(The above picture is of our twin neighbors pushing the stroller about a year ago. They are not, unfortunately, also our children, nor are they Suzy and me--though, it would be a big improvement for me, of course. Just wanted to give you an idea of what people see on our walks.)
The comment we most often get when people pass all of us in the park is: "Boy, you got your hands full." Our usual response is: "Yes, full of joy." And the exchange ends there.
But here it is again, translated, extrapolated:
They say, "I can't imagine three babies at once! Seems impossible."
We say, "Actually, it is not half so tough as we imagined it would be. It's not one baby times three--that, from what I have seen and heard from other parents, would indeed be impossible. But this is three babies at once. The whole approach is different, mentally and in all other ways. Kind of like this stroller: it's bigger and a bit more unwieldy, but it's not three strollers at once.
"I mean, sure, it's three times the food and diapers and cost and laundry and teeth--right, sixty of them suckers coming in...but still, like one baby, it is what it is. Adjustments are made, a balance found, and, in short, however incredible it may seem, Suzy and I, and the babies, are getting on fine--thriving, in fact. Thank you...
"Actually, there are even some advantages to having triplets--mainly, two establish a norm and make us less doubtful than if we were just trying to figure out the other one, who for infinite reasons may have been off in some way for some moment. And, of course, they have their own peer group, which allows Suzy and I some freedom to read or do chores, etc., while they play with each other.
"Interestingly, it is almost as hard for Suzy and I to imagine one baby at a time as it must be for you to imagine three, and our sympathies, both ways, are thus limited. The trick is to not judge one another by each other's standards--that's always the trick, though--in all things, it seems..."
They respond, "You don't have much of a chance to talk to people, do you? Ooo, look at the time, gotta go. Good luck with all that."
Yea, the quick conversation is better...
Anyway, this "three at once" logic generally holds up, except...when we are sick. You may remember the last time we were all sick. 5 and a half weeks later, right when we were starting to think our luck had finally and completely turned to ill, things all got better. And the babes are so happy generally, it's hard to even remember that trial.
Well, and then we get a reminder of what precipice we are all ambling along. Here's what happened last weekend:
Scout had come down with something early Saturday morning, vomited twice, had two wardrobe and bed sheet changes, but still managed to fall asleep. We let her sleep in a bit longer that morning. She was tired all day, and we simplified her meals, but by dinner that evening, she seemed fine--went down at 6:00 as usual and slept straight through the night. Whew! I felt some tinges of nausea, but it passed. My main concern was for the boys, but they seemed fine also.
And then Sunday lived up to its name. Hannah and Mochi came over--they were visiting from out of town, and we all spent some time outside (more on that later). Then evening and an early dinner at the Foas (--celebrating Paige's birthday). Babes didn't eat much, so we came home and fed them at their normal time, frozen blueberries among other things. We put them down a little past 6:00--oh, and Scout spit up a little at dinner, but we figured (--more hoped) it wasn't anything worrisome. Babies down, Suzy and I worked a bit downstairs, as usual, but Suzy was feeling a little rocky, so she went up to bed early.Then 9:15 struck...
Charlie had puked and was crying in his crib. By the time I had come upstairs, Suzy was already holding the little guy in the living room. Quietly as possible, I changed the sheets in his crib--vomit was pink and soupy. Blood?!! No, blueberries. Scout turned over in her crib, but remained quiet, whether or not she was up. Kiefer snoozed away. Charlie had calmed down, and Suzy and I managed to get his clothes changed, before I took him so Suzy could change her shirt (--keep track of the changes here). She did that, and Charlie was practically asleep already in my arms. So I put him down, and Suzy, feeling worse, went back to bed.
Then some time later (time became a total blur eventually), Charlie exploded again. Suzy grabbed him, while I finished rinsing off the soiled clothes and sheets downstairs. I came up and changed Charlie's sheets again. Scout was awake, but quiet, sitting up and watching me back and forth. Kiefer: ZZzzzzZZZzzz. I took Charlie, stripped him out of his pajamas, and Suzy went to change her shirt again. She returned and took the little guy again, and then, would you believe it, Kiefer erupted in the babies' room. I grabbed him while he was still puking and took him into the living room. I sat across from Suzy and she was looking a bit pale herself, not wanting to talk, afraid verbal confirmation of her feelings would make them a done deal.
...Oh, we're just getting started...
I managed to strip Kiefer, and handed him to Suzy. Then I took off my shirt, threw it in the pile at the kitchen door, and went to change Kiefer's bed as well. Scout had started to cry now, and was standing at the end of her crib. I came back out and then Suzy finally said, "I am not feeling good at all." We managed to dress the boys again, and I put Charlie back to bed, then Kiefer. Scout was still crying and watching, but eventually tried to go back to sleep. Suzy started a new load of wash and then went back to bed herself, feeling awful. I went downstairs to the computer to put in my absence for school the next day.
Then it was Charlie again. Suzy to the couch, Charlie to her arms, and I went to strip the bed again, but didn't need to--Charlie had nothing left inside him. Oh, that's good, I suppose. But right then Kiefer started up. I turned to grab him, and he puked the rest of his blueberry-dyed dinner right down the front of my shirtless furriness. I went into the living room, Scout was crying again, and Charlie was dry-heaving on Suzy, and then Suzy looked up to me with desperate urgency and said, "I have to puke." She gave me Charlie and rushed to the bathroom.
Scout started coughing in her crib, and I thought she might have puked as well. I looked into the darkness as though into a mirror, Kiefer on my right knee, Charlie on my left, pink soupy bile dribbling down and into my stomach rolls. When Suzy came back out, I told her about Scout. "Are you f-ing kidding me?" She checked on the sweet hysterical, and, thankfully, it was a false alarm. Suzy had to muster the strength to come back in and ask, "What are we going to do?" I said, "Give me the phone."
It was 12:00-something. I had to call twice before Suzy's mom Martha picked up. Suzy was standing miserably in the door way. "Hello," Martha sounded impossibly alert. "Martha," I said, and then, Kiefer started puking again, in the crook of my arm with the phone in it. Suzy, somehow, like a JuJitsu Master, took the phone, handed me a bowl for Kiefer to puke in, and finished the conversation with her mother, and probably did a cartwheel kick press or something, before I knew what was happening. "She's on her way," Suzy managed before dashing off to the bathroom. Kiefer, fortunately, was all out of ammunition too. Charlie was nestled into my side. Scout--well, she was probably talking things over with her pet mouse Doey.
By the time Martha arrived, the show was all but over. Suzy spent more than time in the bathroom, came out, put Charlie to bed, then went back to spend more in the bathroom. I saw Martha's headlights outside and told Suzy she had arrived. Suzy, wordlessly, more or less crawled into bed, feeling helpless, and worse, unable to help--which is Hell on earth for a mother, as I am sure you all know. Martha walked in and I gave her the skinny, then I gave her chunk--Kiefer, that is, and I went downstairs to finally wipe off my chest and belly, and change the new load over to the dryer (--we might need those clothes and sheets again, I thought). Then I came back upstairs and took Kiefer and put him in bed and then told Martha the plan:
"You sleep downstairs. I'll sleep on the couch up here, so that if one of the babes starts up again, I can get him or her without disturbing Suz, who hopefully can sleep this sickness off. If two start up again, I'll call you up to help."
Sure enough, around 3:00ish, Kiefer dry-heaved again. I grabbed him before he started wailing and took him to the couch with me, where he and I slept for the rest of the night (--that was my favorite part). Martha came up at about 4:00 and went on her way, figuring everything was over, which it was. (I think she even went into work the next day--without so much as a wink of sleep--that fold out in the basement is not especially comfortable.) And that was that.
Suzy and I took Monday off together. I ended up taking Tuesday as well, when one of the boys spit up a bit that morning. By Wednesday, we were all back on track, though. It was crazy. The worst part was actually Tuesday morning, when both boys, completely depleted of calories--they did not drink any Pedialite or Gatorade all day Monday and ate nothing more than crackers--they were both just languishing--their limbs limp, their eyes exhausted and listless. Ahh, if I never saw them in that state again, it would still be too soon.
All sick at once--that was a new one for us. I was wondering if I preferred it to the 5 and 1/2 week sickness-rollercoaster; and was wondering how it all came to pass the way it did. Then Hannah and Mochi forwarded these pictures from their visit on Sunday to our email accounts:
Huh, I don't remember that...
In any case, now when someone says, "Boy, you got your hands full." I think Suzy and I might say, "Yes, sometimes too full."
I wonder which answer they prefer.
All well that ends well, though. Love to everyone. And know that I am always working in some way on the next post, however infrequently they appear...
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