Two Days to go ’til the Big Birthday


Seriously, I can hire an assistant to match socks on a daily basis.

NINE years. Nine. So long I waited to become a mom and, poof, they’re going to be nine.

(If they’re lucky, and with two days left, they better make it.)

Hard to imagine the triplets are going to be nine. The big question is did they age me 9 years, or a collective 27 years… the look on my face some days tells one story, the white strands in my hair which unfortunately are NOT glitter, tell the same tale. But, then again, it’s been one wild ride.

That night that the kiddos finally made their debut I had just received a call from my good friend Auntie Jean and I told her all was good… it looked like I was going strong for another day being the mom-to-be. Little did I know mere hours into a marathon of The Office — not sure if it was Dwight or Michael, or if it was just Gretchen being sick of the other two standing on her and stealing her food — would soon become a Friday morning delivery.

I was pushing the nurse-call button through those contractions which weren’t as bad as I thought they’d be… but that was the fear of what I would meet taking over. Looking back at it, it was pretty severe. But the unanswered questions were worse:

Would I get to hold them?

Would I get to bring them home?

Would we be OK?

My first reaction, truthfully, when I saw Rob was to ask, “am I going to be OK?”

(Honestly, those questions you can’t answer, are horrible.)

I don’t remember his answer. I barely remember my sister and her half-up ponytail ‘do being there or the fact that I tried to call her from L&D on my cellphone. I remember just crumbling into the delivery teams arms when I got the epidural.

And praying to God, my dad, and everyone else, that everything was going to be okay.

Now, nine years later, and SWOOOSH! They’re talking back, and being naughty, and one of them is fearlessly living in a word consumed by communication when he can’t say a word.

(Except for HAPPY, when he’s happy, and NO when he’s going in for a blood draw.)

And we’re stuck doing laundry. And I mean non-stop laundry. And keeping them healthy, and safe, and happy, and active…

And they’re mine.

And I don’t know what I’d do without the chaos and joy that they do bring.

So, happy early birthday. May 9 (x3) be the year of the triplet.

Until next time.

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