Overheard yesterday in our home:

ALLIE: “MOM! Delaney punched me!”

ME: “What were you playing?”

ALLIE: “The punching game…”

We went to the mall last night and of course stopped to see Santa. There was a family ahead of us with newborn triplets! They were the smallest babies ever! The girl looked to be about 6lbs and the boys were much smaller than her. They were all dressed up in Christmas clothes, looking like porcelain dolls. As I watched the Mom (and the useless/helpless/confused Dad) I got butterflies in my stomach. I remember those days so vividly, that watching them made me feel more anxious than nostalgic. Each baby took its turn crying, as their mother bundled and packed them in the car seats. She was like a robot, going from baby to baby taking care of each one before moving on to the next. The Dad stood there looking flustered; holding a diaper bag, Mom’s purse, a blanket over each shoulder, a pacifier and his wallet. I recognized “The Look” in the mother’s eyes. She was in the zone… her happy place, if you will. It’s the only way to survive those first days/weeks/months of new multiples; when time stands still, yet races by at the same time. She wasn’t frantic or hurried. She just kept doing what she was doing, without looking up, and without distraction. 

When she was done, she glanced at me and then the girls and asked if they were twins. I said yes, and she replied “So you know how this is.”, gesturing to the caravan of strollers; hers and mine. I gave her a sympathetic giggle and nodded, then told her that it won’t always be this tough. She smiled and walked away, looking slightly comforted. I didn’t have the heart that to tell her that it would get worse before it gets better, then it would be great; but then it would get so hard that she’d long for the days of back-to-back feedings, sleepless nights and endless diapers. She’ll learn that on her own.

My youngest daughter, Eva, has a cheese fetish.  She was born in the year of the monkey, but it should’ve been the year of the mouse. 

I think it’s impossible to get a 5-year-old to eat healthy, but with her it’s especially difficult.  She’ll eat mac-and-cheese but turn her nose up at broccoli.  She’ll scarf down cheese-stuffed cheese pizza, but eat nary a snippet of a leaf of her salad.  She’ll snack on crackers-and-cheese and eat half of a baby carrot.  I’ve given her quiche with cheese mixed in and she’ll manage to extract the cheese and leave the eggs and crust.

Needless to say,  this over-indulgence in fatty foods plays hell with her digestion. 

The other day Eva was ‘uncomfortable’ in the bathroom, to say the least.  After much moaning and crying, and hollering for ‘medicine’ (laxatives), Eva hollers out, a la ‘Gone With The Wind’…”I’ll NEVER EAT CHEESE AGAIN!”

The next day at lunch, she ate two bites of her sandwich but all of her Cheet-O’s.

Scarlett’s gonna be hurtin’ tomorrow.

The last two weeks have been borderline hellish. 

I don’t know how stay-at-home parents maintain sanity, because my sanity left days ago, and hasn’t even sent a postcard.

The week of Thanksgiving we had family in town and I was with my daughters 24/7 for 9 days straight.  But who’s counting?

This weekend it snowed in Houston (global warming?), and the schools let out early.  To whom shall I send the thank you card for giving me an extended weekend with wound-up youngsters?  They’ve bounced off every damn wall in this house, used the couch as a trampoline, teased the dogs, screamed “NO” at the top of their lungs, fought with eachother, hit eachother, cut up every newspaper and magazine, got marker on the counter and floor (whoops), and talked and talked and talked and TALKED my eardrums into a hasty retreat.

It’s now Sunday evening and as much as I don’t look forward to heading back to work…Thank GOD it’s (almost) Monday!!

Week 32! As people keep telling me, we’re nearly there. (Though time does seem to have stopped now.)  I’ve spent the last seven months bucking myself up for this surprise baby and I’m excited!  I have 8 weeks left and I am soooooo ready to meet this wee one! (No, we still don’t know the gender.)  Construction is done. The girls have moved into their new room. The baby’s room is even looking like a sweet baby’s room!  We are getting there. And we have done it with love and joy and humor – emotions I was not particularly feeling on May 27 when I discovered life was about to change completely.

But I have recently discovered a new ache. A new emotion.

I am grieving the loss of my current relationship with my daughters, Delaney and Allie.  Yes, they will still be my daughters and I will still be their mother, but things are going to change. I remember feeling this exact same way when I was pregnant with Allie and enjoying one-on-one time with Delaney.  I wondered if I had enough love and time and patience for two. And, to be honest, I didn’t want a new baby to change the incredible love that I was experiencing as a new mom.

Now, I fundamentally know that I have enough love for a third.  That isn’t the issue.  Rather, I am totally digging my girls’ company and I don’t want that dynamic to change!

Delaney is 8 and Allie is 6. They are witty, funny, thoughtful, complex girls and my relationship with them has become more mature every year. We enjoy each other!  What will happen when I have to plant my butt on the couch every two hours to nurse? How will they feel when we’re tied to the house for naps instead of out on hikes or bike rides? Will they resent the baby?  Me?

I do recall that, when Allie came along, Delaney was on the verge of hitting the Terrible Twos. She was 18 months old and transitioning from the perfect angel of baby-hood into a spirited, willful little person.  Allie became my easy refuge.  Just feed her, change her, nap her. Whereas Delaney’s demands were growing more unpredictable. So, in a way, the new baby was a refuge.

Will the same be true this time around? Probably.  In fact, I know that I romanticize my day-to-day with the girls because, quite often, they drive me bananas with their bickering and whining. It’s easiest to grieve this change in our family dynamic when the girls aren’t here!  Then, their little faces float up in my mind’s eye and they are smiling, caring, angelic beings.

The other night, I went to their room to kiss them before I crawled into bed, as I always do. They were sound asleep and stunning. I stared at them for many minutes and began crying, scared of the unknown changes ahead.

When I got to bed, Dave took one look at me and said, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m so worried that life is going to change too much,” I sobbed. “The girls are so perfect and kind and fun right now. I don’t want that to change…”

Dave paused. Blinked. And then simply said, “Wait until they wake up.”