, I mean, I was one of those in the backseat once and it is HARD to get along for too long together with your sibling. Isn't it? I thought, I know they're annoying but shouldn't you have more patience? But I knew I thought she was a great mom and the kids honestly loved her to bits and her life is hard so I decided to drop my judgement and assume that she knew what she was doing. But I didn't forget feeling like maybe she needed to chill a bit.

Well. Hmm. Lets see here. Due to the lack of sleep acquired during 4, count 'em, 4 bouts of colds with triplets that has now even devolved to the point that two are on nebulizers to stop wheezing, which means I have not had a REM cycle in approximately 8 weeks and actually means I feel more tired than I did with three newborn triplets, I officially hang my head in shame. Oh that I judged a mother of many children ever. I mean, these kids are lucky I haven't left them out for recycling yet. By accident at least if not on purpose. I AM TIRED.

And if they have one more fight over the one toy out of a thousand that they own that two of them wants at the same time? I am not responsible for my actions. I have confiscated toy after toy some days because of this endless battle. As soon as one kid picks up a toy someone else wants it too. They love sitting in the toy box that does not comfortably fit 2 of them in it but god knows, they will all three try to climb in once one of them has. The toy box itself has been removed from the room when the only other choice was to stuff them all in it and close the lid, which, I'm told, is child abuse unfortunately. But at least they'd all be happy that they were in it? Not?

People, I'm losing my mind. The universe is trying to kill me one night at a time. I am now that crabby mom I always wondered about! I hope to heck my kids remember me as happy. Perhaps they will once they stop picking up every illness being passed around. Perhaps it's just a mom of siblings thing? Maybe the fighting just wears so fast that you just end up snapping faster than seems called for. Because it is also inevitable that the most fighting happens when everyone is the most crabby from being sick or tired and that is just a recipe for disaster.

Kids and cats, the same?

How my kids are like my cats. Or vice versa naturally.

1. They chase each other around the house.

2. They fight with each other regularly, over me or random crap.

3. They all want to pile on me at once and none of them wants anyone else on me at the same time.

4. They prefer to play with garbage or wrapping more than the toys we spend so much money on.

5. I have to clean up their poop, pee and vomit on a regular basis.

6. They hate the doctor and practically claw me to death trying to get away from him.

7. They turn their nose up at half the food I serve them.

8. They destroy my furniture.

9. They want attention in the middle of the night.

10. They cry constantly while I'm fixing their meals, apparently not fast enough.

11. They writhe in agony while I'm trimming their nails even though I am NOT hurting them.

12. The Dr has to constantly explain their odd behaviors to me.

13. According to them I never spend enough time with them.

14. They tend to drool all over me.

15. They all have different personalities.

16. Oh heck, I love every messy, annoying, demanding one of them.

Triplets or normal?

I see behaviors in my children and sometimes I wonder, is it because they're triplets, or could any kid be this way? I begin with the story of our first music and movement class we took today, your typical toddler music class with random instruments and made up music in a random dance studio. We arrived there a bit early so we could get parking and get situated and snack, and found it was just an empty studio with mirrors on one side and no props out or visible. My children began tearing around the room like they were in their own living room. A yelling out a greeting to anyone who was in the room, B and C trying to destroy the teacher's paperwork, A beating on the mirrors like she was in grandma's house, I mean they were nuts! Meanwhile, the other kids trickled in, clinging tightly to their parent's or nanny's legs. Shy as all get out. One cried and B went over and sat next to her! Triplets? Or did I just get three extroverts? I'd argue triplets. We are in a constant state of socialization. If you can't handle a lot of people or kids around, you aren't going to make it as a triplet, right?

The other possibility is that I am just a laid back mom. Now daddy would disagree but he's missing the point. I am a controlling nightmare about naps and scheduling the kids, sure, but you try having triplets and not being one. What I mean is that I never pushed the kids out of their comfort zone even though they have been exposed to a lot. When they needed to be left alone, they were left alone. I fiercely defended them from poking and prodding by strangers. I made sure the extroverted child was put into the visitor's arms first, usually held the shy kid myself. But there must be something I'm doing right. They aren't addicted to binkies/pacifiers. They fall asleep within an hour of bedtime (well don't hold B to that but pretty soon after!) and have accepted that I am not coming into the bedtime before 7:20 am. They are off bottles, drinking milk, eating some veggies and fruits and growing like weeds. And apparently, you can take them anywhere!

I think this post has turned into a 'yay me' post. How about that? Amazing what a little music class can do!

Indentured servitude

Independence day means so much to so many people but independence is such a flighty thing. Once you have kids you are just never independent again, are you? It's a weighty thought, that once you give birth to this living organism you will never (if you're lucky) be without them again. Yes, they'll grow up and move away (18 long years from now) but they're still with you.

Not being alone is a positive reason for having kids, because who wants to be old and alone at the nursing home with no visitors and having at least one kid does increase your chances of having someone visit, at least on holidays. Now, having three simultaneously like me also increases your chances of having a next generation too, who might forgive you much more easily for your parental transgressions (seeing as how they were not visited upon them) and might therefore be more likely to visit you in your stinky urine smelling cubicle of hell. So it's definitely advantageous to decide to have children even if it means losing your independence.

Because what are the advantages of independence after all? Freedom to go anywhere you want, whenever you want. Well that's pretty appealing. But what if you have no one to go with? No one to tell about your adventures once you return? So, can you wait on that until they go to college? Perhaps. Freedom to sleep in, stay up late, watch what you want, answer the phone or not, walk around naked in the house. Well that's appealing too, but for how many years? We all stayed up late and slept in during college and some after. Was it really that great? Or was half the day gone before you got up and you were kind of groggy and out of place all day because your schedule is all off and it's hard to go to bed the next night and so on. So, perhaps we can sleep in on mother's day and when the kids are at camp and make it through 18 years that way?

Freedom to go out to dinner without hiring a babysitter, see a movie at the spur of a moment, run away for the weekend together and keep your marriage in good repair. Well, there's a lot of pull to that one. But what would it all feel like with no one to come home to who was missing you? No one who idolizes you, thinks you rock (well for now at least, leave me in my fantasy) wants to throw themselves upon you physically so they can slime you with snot and drool but make you feel like a million bucks? I don't know, it makes marriage hard, but it adds something too. You see a part of your partner you never would have seen otherwise. The nurturing father, the gentle caregiver, the guy who knows how to make them laugh while they're crying. The guy who took care of you while you were recovering from the worst c-section ever and never let on he was concerned. How would you have known about that part of him? You never would have fallen that much more in love with him without kids.

So maybe independence is overblown. I'm pretty sure when I sit and dream about what life was like before kids I might be rosying things up a bit. I'm pretty sure it wasn't all escapes to Napa B&Bs and moonlight beach walks. I'm also sure that I'm going to forget what it was like without kids soon and imagine that life without them would be pretty empty, just hubby and me. Sure I still fight for a few hours here and there alone, I will never not be independent in my soul. But every time I find my quiet time interrupted by these amazing, smiling, laughing, loving, hugging crazies I call my triplets, I forget I was annoyed by the interruption. Bah, independence. Let the revolution happen somewhere else. I'm fine with my servitude.

Compare and contrast

How my children are like my mom, or vice versa:

1. They use a walker occasionally, to practice walking.

2. They are very picky eaters and usually don't like what's being served by 'the house.'

3. They usually have to be told something 8 times and very sternly before they follow the instruction. Sometimes they still don't follow it.

4. They pretty much do what they want when they want to despite my best efforts.

5. They rarely consult me before invading my space or life.

6. They always get what they want.

7. They are always a mystery when trying to figure out what is wrong with them physically or mentally.

8. They don't like being taken care of but still cry/ask for it to be done and then act all stubbornly independent regardless.

9. They cry for me at inappropriate times of the night and day.

10. They don't listen to me, although I think I've already covered that above.

11. They constantly need to be entertained.

12. They require tons of shopping, paperwork, management, and general time sucking energy.

13. You have to love them anyways.

Thankfully, the kids are cheerful, pleasant, playful, fun and relaxed most of the time. I really do have great kids.

Bad, Bad Babies

Why do children make the scariest sounds all the time and think it's hilarious? Right now I'm sitting in my living room watching CNN's all Michael Jackson all the time tv and listening to the baby monitors whereupon my daughter (A) is making choking and gasping noises while B laughs hysterically. I had to mute my friendly MJ tributes to listen closer. What if she had started choking on an eye from a stuffed animal that she gnawed off in typical animalistic fashion? How would I know?

But the bigger question is, how many more months will they think that gasping/choking noises are funny? I mean they have the attention span of gnats, how do they remember this same 'joke' for months? And why doesn't it hurt their throats like it does mine if I try to emulate them? I suppose when one's vocalizations are limited to non-word utterances, one finds unusual ways to make jokes? Perhaps I should relish this time as the inevitable endless knock knock jokes are on their way and fart and poop jokes will follow shortly after. Three times. But when you're driving up the highway to grandma's house and almost drive off the road while whipping your head around to verify that your child (C) is not, in fact, choking on his spit, it is just not acceptable! Someone is going to get hurt. And I'm not talking about spanking.

Walter the nightmare pooch

Product warning: Walter the Farting Dog, a toy we have possessed for over a year, a toy which was a mainstay of my daughter's crib because she loved it, has the potential for a total meltdown. Yes, one night, while you're watching some DVR-ed crap on TV and enjoying reading your blogs, you will hear over the baby monitor "thbthpthbthpthb." Then a minute later "thbthbtpthbbb." And again, and again. Until you decide that your daughter must have her foot on the dog, causing its unintentional flatulence at a critical juncture of the sleeping period of three, count them three, easily perturbable babies.

So you'll tip toe into their nursery, reach for the dog, right where you remembered it from checking on your daughter earlier, and at the moment you grab it you will find, to your horror, that it will go completely bezerko. Like some stuttering rap star of farting, it will begin to fart incessantly but in a staccato rhythm that is so very not conducive to sleeping triplets. Instantly you will step into hyper speed, exiting the nursery at the speed of light while praying simultaneously to every god in the pantheon that not one triplet will be disturbed by this insanity of a fart festival.

I am now sitting in my living room listening to the last and dying farts of a Walter the farting dog. Somewhat sad at it's passing, but also somewhat relieved that it is shutting the heck up after trying to wake all three of my damned babies! Heed my warning parents! This is NOT a good crib toy!

A public service announcement from yours truly.

The guilt factory chugs on

One of my favorite bloggers, Bad Mommy Moments, wrote a great blog yesterday about guilt. Got us all thinking about the guilt that most moms feel about just about everything, and she offered us a chance to dump our guilt anonymously. Lots of moms didn't need to be anonymous because they knew that they would not be alone with their particular guilty "sin" and posted what they had done right out in the open. But I would be willing to bet that all of those guilt dumpers had at least 463 other things they felt guilty about, and I started thinking about my own trip down guilt lane.

The most unbelievable part is that it begins the minute you know you're pregnant. You are apparently supposed to be the model pregnant lady, eating right, exercising, planning the nursery, being excited, and so on, right when you're in the middle of something quite traumatic and stressful. I mean, get this, I felt guilty all of first trimester, a period of 24/7 nausea and unbelievable starvation colliding on a minute by minute basis. Why did I feel guilty? Because rather than barf repeatedly because I ate something 'good for me and the babies' or fall down dead from hunger pangs that hit every hour, I ran out to Taco Bell and had me 3 stinkin' crunchy taco supremes. Because that was all I could stand to eat. Now, did I create this situation with some sort of conscious effort? No. I planned on eating veggies and fruits and grains and avoiding trans fats like the plague. But honestly, if I had to choose between barfing and eating crap? Eating crap wins every time.

Then, you give birth. I gave birth at 32 weeks. Why? Because I was practically dying with pre-eclampsia. For those of you who don't know, pre-eclampsia is basically a condition that means all of your organs are shutting down and you will die if you don't get those stinking babies out of you, and I mean fast. So, what did I feel guilty about? Um, giving birth 'too early.' Not making it to the magical 36th week (full term for triplets) despite the fact that I had not once ounce of control over that situation. I mean, what was I supposed to do? Talk sense into my liver and kidneys? Tell my blood pressure to please lower itself for just another 4 weeks? Go on some sort of heart/lung/liver/kidneys bypass machine to give those babies 4 more weeks? Oh my God, get real lady. But not a chance I could avoid that guilt.

So, then there was the NICU time. Other multiples and non multiples parents of preemies were in the NICU 8-12 hours a day visiting their babies. Where was I? Laying in my recliner at home because my blood pressure was still hovering around 150/100, my iron count was low despite two blood transfusions, I was still suffering from gestational diabetes, and, lets be honest, that ridiculous incision they make to take babies out of you? Um, that sucker hurts no matter how much vicodin you use. Oh, and don't forget I was pumping every 4 hours round the clock! Never mind that most nights I felt like I couldn't breathe and had to sleep sitting up with lights on to not freak out totally. But what did I feel bad for? Not being in the NICU all day. Only being able to sit up and hold a baby or make conversation for 4 hours even though to get me there my MIL had to roll my butt to the NICU in a wheelchair from the front door. Oh, I felt guilty. I mean really.

So, I could go on, because once babies get home, that's when the real guilt begins. You're not breastfeeding exclusively, you're not getting them to sleep correctly, they're not burping, they're not sleeping long enough, they're not eating enough, they're not whatever enough or too much and for once, I will admit that having three at once may actually multiply your guilt by three as well. Because whatever you failed at with your one baby at a time, I failed at with all three simultaneously. Not to mention that I could not even try to pick every child up the minute they cried or rock them to sleep in my arms regularly or comfort them the minute they cried. Because likely as not, I had a different baby in my arms.

What the evolutionary principle behind mommy guilt is I couldn't tell you. But it is pervasive, all encompassing and such a ridiculous waste of time. I'm here to start a revolution. Oh who am I kidding. I'm guilt riddled and bound to stay that way. Especially once they learn how to manipulate me. Oh, I'm in for it. Imagine three sets of puppy dog eyes....

The view from here

Why do people assume that just because I have triplets I am the authority on Jon & Kate or the octomom? It seems that ever since I got pregnant I've been being asked about J&K, as if perhaps that's where I got the idea to become a triplet mom? Or is it that the minute I found out I was pregnant with triplets I must have tuned into that channel to learn everything I can from the most famous multiples mom around?

I'm not saying I don't have opinions. I do. Anyone who knows me knows I have opinions. However, having triplets does not make mine carry any more weight than yours. It does not make me an expert on crazy people with multiples. Because, and listen carefully here, I AM NOT CRAZY. Therefore, I am not an expert on crazy plus multiples. Oh yes, I believe I just spilled my opinion that I think both of the above (or I guess all three?) individuals are nuts.

But the truth is that perhaps I do have some insight into these situations. Why sell your soul to the devil to make money to take care of your multiples? Because the alternative is impossible: to work full time and care for them adequately. So, perhaps a deal with the devil makes economic sense even if, in the end, the devil seems to be winning and all you may actually end up with is money and material goods.

Situation number two, what to do with all of your frozen embryos? Well, while I am plenty pro choice and do not believe that life begins at conception, but I can tell you that I became pretty darn attached to those little pre-reptiles in my uterus once they were implanted. I can claim that I never would have had more than 3 at once, but that's pretty easy to say having never had to make that decision. Had I been told they needed to put in 6 embryos to ensure one stuck, I would have taken that choice. I know that does not appear to be the situation of octomom, but what to do with one's leftover embryos? Don't sit on your high horse and claim you know what you would do unless you, yourself, have struggled through infertility and created those proto-babies on ice. I didn't make enough to freeze so I abstain from judgement of wanting to have each one get a chance at life, I just might have spread them out a wee bit more. Honestly, if you want the woman to suffer for her choice to have them all at once, do not worry. Raising multiples is not cake no matter how much help you have.

So, you have my opinions. They are not worth more than anyone else's. Now stop asking multiples' parents what they think about these two issues! Because it annoys us to be lumped in with some people that the world judges poorly. Does it mean you judge us too? Probably. Yes, I know that a lot of people do judge me based on their assumptions about fertility treatments, but I can still wish it would stop. I had no choice but to try everything they offered because my chances were pretty stinky. I beat the odds, but someone has to be the 1 in 100,000 who has 3 of 4 embryos implant. Someone has to be the 1 in a million who has 8 babies from 6 embryos, and you can't make that happen. It just does. And then you live with the consequences.

If I had it to do over again, I'd take my consequences any day. They're awful cute...