Sunday, August 8, 2010

More the Merrier 2010 Picnic

When my triplets were three months old, I cracked. No sleep, little food, and showers… what were those? I’d lost all the baby weight I’d gained during my pregnancy, but then the pounds kept going, dropping until I weighed less than I had since tenth grade. I didn’t take care of myself. Everything was about the babies. My husband had to go back to work—he couldn’t stay home forever, no matter how much I begged—and I felt all alone. My mom and mother-in-law stopped in for a few hours every couple of days, but a few hours in every 24 or 48 felt like a drop in the bucket to me, no matter how generous it was. And then when they came, I was so desperate for adult conversation that I didn’t take the naps they urged or flee the house as much as they shoved me toward the door. Despite my desperate state, most folks who saw me with my infant trio thought I had it all together. “You’re awesome!” they said. “You’re super mom! I don’t know how you do it—I can barely handle one!” I didn’t understand it. Didn’t they see that I was wild-eyed and bedraggled? Didn’t they see that I was drowning?

Oh sure, I had worked out some clever things, and I could pull myself up by the bootstraps and focus on the adventure of it all for a few hours each day. But the rest of those 24 hours? Ugh. It was taking every ounce of energy I had, and I didn’t have much. One day I couldn’t take it anymore. I wiped away my tears and dug out the phone number of the lady in my neighborhood who had older triplets, the one who’d met my mother-in-law at church, and I called her. I didn’t know what to say when she answered, so I just blurted, “Hi, I’m Debbie. I have triplets.” She took over from there. Cheryl proved to be my salvation that morning. She came over to my house, hugged my babies and nodded knowingly at the double and single Bob strollers in my living room, and then proceeded to tell me how she’d managed to feed three babies at once and still eat and sleep. It was amazing. She told me how she’d coped with the fact that when three babies cried you could only soothe one. She told me how she’d color-coded binders and re-organized her house and got through those first couple of years and now did have a fair handle on life with triplets even though she sometimes messed up and didn’t eat or shower. “It will happen to you, too,” she said. “I promise.” I nearly collapsed, then and there. She understood. She told me she’d take me out to dinner to introduce me to more moms who’d figured out how to do three (and even four!) babies at once. And she gave me the phone number of Jenna, a lady three blocks away who had triplets just four months older than mine.

Over the next few days, weeks, months, and now years, I’ve turned to those moms Cheryl introduced me to—this group, San Diego’s More the Merrier, a support group for moms of higher order multiples—for suggestions, solutions, support, and laughs. And much to my pleasure, I found my footing and was soon able to start giving suggestions, solutions, support, and laughs to other new moms of multiples. And Jenna, with her Amazing Trips, and Cheryl, with her own amazing trio, are among my dearest friends. They get it. They understand the joyous insanity of those first years with triplets. When they see me, they understand how you really can have it together even though sometimes you mess up and don’t eat and, good grief, skip a shower or two.

Yesterday my boys and I spent several fantastic hours in Coronado with twenty other families from More the Merrier (Big Daddy was out of town and had to miss it). 60+ kids of all ages, right down to months-old babies, were at that picnic. When one mom went flying by me dragging a choo-choo wagon behind her and chasing fleeing toddlers, I had to laugh. “Pardon me, please. Totally stressed out mom here!” she shouted. I understood. I’d been there. And I was so happy to be able to tell her where she was headed. That very morning I’d slept in and finally awoke to find that my sons had fed themselves breakfast, put their dishes in the sink, dressed themselves, and were quietly playing with their cars. Her eyes widened. “It will happen to you, too,” I said. “I promise.”

written by Deborah Halverson, mom to 5.5-year-old triplet boys