Gripes & Grins: an honest account of raising identical triplets... and 2 more

People have a lot to say about motherhood, especially when you're the Mom of five kids six and under, including identical triplets.   The commentary I receive runs the gamut from the obvious (“Are they triplets?!”) to the intrusive (“Was it IVF?”) to the complimentary (“You deserve a LOT of credit!”).  My responses tend to be "Yes" (even though I'd sometimes prefer to say "No, they're cute clones I got on sale at Target!"), "No" (although really it's none of your business!), and "Why?"  Why do I deserve any more credit than any other Mom?  Did I miss the memo where I had a choice to opt out of fulfilling the basic needs of our children?  I don’t think so. Actually, I think I'm just like most Moms in that I try my best every day and will candidly admit that some days are better than others!

Since I am often asked, I always tell people that the trials we face as parents are universal, as are the triumphs.  Whether you have one kid or five of them, you will inevitably be faced with the challenges of sleep deprivation, potty training and discipline and the rewards of those first steps, wet kisses and joyful leaps off the school bus at the end of the day.  There are general life experiences that unite us as parents yet as the years pass with our identical little boys, (who are now 2 ½), I can’t help but notice that there are a few things that actually do set us here at the Lyons Den apart from the rest of the herd.

For starters, there’s the undeniable fact that wherever we go, we always seem to draw a crowd; people are fascinated by our identical little fellas and delighted to ooh and aah over them as they pass by.  For a while, this was a neat little ego-boost; I couldn't help but get slightly caught up in the wonder and remarkable cuteness of these little people we created and thus far, seem to be successfully nurturing.  Yay us!  More recently however, the thrill has started to fade. Since it's rare that I'm out with only the triplets, I am increasingly sensitive to the impact the triplet adoration has on Liam and Ciara. They are often overlooked; at only six and four years old, the big brother and sister get very little of the glory although, they deserve a lot.

Liam and Ciara inherited a lot of responsibility and high expectations when Kevin, Declan and Cormac were born.  Ciara turned two just a few days before they arrived and Liam was not yet four; both were charged with holding bottles, fetching diapers and setting a good example from that day forward.  Though they are truly remarkable kids in their own right, they often go unnoticed while the adoring public fawns over their little brothers.  Truthfully, Liam and Ciara deserve medals for essentially serving as baby nurses for the past two years and I need to try harder to remember that it's not easy to have inherited a trio of identical tots to follow in your footsteps; this is one of my unique challenges as a parent.

Another unique challenge is specific to Kevin, Declan and Cormac.  Though they look exactly alike, I have to constantly remind myself (and others!) that they are not actually three of a kind but three individuals with their own personalities, preferences and, for better or worse, their own primary colors so everyone knows who’s who.  Kevin is “red”, Declan is “blue” and Cormac is “green”.  This color-coding system seemed like a really good way for family, friends and neighbors (and yes, even us in the beginning!) to tell them apart… unfortunately, since Declan has begun to introduce himself to folks as “Blue”, I think this clever tool has backfired but, once again, I was just trying my best.

I suppose that's the universal theme here.  As a new day and new week begins, I know will once again try my best.  I also know that there will be good days and bad days and highs and lows. I know I'll regret the mistakes I'll inevitably make (like last night, when I lost it after Declan peed in Liam's Croc!) and I'll relish the little moments that later turn into major memories (like yesterday morning, when we had them ALL in the tub, basking in bubbles and brimming with grins.)  While there are undoubtedly unique circumstances in raising all of our little "Cubs", we're really just like everyone else in that more often than not, we're just trying to make it through the day and make the most of it! 

Mom's Rule

Me and my awesome mom, who proved that she rules once again this week. Thanks Mom.

There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think “Wow, Moms rule.”  It first struck me about a year ago when I attended a local Mothers of Multiples meeting. I really didn’t want to go.  In fact, I’ve only made it to a handful of meetings in the past two years; my own hesitance aside, I’m sure that having five kids six and under probably has something to do with my poor attendance record. In any case, I was worn out from a long day at work and the typical chaos of our dinner and bedtime routine. I was wearing old leggings and a crappy t-shirt and would have been more content settling in for the night than driving twenty minutes away to mingle with a group of women who I barely knew and wasn’t sure if I’d have much more in common with than the admittedly bizarre fact that our uteruses (uteri?!) happened to host more than one baby at a time.

But, I figured, as I often do, nothing ventured, nothing gained. So, I slapped on some lipstick, threw on a cute pair of flats (courtesy of my sister, as with most cute things I own!), tossed on a sweater and headed out the door. And boy, am I ever glad I did. After just a few short hours with a bunch of women I hardly knew, my faith was affirmed once again: Moms Rule. 

Not just those “Moms of Multiples” who I had the pleasure of spending that evening with, but all Moms. We are united by far more than our expanding and contracting uteruses – or, for that matter, by our saggy boobs, baggy bellies and bags under our eyes. We are united in that we truly tend to be warm, welcoming people – whether it’s a knowing smile to a nervous expectant Mom or a reassuring hug before the school bus comes, we are wired to make those around us feel better. To feel confident. To know they can tackle the task at hand – whether it’s surviving the first year with a newborn (or two, or three!) or surviving the first day of school, we support everyone around us. We tend to be funny and real and often, the combination of the two is when we’re at our best.

We are the consummate multi-taskers – we buy groceries, cook meals, clean houses, change diapers, plan parties, organize play dates, pay bills, upload photos, plan vacations, write thank you notes and remember the in-law’s birthdays. We help with homework, do the laundry, kiss the boo-boos, cheer at soccer games, drive to ballet class and return library books. We wrap Christmas presents, make lunches, pack snacks, hand over hand-me-downs, organize closets, make doctor’s appointments, walk the dog, feed the cat, replace the goldfish,  water the plants and have been known to sport spit-up, snot or both as an accessory.

We pride ourselves and artfully juggle our roles as mothers, daughters, friends, sisters, neighbors and colleagues. We support each other, laugh together, cry together, bitch together and intuitively pick each other up just when we need it most. We do all this for one – or two, or three or four, or in my case, five reasons. We do all this because we love the little people that our oversized uterus delivered into this world; we do all this because we want them to have a happy childhood and we want the world they grow up in to be a better place. We want to inspire our children to make it a greater place. And we’re wise enough to know that we can’t do it alone. We need the help and support of other Moms and thankfully, we find that they are there for us just when we need them most. Just like our own Moms always were.  And thankfully, mine still is.  So, if you haven’t done so recently, take a moment to pass this on to the many Moms in your life and remind them of this simple truth: Moms Rule.  Happy Mother’s Day.

A (typically hectic, unusually manic) Day in the Life

Here’s the text I sent Des on Monday night at 7:54 PM when he was presumably dodging fly balls as the go-to pitcher and assistant coach for Liam’s first grade baseball team:

“Macmac barfed. Decker barfed. Quiche has mold. Help!!! BTW, don’t think mold & barfing are related. Think barf & strep are related & quiche is just bad luck!”

For those of you interested the events that preceded and followed, here’s a rundown of Monday, May 2nd in the Lyons Den:

5:57 Wake up. Finish blog post. Unload dishwasher. Make lunch. Pack snacks. Start laundry.

7:00 Drag Liam from bed, make breakfast, send him off on bus.

7:30 Moaning from triplets room prompts me to look inside. Discover MacMac (aka Cormac) in a feverish fit with green snot pouring from his nose. Literally pouring. Temp is 101.9

7:40 Debate w/ Des re: need to take MacMac to doctor. Des says no, I say yes. I win.

7:45 Shower, dress, change MacMac, wake Ciara, pack lunch and bag for work.

8:15 To the pediatrician we go – thank goodness for the walk-in hour!

8:45 Home we go – that walk-in hour sucks! Waiting room is overflowing with pink-eye, allergies, stomach bugs and generally sick kids. We make an appointment to return at 11:30.

9:00 Dump MacMac at home, head to work.

11:15 A bundle of nerves and stress, I leave my piled-high desk to retrieve my boy and return to doctor.

11:45 Discover MacMac has strep. Panic sets in. How long ‘til the rest of them fall?!

12:00 Quick trip to CVS to fill prescription.

12:45 Return to office, dig in to sandwich and emails that await. Work, work, work.

5:45 Home sweet home. Feverish boy slumbers on couch while other kids run wild and Des and Liam take off for baseball.

5:50 Closer look at couch reveals that feverish boy on couch is not MacMac. It’s Declan. Sh*t!!

6:00 Dinner is served. “Egg pie” (aka quiche!) and broccoli, typically a crowd pleaser is unanimously dismissed with a chorus of “no like it”

6:30 Backyardigans video provides 23 minutes of kid-entertainment and mom-relief. I shed my work clothes, locate thermometer and put on Florence Nightingale uniform. Ok, not really. 

 

7:00  Mac and Declan have rising fevers.  I put on their PJs and pop them in their cribs.  A suspicious gurgling precedes Mac's massive vomit. Ciara, playing the role of physician’s assistant, continually chimes in “it’s really bad Mom. REALLY bad” while Declan moans from crib and Kevin jumps up and down singing “MacMac throw up! MacMac throw up!”

7:30 Mac is changed, crib is changed, Declan has been given Tylenol, MacMac has had his antibiotic and a solid dose of Advil to keep the fever at bay. Ciara is brushing her teeth. The four kids I have at home are now ready for bed.  I think the worse is behind me.

7:45 Nope. The worst is still coming. As I discover mold on the quiche Des and I were going to have for dinner, there is a blood curdling scream from upstairs followed by Ciara’s call, “MOM! Come quick! It’s REALLY bad!!!”  Sound familiar?

7:46 Declan is covered in barf. His crib is covered in barf. I am covered in barf. Kevin’s enthusiasm for his brother’s barf has worn off; Cormac has nodded off.

7:54 Text to Des as per above. I stink like vomit, we have no dinner (though I’m no longer hungry!), there are piles of laundry to be done, work to catch up on and for the record, I’m exhausted, having only had about 4 hours of uninterrupted sleep the night before thanks to an itchy dog, a big boy with bad dreams, la ittle girl who woke us to tell us she went to the potty and a rotation of triplets with lost blankies, high fevers and general malaise!

Suffice it to say that in the hours that followed, there was more vomit, alternating doses of meds to keep MacMac and Declan’s fever at bay and less consecutive sleep than the night before. When the sun rose, I rose with it to get in a run. And boy, am I ever glad I did because today might as well have been Groundhog Day. Just hit the repeat button (or reread button?!) and you’ll know what my day was like. Even the pediatrician feigned surprise when I appeared once again at 11:30 with a little fella red with fever and ripe with strep. When I mentioned that I’d probably see her again tomorrow with my third little guy, she laughed and said she has the day off. Which leaves me to wonder… when will I get a day off? As MacMac has been known to say -- albeit under very different circumstances, as in when asked to apologize for biting his brother – “Not today!”

Color coded kids

I've known since they were discovered in my belly (almost three years ago to the day today!) that there is something unique about having identical triplets.  I've known that the odds of this naturally occurring event are about one in a hundred million and I am convinced that we won the baby the lottery the day these guys were born -- happy, healthy and relatively huge for triplets given that they weighed well over five pounds each.

Even so, I've plodded along treating each day as though it's nothing unusual.  In the beginning, we were so sleep deprived that it only seemed right to paint each little guy's big toe -- one red, one blue, one green, so we could tell them apart.  It seemed natural to dress them in "their" colors and in fact, it still does.  When they say your kids are "identical", they are really not kidding.  These guys look exactly alike.  Des and I can tell them apart -- most of the time.  Their big brother and sister can tell them apart -- most of the time.  The challenge is when they are either A. naked or B. moving very quickly in opposing directions, as they are keen to do with a jubilant sense of "Game On!"

Our color-coding system extends beyond big toes and hand-me-down clothes to sippy cups, bouncy balls, socks and Crocs.  Kevin is red, Declan is blue and Cormac is green.  Their colors make it easy for neighbors, friends, preschool teachers and yes, even my own parents to tell them apart. Here's the thing though -- I fear our system is backfiring and there's about to be a rainbow revolt here in the Lyons Den.  A few recent examples...

• I accidentally gave Declan a red sippy cup and he threw it at me angrily proclaiming "I"M BLUE!"
• When I wore a red sweater last week, Kevin tugged on it and sweetly said "Mine."  To which I replied "Yours? Why yours?" To which he responded quite naturally "Because I'm red!"
• Then there was St. Patrick's Day.  A festival of green, if ever there was one.  Wow, was Cormac ever in heaven.  As our resident "green" guy, he thought the day was his own personal tribute!

Clearly, we have an issue here.  Our color coding system seems to be causing a slew of issues that range from anger managment to identity confusion.  As parents, we do our best and can't help but worry about how our best intentions may ultimately be doing more harm than good.  All I can say is that, well, I'm doing the best I can.  And I'm pretty darn positive that the day looms in the not so distant future that my color coding system will fade away... just like the polish on their tiny newborn toes.