You’d think I’m lying, but it’s totally true. Your mind is blown, right? I KNOW.
We started thinking about potential Halloween costumes sometime this summer when I finally convinced Rob that it wasn’t totally stupid to dress up babies for Halloween. We talked about three blind mice, three little pigs, three amigos, three ____________. I even fell in love for a bit with the idea of dressing them all as Angry Birds characters.
Money and time are a huge factor for us, and just when I was starting to stress about not being creative/crafty/inventive/clever enough to decide on and create the perfect costumes, I remembered my friend Rema’s baby shower gifts for the girls: two Ohio State University cheerleading uniforms.
Light bulb.
With two-thirds of a trio of costumes already hanging in their closet, all we needed was an official jersey and some quick alterations to grey sweatpants we already had. Bingo bango presto change-o – three snazzy Halloween costumes for less than $40 out of pocket.
I had my doubts about whether the girls’ 12-month outfits would fit them before the end of football season, but they are the perfect size right now (thank you, official gear that runs small), as is Toby’s (12m) jersey. They’re all a tad big, but they’ll probably be able to wear them through the end of the season (now that I’ve let them put them on – I had visions of awful stain incidents and then being short on Halloween costume pieces), then the outfits will probably adorn some lucky teddy bears.
From Ohio, of course.
Happy Halloween, friends! And, of course, O-H!
Bed head, goofy faces, devilish grins. Good morning, babies!
In the beginning, we kept lights on in our house pretty much around the clock.
We were pretty much awake around the clock (they ate every 3 hours, and it took 1.5 hours to feed them, then I pumped for 30 minutes). Keeping the lights on helped keep me from snuggling back down into a cozy, dark, warm spot just two more minutes, so a lamp in the living room, the light over the kitchen sink, and the light over the stove stayed on during dark hours.
Now, the only light that stays on is the one on the refrigerator’s ice/water dispenser.
In the beginning, they slept on their backs in swaddles and barely moved a muscle.
Now, they all sleep with a small lovey blanket and a soothe-n-glow seahorse. Toby has one of my shirts, and the girls have bigger, satin-rimmed blankets. I think their positions vary with every half hour.
In the beginning, they slept through anything – even when I ran the vacuum under their cribs or among chaos in the pack-n-play set up in our living room.
Now, we tiptoe and hold our breaths till they are asleep, we hiss commands at the dog to not go click-clicking down the hall outside their room (let alone bark at passing threats neighborhood people), and we freeze in place if we drop or bang into something.
In the beginning, we put them in their cribs drowsy but awake. They’d often fall asleep within moments, drunk on milk and exhausted with life as trying-to-catch-up preemies.
Now, we put them in their cribs sleepy but awake. They protest a bit at first, but they chatter to themselves and each other, sometimes laughing and blowing raspberries until the noises get quieter and more spaced apart. They drift off to sleep together, comforted by the sounds of their nearby siblings.
A lot has happened between then and now, and a lot of it has been downright hair-pulling hard. I don’t care, though. It was part of the growing process, something they needed to struggle through as babies and something we needed to struggle through as parents.
In the beginning, I slept an hour here or there.
Now, I (mostly) sleep 7-8 uninterrupted hours.
Thank God for the evolution of sleep.
If blogging were tweeting, I’d be much better at it.
Twitter, designed to allow users to speak their minds in bursts of 140 characters or fewer, has become easier for me to use. I don’t feel trapped by the pressure to write in concise, well-formed sentences and paragraphs. I don’t feel the time crunch to weave all my thoughts together into one pleasant-to-read entry.
This former journalist has officially put communication priorities on the back burner.
Instead of writing well, I’m trying to live well. I’m trying to play well, to love well, to clean, eat, cook and sleep well.
I’ve always been one of those people – the ones who get frustrated and retreat when they can’t do something well enough. Lately, I’ve retreated from writing because I’ve had to face the music, grow up and come to terms with life. Sometimes our own standards mean precisely nothing. Sometimes Good Enough for others just has to be good enough for us, too.
By “us,” I mean the other self-loathing overachievers out there. I know I’m not alone.
In the spirit of writing poorly, if blogging were tweeting, I’d tell you these things about my day:
- No fever! And it doesn’t hurt to swallow! HALLELUJAH!
- It would have been nice to eye-poke the lady who said she felt sorry for me because I have triplets.
- Instead, I asked her why and gave her further, “But they’re soooo cuuuuute!” exclamations the cold shoulder. I’m trying to set a good example. Or something.
- I need to figure out how to make yarn pom poms that won’t be pulled apart by smart babies. It’s for Halloween, not Toddlers in Tiaras.
- No, naked triplets chasing each other while squealing and giggling aren’t at all adorable. NOT AT ALL.
- Neither are triplets in footed jammies who tackle each other across pillows while squealing and giggling.
- My trio are going through a weird phase.
- They want to breastfeed on their tummies. No, while sitting up. No, in the cradle hold. No, back to side-lying.
- My undies are slipping down, my nursing tank is riding up, my hair is poofy, and I just stepped in something sticky. And something slimy.
- Hot mess, table for 1.
This is where I drop the microphone and walk off-stage.
