Chez Perky

11 months

Eleven months ago today, my babies were born. *sniff* They're hardly babies anymore, they're little people now, growing up too fast. I don't understand why some parents are so eager to get to each new milestone - to me, moving to the next milestone means the passage of time, and I want to savor each moment with these beautiful babies - not just move on to the next milestone without even noticing the last one. They are really extraordinary now -

Sam was the last to smile, but he is so smiley now - his face just lights up when he sees Seth or me walk in the room, and he's super snuggly. He is a very good crawler and though he was the last to sit properly, he has no problems with that now. He stands, he cruises a little bit and a few times he's even stood up and then let go of whatever he's holding onto and stood unassisted for a few seconds. He's definitely thinking hard about walking, even if he's not there yet. I think he'll be there in another 4-6 weeks. Scary! He eats everything in sight and is usually the first of the trio to finish his meals. I haven't found anything he doesn't like to eat yet. He still has six teeth and love sto show off his chompers. He's babbling, but not as much as Ellie, who's my real talker. He's the most aggressive of the babies and is most likely to be stealing toys away from the other at any given point in time.

Ellie is unbelievably friendly. Her smile lights up an entire room. we joke that she's actually our cruise director because she'll smile at everyone and everything. She laughs and smiles so easily and has such an infectious little giggle. She's amazing. She has lots of neat ways of babbling, including a really high pitched "dadadadadah!" that she repeats over and over. She is by far the most verbal of the bunch with the most clear syllables of the bunch. She loves to eat, which is crazy considering her failure to thrive history, but we love it. She was the last to learn to crawl, but has finally mastered it, and is also a standing champ, and very bouncy. She now has five teeth, but two of hers are brand new, so they're harder to see than Sam's and Abby's. She's the most laid-back of the three and doesn't mind being crawled all over by Sam and Abby. She seems willing to put up with quite a lot of "abuse" from her siblings.

Abby is the most reserved of the bunch. She was, in some ways, definitely not meant to be a triplet. She definitely prefers to have her own space, and doesn't like to have the other babies touching her or in her space at all. She gets truly offended if they take her toys (Sam does this a lot) or look at her funny. Poor baby. She doesn't like sudden noises, doesn't like to be left alone, prefers to be held up away from the hustle and bustle of the baby pit. She's crafty, though, and if she wants attention, sometimes she'll crawl over to another baby, grab at their toy and then cry as if they were the ones who took it from her so that she gets attention. She's my pickiest eater, and also my most delicate eater. She is my least verbal baby, but she will imitate you if you make clicking sounds or raspberries. She also will shake her head no when she doesn't want to eat anymore, and she means it, so although she's the least verbal in terms of baby-babble, she's actually the most communicative in terms of actual useful communication.  Abby has six teeth and when she gives you her precious smile, which she doles out very carefully, you can admire them in all their glory.

They all love their baths, they all love to be snuggled, they all still love their exersaucers (though less than they used to), they all love the cats (though the cats love the babies less than the babies love the cats), they all adore the J-man (and the J-man adores them).

J is the best big brother in the universe. He adores the babies and loves that they're starting to get interactive enough for him to play with a little bit. He is eager to hold them and pick them up and play with them. It's hard to believe that he is almost five years old and starting kindergarten next week. How exciting. Time really flies when you're having fun, doesn't it? Or maybe it's just that time really flies when you're this sleep deprived...

New School

We're changing the J-man's school this fall, did I tell you that?  I lose track, you know.  It's a weird situation, because in our county (and even the private schools follow the county rules), to start kindergarten, you must turn 5 by September 1st.  J turns 5 September 16th; therefore, he does not qualify for kindergarten this year.  This is probably for the best, considering that he is behind in pre-reading skills, has the AD/HD thing going for him, and frankly, he's a boy.  He could use the extra year before being pushed ahead.  So we expected he would spend an extra year in four-year-old preschool this year and that was great. That's what most kids in his predicament do.  We love his current school and we love the teacher he would have next year, and it was all good things. 

And then we started seeing this developmental pediatrician.  He's been a miracle worker so far, you know, and hasn't led us astray yet, so we certainly can't complain.  And one of the things that he recommended was that we consider moving the J-man this coming fall into a "transitional kindergarten" program nearby.  The particular program that he was recommending is very good with working with children with special needs and especially children with J's profile.  They are actually better in terms of my commute (slightly).  They have an amazing facility, a fantastic teacher, and have been working with our developmental pediatrician for ten years, so they already have a system established to handle the J-man's special needs.  It's perfect, right?

It's still not easy, you know?  It was a very difficult decision to make.  Just as we'd decided to make the change, we found out who J's teacher would be at his old school next year and that made it a heart-wrenching choice to make, because she would be AMAZING with J - and a known commodity.  Changing schools also means it will be the fourth school in four years.  On the other hand, changing schools has never bothered J before, so why should it now?  Change really bothers ME, but it's never seemed to bother HIM. 

After weeks of deliberation, we finally decided that we have this developmental pediatrician on our team for a reason:  he is an expert.  He is here to guide us, to inform us, to teach us, and to help us.  He has not led us astray yet.  He has given us incredible referrals so far.  He is accessible.  He is sensitive to our needs.  He has never marginalized our emotions or our experiences.  But he has also been there himself, as a parent and as a professional.  So the best thing we can do is trust in him.  Not blindly, of course, but trust is important.

And so, we are changing schools.  And when I told his old school we weren't coming back - well, they didn't take the news well, let's just put it that way.    I know we're making the right decision, at least I hope we are, but I'm still broken up about it.  But J?  The J-man is NOT.  "When am I starting at my new school?  Do I get to go there today?" he asks me every morning.  He is so excited, he can hardly wait.   

My little tiny boy?  That baby boy that came to us at just 13 months old?  Golly - he's starting KINDERGARTEN next week.   *sniff*  Can you believe it?

Consumed

"Tell me, do you like working?" he asked, pointedly.
"Oh, heavens, no!  I hate it!" I reacted immediately, without even thinking.  "I mean," I recovered, "I used to.  I like the idea of working.  I'm good at it.  Or I used to be.  You know, it's my field.  But then I had all these kids, and really, that wasn't even the tricky part, it's just that then all this with the J-man and all this coordinating and I'm pulled in all these directions.  You know, sooner or later, something has to give.  But I have to work.  How else would I pay you?"

Where did that come from?  There I was in the developmental pediatrician's office babbling as though I was at my own therapist's office.  Not that I have a therapist.  Maybe I should, but who has the time?  But seriously, since when do I hate working?  When did that happen, exactly?  Who is this person that I've become? 

I actually don't think it's all these kids that's changed me this way.  Yes, to some degree having the kids has made me want to be with them in a way I never wanted to be home before.  But it's more than that.  The pressure that this diagnosis - those four little letters - has put on my time, my schedule, my way of life has been enormous.  Every day there's another appointment to be made, a new adjustment in schedule, a different specialist to talk to, a new assessment to squeeze in, a school to talk to, a form to fill out, a new parenting technique to try, a different medicine dose to measure.  My life is consumed with those four little letters, looming above me. 

A. D. H. D. 

The fact of the matter is that the reason my life is so consumed by those letters is because things ARE getting better.  And the reason things are getting better is BECAUSE my life is so consumed by this.  If we were half-assed about this, nothing would be working, but we are methodical, thorough, careful, every step of the way.  We are leaving no stone unturned.  But clearly, it's taking its toll.

The J-man just finished some extensive speech-language assessments because the developmental pediatrician had some concerns that he might have dyslexia or similar learning disabilities.  I haven't gotten the formal, written report from the Speech Pathologist yet, but yes, in fact, new words have entered our lexicons already.  Developmental Dysnomia.  Dyslexia.  And more.  No formal diagnosis, yet, but possibilities, words we play with on our tongues, words we work to understand.  The J-man has no sense of visual organization, cannot distinguish any visual cues without prompting, and even then falters.  Auditory cues are right on - no problems there.  His verbal skills are above average.  But his ability to distinguish letters and numbers on a page?  Non existent.  To him, they probably look like random little squiggles - all the same, indistinguishable from one to the next.  Yet he can pick out the tiniest differences from one dinosaur to the next.

Learning disabilities and AD/HD go hand in hand a lot of the time.  Researchers aren't actually certain why.  It's a bit of a peculiarity, but still, it means these new words entering our vocabulary aren't in the least bit surprising, just one more thing to work with. 

Every day it's a balancing act:  Get enough hours in at work, get enough work done, do a good job, enjoy what I do.  BUT, get the appointments made for the J-man that need to be made, coordinate with the professionals who are there to help make things happen for him, get all the paperwork filed that needs to be filed (on time) for the school, for insurance, for whatever, evaluate each day's progress with regards to the medicine doses, be a good parent (or at least as good as the day allows), and on and on.  Nevermind the other three kids in the house, the dishes, the laundry, the straightening, the chores, the grocery shopping that needs to be done, the cooking that's been neglected, the calls that need to be returned, the board meetings to attend, the thank you notes that still haven't been completed from the triplets' birth nearly a year ago... 

Yesterday's appointment with Ye Olde Developmental Pediatrician was supposed to be with the J-man, but he was sick, so it turned out to be just me, and I'm not sure what prompted his initial question to me.  Perhaps it was that I walked in looking so tired (I was sick).  Maybe it's because he's got two ADHD/LD kids of his own and knows how much work it is to juggle it all even without the triplet factor.  Maybe it was the way my badge was swinging around my neck, looking sad and out of place with the rest of me as I flung it out of my way.  Maybe he could just sense that at that moment, I had just about had enough. It's funny how this pediatrician - this man who specializes in working with children is so brilliant with working with parents.  I firmly believe that no pediatric specialist has any business being in pediatrics unless they can handle parents, too, but this is different.  He has a sensitivity and an awareness about what's going on from the parental side of things - it makes you instantly trust him.  That's important, I suppose, when you're trusting a doctor to evaluate medication needs for your son.   Trust.  Whatever it is - Dr. S. got right to the heart of the matter - I've changed.  AD/HD has changed me.  This diagnosis has changed me.  I don't even enjoy the same things I used to enjoy.

Where exactly have I gone?

 

Of Course He Did

Not five minutes after Seth called to say his plane had arrived safely in Baltimore, the J-man came down looking pretty miserable.  So miserable, in fact, it was hard to be annoyed with him for being out of bed after bed time. 

"Eema, I barfed."

Of course he did.  All over his pillow and sheets.  Because, you know, it would have killed him to wait an hour so that it would have been Seth's problem, right?  That's three vomits for me during Seth's two and a half days away. 

That man seriously OWES me, right?

Welcome to Motherhood?

Some time ago Bea, previously of Infertile Fantasies fame, wrote eloquently of wanting "credit for time served."  That is, we (infertiles, you know) spent so much time preparing for parenthood... we worked at it for so long, and yet when we finally get there, our friends who started on that journey after we did, yet reached the goal long ahead of us somehow manage to treat US like the "newbies" when we finally reach pregnancy and, finally, parenthood.  Finally we're part of that exclusive club, and treated like we don't know anything about what it's like to be a parent though we've spent the last year, two years, five years working to get there and yet, we get no "credit for time served," do we? 

I admit Bea wrote far more eloquently on this topic, but that's not my point.  My point is that Bea writing about this reminded me of a story.  My own desire for credit for time served. 

One day, when the triplets were, maybe four or five months old, Seth was out of town, I had recently returned to working full time, and I was dropping J off at school.  On my way back out of the school, I ran into an acquaintance of mine.   We'll call her... "Sheila".  Sheila has two children, ages 6 and 4.  Her husband is one of the most laid-back, sweet guys I've ever met, but I admit, Sheila rubs me the wrong way nearly every time I encounter her, so I don't want to bias you or anything, but hey, it's MY blog, so I'll cry if I want to.

Right.  Where was I?

Sheila walked in as I was walking out of the school and asked how I was doing. 

"Okay," I said, "A little tired."
"Oh well," she shrugged, "Welcome to Motherhood!"

I'm sorry, WHAT?  Did she seriously just tell me to suck it up?  Because that's what it sounded like to me.  Now I recognize that all mothers are tired.  And I recognize that I'm not special or anythi- oh wait, I am special, but that's another story. 

Now, really, she might have been doing this motherhood thing for a while, but, um, first of all when was the last time that Sheila spent the night up with not one, not two, but THREE babies?  Second of all, "welcome to motherhood?"  WHAT?  Like this was something new to me?  What about the last four years that I've been a mother to J?  Do I get no credit for that?  And nevermind Bea's point, the credit for time served.   How about the five years I spent working to get to this point of motherhood?  It's not like I was just dropped in at this point with no warning, no forethought, no experience, planning, research, consideration. 

Do I get no credit whatsoever?  None? 

And seriously?  Every single time I've seen Sheila since she's made some patronizing remark about my parenting, and I'm really geting tired of it.  Hello?  I have four kids.  FOUR.  And three of them are under a year old.  And I've been parenting almost as long as her and actively working to become a parent for as long as I've known her.  Credit for time served, indeed.    

Single Parenting

I have the utmost respect for single parents.  I know I don't have it in me to be a single parent.  Not even remotely.  That being said, Seth left for Pittsburgh yesterday for a two day conference.  He'll be back late Tuesday night leaving me with three dinner times, three bed times, and two morning wake up routines all to myself.  Yay me.  Yes, I am superwoman, thank you for asking.  I need a cape.  Though a sidekick would be more useful, don't you think?

Of course, not five minutes after Seth left, one of the cats threw up on the stairs.  It's like they were mocking me.  One of my rules is that Seth is 100% responsible for any bodily fluids which come out of the cats.  I am not a pet person.  I don't like being responsible for animals.  I would rather be pet-free (and thereby dander-free) than deal with puke, pee, poop, etc.  If I wanted to deal with bodily fluids, I would have had kids.  Oh, wait... I did that.

This morning started at 4:30 with an exploding diaper from Sam who then frantically nursed for an hour.  Then J threw up on the stairs on his way down to get his patch put on for the morning.  Also, he was bouncing off the walls all farkin' morning.  It was a good morning.  I expect tonight to be more of the same.  Good times all around.

I don't mind the single-parenting gig, actually.  I love my kids.  What I hate is the feeling of being trapped.  What if I needed to go out?  I can't.  With four sleeping children, I'm stranded.  How do single parents handle this?  I leave in the morning, drop J at school, go to work, dash out of work, pick J up, run home, meet the nanny to relieve her, get everyone fed, into bed, get J fed, into bed, and then I'm stranded.  There's no time for an extra errand, like if I had to stop at the pharmacy or grocery store or pick up the dry cleaning or whatever.  How would I do that if Seth weren't coming home Tuesday night?  I guess I'd get a babysitter, but if I were a single parent with four young kids, how would I afford that?  Did I mention that I have the utmost respect for single parents?  I don't know how you guys (and gals) do it! 

Did I mention Ellie's teething? 

How many hours left until Seth comes home?

World Breastfeeding Week - Who Knew?

Hey, did you know that it's World Breastfeeding Week? 

I've been breastfeeding my triplets for 10 1/2 months now, and I love it.  It makes me feel ...  well, I feel like my body isn't betraying me.  And I love that my babies are bonded to me, even Abby who doesn't breastfeed, but gets my milk.  She shows a definite preference for my milk over formula. 

I never thought it would be possible to do this. I thought I'd pump for them while they were in the NICU and I thought maybe I'd struggle through a couple weeks at home, but I never really thought I'd make it through a whole year.  And now I find myself wondering if I'll be ready to give this up when they turn a year old next month. 

I have these three babies - these three that started out teeny, tiny, helpless babies, that have grown from as tiny as 2 1/2 pounds (Abby) and are now as big as 20 pounds (Sam) and I helped do that!   

So, um, go me!

Good Things and Less Good Things

Good Thing:  Having reached my absolute limit yesterday, I called my mother and asked her to stay with the kids and declared that Seth and I were going out after the triplets were in bed.  We went to see a movie.  Since he wasn't on call this time, he actually got to see the entire movie, and we had a great time.
Less Good Thing:  I really did reach my absolute limit on coping with my life yesterday.  This PMDD thing?  SUCKS. 

Good Thing:  Sam has figured out how to climb up stairs.
Less Good Thing:  Sam has figured out how to climb up stairs.

Good Thing:  Abby has one more physical therapy session, but will probably be discharged after that.
Less Good Thing:  Ellie probably will not be discharged from physical therapy for a while.  (That being said, she's really doing fine, she's just further behind than the other two.

Good Thing:  My babies are almost a whole year old.
Less Good Thing:  My babies are almost a whole year old.

Good Thing:  I've talked with my friend about the misunderstanding about my blog compromise.  Turns out that it may have been partially a miscommunication on my part.
Bad Thing:  I may have hurt her feelings by having approached it through a vent in my blog.
Good Thing:  The best thing about friends?  We're already over it.

Good Thing:  We've added in a new medication to J's regimen and it seems to be working nicely.
Less Good Thing:  It's a real pain in the tushy to deal with because we have to crush a pill, mix it into 1ml of simple syrup, and then draw up .2mls of medicine each time we give him the medicine (2x/day).  Then, since he refuses to take any medicine of any kind by mouth under any circumstances, the only way we can get him to take this is to mix it in with ice cream.  So he gets a couple teaspoons of ice cream BID.  But the new rule is that he may never have ice cream any other time of day ever.  Ice cream is now reserved for medicine taking.  Still, it's a whole lot of effort to go through twice a day.

Good Thing:  My kids are awesome
Less Good thing:  There is no "less good thing" for this one.

Compromised

One of the reasons that I moved this blog to TypePad  was because some "real life" friends, who I had not explicitly given the URL to my blog (so I'm not referring to you, Julie or Diana, or any of you others that know that I explicitly gave you this URL), had found my  blog over at My Perky Ovaries.  Too many had found it, really.  I had other things push me over the edge, but when I stopped feeling comfortable posting about my feelings about infertility, and knowing that I was getting closer to moving back to Ye Old Fertility Clinic, I knew it was time to pick up and move.

Some of my real life friends knew I was moving in part because I had been "found" and they felt badly about having found me, even though it was obviously through no fault of their own.  I have a public blog, for a reason, and therefore, I can't expect everyone to stay out, now can I?  Even if I didn't use my name, my likeness, or my childrens' names, the fact that I'm an Orthodox Jew with triplets, an older child with a slightly-less-than-normal-legal-situation, etc. makes me pretty distinguishable to the people that know me in real life.  So removing my names and pictures from my blog wouldn't really help me, and I'm not interested in creating a whole new internet personality for the sake of anonymity, because I try to be ME as much as possible.

When one of my friends found my old blog, I told her specifically that the fact that she and others had found it was precisely the reason I was moving my blog.  She asked with interest what the new name for my new blog would be and I very specifically did not tell her the new name of the blog.  I clearly said that the things that I want the whole world to know, I post elsewhere, in a blog that she already reads. 

I know that people I know in real life will find this blog. I'm not naive.  I also know that the vast majority of them read this blog in silence, and I thank them for pretending to respect my privacy, though I recognize that the only way I will have true privacy is to password protect my blog, which I have my own reasons for not doing.  They're good reasons, which I don't need to share at this time, but believe me, they're good and valid. 

But this friend, who I specifically told I was moving the blog so that real life people would not be reading my thoughts on infertility and the like... this friend apparently went looking for my blog again.  And not only did she go looking for my blog, and not only did she find my blog and read my thoughts, she left footprints.  She commented in my blog.  Twice.

I recognize that I have no right to ask for privacy from the general public.  But when I ask a friend explicitly to respect a boundary, I think that's another thing all together. Find my blog?  Sure.  Read my blog?  By all means, be a voyeur.  But rub it in my face when I made it clear I didn't want you here?  That's just tacky.

And now I feel compromised, even though I realize I have no right to expect privacy in the public world of blogging. 

I will continue blogging, but I do know this:  when I return to Ye Old Fertility Clinic in the fall, I won't be blogging about it.  Or if I do, I won't be blogging about the specifics of dates of retrieval, transfer, test results, things like that.  No one will know, from my blog anyway, what exactly is going on.  Because I don't even have the facade anymore of pretending that my friends won't know the inner details of my pregnancy test results.

In my community, we don't tell people we're expecting until we are beyond the first three months or so, though I've been known to let a few people in on the joke.  The first time I was pregnant, I told people in my community that I was pregnant when I got to three months, and a day later, I had a miscarriage.  I've sworn I'll never do that again.   It's one thing if people are reading and I don't have it shoved in my face that they're reading.  It's quite another if they are reminding me of it.

I never thought I would censor myself on my blog, and I'm sorry to do it.  The reason I moved was so that I would stop censoring myself.  Maybe I'll get over myself and just write about it anyway, but right now?  Right now I just feel... compromised. 

Because I needed the other shoe to drop

I stayed home sick yesterday, what with the obvious breast infection.  Whenever I stay home sick, my nanny ends up sick or injured or whatnot.  Yesterday it wasn't she that ended up sick, but her niece, for whom she is the primary caregiver.  Obviously, she had to leave if her niece was throwing up and sick and had a fever and whatnot.  Poor M but also Poor Karen.

This morning, M called to say that her niece has chicken pox. 

Let's review.

Point the first:  Karen's babies are 10.5 months old.  Babies receive the chicken pox vaccine at 12 months old (and another booster sometime later, I can't remember when).

Point the second:  Karen is not immune to chicken pox.

Point the third:  Karen's nanny has never, to her knowledge, had chicken pox OR the chicken pox vaccine.

Point the fourth:  The incubation period for chicken pox is 8-21 days.  Let's average it out and call it 14 days. 

Point the fifth:  Regardless of the incubation period, her niece will need care and will not be able to return to her babysitter until she herself no longer has active chicken pox lesions, about a week. 

This, suffice it to say, has not been a good week.  I haven't even gotten a shower yet today.  For the good of mankind, I must get a shower today!