Another road trip, this one ended with Finn pooping everywhere and arriving at his grandmother’s house with no damn clothes on.
Handing over the reigns to Matt this week so he can tell you all about how hard we ruled Pizzeria Uno.
Despite having triplets, Kate and I have managed to enjoy a very active social life. Or, at least that’s what I’ve scrawled all over the sweat pants I’ve been wearing all week.
Yes, babies can put a damper on that kind of thing but we refuse to go down without a fight. And, when there are three of them, you have to fight for everything.
Matt and Jem catching some elusive zzz’s
I’ve never been to Guantanamo, but I imagine it’s similar to what our house was like for the first few months after the babies came home. Pure torture. No escape.
For the first day or so, we felt like we were on top of it. Sure, feedings were chaotic and exhausting. But after eating, the triplets would all doze off and Matt and I were back to being footloose and fancy-free for a couple hours. I remember standing in our living room on Day 2 with my neighbor, peering into the pack-n-play where all three babies were swaddled and snoozing, and boasting, “This is pretty much all they do.”
Then the universe was like “Aw hell, no,” aimed its dark stars in my direction, let out an evil laugh and hissed, “You’re gonna work, bitch.”* Continue reading