It seems every time I write a post like this, things go to shit immediately. My wife blames everything that goes wrong and everything that looks like it might go wrong on whatever blog post I wrote last. My crime? Being positive about the progress our girls make. I mean, she’s the same, but saying it out loud or putting it down in writing for someone else to read?! Omg that’s just asking for trouble!
It’s crazy how quickly babies change. This probably isn’t news for most of mankind, but it’s a big surprise to me. My three little bundles of joy have gone from being lumps of immobile meat to rolling around, to crawling, to toddling, to running around like Usain Bolt overdosing on Red Bull, all in the space of what seems like a week.
It’s probably been a little longer than that but time blurs in triplet world as I’m sure some of you know all too well. I’m certain that however long it’s taken to get from one extreme to the other, it’s not nearly as long as I expected it would take.
There are so many things that have come and gone that I’m happy to forget. The bulky heartrate monitors permanently attached to all three of them, with the cables making everything from changing a nappy to giving them a bath so difficult. The crazy amounts of medicine they needed every day, sometimes twice a day. The dozens of hospital appointments and follow-ups, the home visits, the screams while forcing them through the physio sessions, the trials and tribulations of reflux and constipation, perfecting how to make a bottle without lumps.
I’ve threatened the universe with divine retribution for all these things and a whole lot more besides. But they’re in the past now. What used to be big issues for us now look like hiccups in an otherwise flawless march to the future.
You don’t really get chance to celebrate the passing of such milestones, such as they are, because there’s always something new to celebrate. They’re just things you’ve made it through. Things that make you so proud of the girls for making it through.
Zapato! Their first word – at least Alicia’s and Laura’s first word – quickly followed by quite a few more. ‘Mima for the Peter Rabbit and Friends character Jemima Puddleduck. Sit for the bottom step, Mrs H’s new favourite place to take photos. Quack for, well, the sound a duck makes. My ears are catching discernible syllables all the time now, each one bringing a nervous clench in the depths of my bowels as I ponder whether or not their next word will be one of the many swear words my Yorkshire dialect relies on so much.
They have favourite toys, favourite places to sit, favourite places to clench, crouch and crap. They like picture books, nursery rhymes, pop music, rock music and dancing. They play a certain way with me and a different way with Mrs H. They bring us things and announce what they are. They have expressions, loads of them, that tell you whether or not to expect a smile, a scream or even a smack around the head. They all prefer different foods. Alicia loves apple. Laura loves cheese, and Ana likes pretty much anything she can suck into a thick, gooey paste.
They’re taking it in turns to walk from the car to the creche, and we’ve downsized from the 3-seater pram to the 2-seater. They interact with the other kids at the creche, in Alicia’s case probably more so than is probably welcome (she’s into wrestling right now, which is a step up from hair pulling admittedly). They always did interact but now it seems they’re happy to seek the company of kids other than their sisters, which is great to see.
This parenthood lark is amazing. Truly eye-opening on so many levels. And I get what people have been telling us for a while, that in many ways things get easier for parents of multiples because the worst months are at the beginning. All kids grow up demanding attention, desperate to learn and ask questions about everything around them, and for only childs this all gets directed at the parents. In the case of multiples, some of this attention seeking is fed by their siblings. Our three will happily keep each other entertained for a few minutes, sometimes much longer, and this will surely only improve as time passes and ‘playing games’ become a thing.
The Ikea tent that once was the best thing since sliced bread is now mostly ignored. The butterfly teething toy they all used to fight over now gathers dust at the bottom of the toy chest. Charlie and the Alphabet, our go-to TV show that calmed them all down when everything was going wrong, now doesn’t get a reaction at all. Actually that’s not strictly true, I still go “Charlie!!” when I hear the show’s theme tune. And both Mrs H and I will sing along, hoping it’ll inspire the kids to join in.
I struggle to remember exactly when reflux was replaced by a love of nursery rhymes but I’m so glad it happened.
And the sleeping. Oh my god the sleeping. Four of the last five nights have been awesome. They’ve gone to bed, they’ve slept and slept and slept. They’re waking up in the morning talking to themselves and each other. This morning Ana slept until 7.30am, a full hour and a half after our normal wake up time.
And this is what my wife will kill me for. I’ve ruined everything by commenting on how well the sleeping is going. Nobody will sleep for the next few nights until the cosmos comes back into alignment and the curse I’ve called down upon us dissipates. Until the next time.
There’s a lot of rambling in this blog post and I guess what I’m trying to say is this. Our girls have almost 17 months behind them now and I’m very grateful that they’re dragging us along for the ride. It’s breath-taking.
We’re very lucky people. And when my wife reads this I’ll probably be even luckier not to get a zapato around the head for causing next week’s problems just by writing this post.