For more than two weeks now, each person in our household has slept in his/her assigned bed. There have been a few two a.m. hugs - those are allowed - but no bed switching. This didn't happen in the natural course of life. Rich and I had to step in with a family meeting after several restless nights for me over the Christmas break. Admittedly, I'm not the greatest sleeper. I'm a light sleeper who will awaken at the softest noise or the slightest shift, when someone down the hall moves. The only time I seem to sleep hours on end without waking is when I'm exhausted but then come morning, I'm still tired. Unless I can sleep for four more hours and in my world, that's a rarity.
Rich was away one night overnight and I spent two hours moving between all the beds in the house and stressing myself out because I couldn't fall asleep and I knew what the next day would be like with a tired head. Anna, who normally never gets out of her bed at night, decided to join into the mix. I eventually slept in Emily's bed alone with she and Allie slept in my bed. (ha ha) So we laid down the law and that's that. After a few nights, Emily asked how long she was going to have to keep it up, thinking that it was temporary. (ha ha) Four or five nights in, when they were beginning to waiver, I pulled a muscle in my back and was stuck in bed for the day. I told the girls that I absolutely could not get out of bed that night. And that was that.
Instead of bursting with triumph, I feel a bit down, which isn't completely a reaction to this. I've been having one of those mid-life crisis weeks, which is most likely a spin-off of two busy weeks at work. You know the old have I made the right decisions in life because it feels like everything I do is off. One of those weeks.
Parenting triplets is complicated. It's so complicated that you can never really know its depth unless you have triplets yourself. I am constantly reminding them that love isn't a competition but they've had to share my love from the beginning and so to them, in a way, it is.
There was one chilly winter's morning when the girls were babies, about nine months old. Three months earlier, after many failed attempts, I was able to schedule their daily routine. Eat, activity, sleep. Repeat. Repeat. That was our day. That one chilly winter's morning, two of them fell asleep as I cuddled with them on the couch. Grammy offered to help me move them upstairs to their cribs and I waved her off. It wasn't very often that I was able to relax with a sleeping baby, or in this case, two. And so I stayed on the couch, mostly reclined, with two babies wedged in on either side of me and watched tv on mute as they napped. I can still remember the warmth radiating from their little bodies. Their weight, so light and compact, against me I knew that they would grow up. All parents know this but we continue to take the present for granted.