Ava holding Kaely and Daniel’s precious Finley
Triplets times two in full play
Violet and Fletcher playing nicely together
Preston and Bailey
All of us – Elsa missed the “get on your mom’s lap” memo
Bailey and Elsa were working on sharing this toy
Elsa and Parker
Grilled Cheese sandwiches coming right up!
Ring around the rosy
The guilt has been building up and now I must write my blog because it has been almost two weeks again. Yes, I must admit that laying in bed watching television at the end of the day is somewhat more appealing than trying to turn on my brain and write. But in an effort to keep brain activity working at a steady level, I am using nap time to write some thoughts down.
I just picked up a message from the neurologist who got the results back from Violet’s MRI and all he said as that the results are consistent with Cerebral Palsy. I take that to mean that she has some brain injury in the area of her brain that is consistent with people who have CP. I called the doctor because I needed to know more. He said the damage is mild and she will only get better from here. I asked him if it was because she lacked oxygen in the womb at some point and he said that was most likely the case. He said she would probably need physical therapy. I said that she doesn’t need physical therapy because she walks and runs and jumps just as well as her brother and sister . . . maybe even better. I told him that she is in speech therapy and trying to say new words every day.
Okay, so now I know. Am I glad I know? I don’t know the answer to that yet. I just know that I had myself a short little cry because I feel somewhat responsible for Violet’s mild CP. I don’t mean to be lame and blame myself when I was doing the best I could, like mom’s tend to do. I just think that Violet was so smooshed in her section of the womb and I was maybe up on my feet a little too much at week 30 and it was just too much for both of us.
So, now I will move past my little piece of motherly guilt and know that Violet’s CP will most likely be unrecognizable throughout her life; it is virtually unrecognizable now. She is smart and she perseveres and she is just about the happiest most loving little kid I have ever seen. We love her so.
The most fun and interesting thing that happened in my week last week was our triplet playdate. My friend Emily who has two boys and one girl triplets that are a month older than mine brought her brood up to play with the Woolsey triplets for awhile. I met Emily when I was 15 weeks and she was 19 weeks at a El Dorado Mother’s of Multiples Baby Sale. I looked at her, a month ahead of me and said to myself, “good god, is my belly going to be THAT big in a month?” Anyway, all the kids were very good and very cute. I noticed with all six kids in the playroom together that an enormous mess emassed rather quickly (to be expected). I also noticed that the only hitting, biting, pushing, grabbing and hair pulling that occurred were committed by siblings to one another. In other words, the Kapic triplets did not inflict harm on the Woolsey triplets, or visa-a-versa. We pretty much had our own little in-home preschool that day so we did things like Simon Says and Ring Around the Rosie. The rest of the time Emily and I tried to have a conversation and get some best practice ideas from each other. It went something like this: Emily says “so what is the . . . Parker don’t do that.” Or I start to say, “I think it is fun when . . . Violet don’t you hit.” It is hard to have a conversation with two sets of triplets in the room. They are a cute six little six pack, and we will be seeing much more of our triplet friends now that Molly, Nima and Ronin will be living right down the street from them in Sacramento.
I think triplet moms are fun. We are part of a specialized segment of motherhood and only we can possibly understand each others lives. I met an awesome triplet mom in Costco the other day. Chris and I were shoving greasy Costco pizza down our kids before shopping and this nice woman comes up to me and says, “I hope this isn’t too nosy, but are those triplets?” I am used to this but usually people aren’t so polite with their inquiries. I said, yes they are. She said, “well, I just had to come up to you because I am the mom to 10 year old triplets, and I have three older daughters.” She said, “being the mom to triplets is the most wonderful thing in the world.” She said that the first five years were hard, but now it is just wonderful and fun and exciting. Then the weirdest thing happened. I was in Starbucks the next day and I ran into her again. She told me that her older girls are always looking for ways to help people out and that they would love to watch the triplets for us. She said her girls are obviously very good with triplets. I whipped my Mothership business card out immediately (yes, I do have those) and passed it over to my new triplet mom friend.
Our house is very loud lately. Ava talks non-stop. I am not exaggerating. She has always been loud and boisterous but now she has taken her lively personality the next step with constant communication. Sometimes I hit my breaking point and I just
say “Ava stop talking.” I usually have to repeat that request about five to ten times before she actually stops talking. Then she is offended because she feels that everything she says is very interesting and of utmost importance. “THAT IS NOT VERY NICE!!” she tell me. Preston has been screaming like a girl. He literally screams bloody murder when he wants something. It is not cool. Elsa screams bloody murder when she feels threatened or is assaulted in some way. She has always screamed though. Violet is the quietest but she definitely has her loud moments also. Tonight at the dinner table they were all chanting this noise that sounded like a bunch of wild animals that just scored a kill at Kruger National Park “eeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaa” as loud as they could . . .all four of them. We will never have a quiet, serene household. I had many years of quiet and serene . . . and it was boring.
Until next time, the mothership is signing off.