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.
Our first outing was a seven-block walk to CVS when the boys were only a few weeks old. After an hour packing up the essentials—three days worth of formula, a thousand muslin blankets to shade the sun, tiny novelty sombreros, winter coats should a chill appear—we were ready for adventure. Upon returning home we noticed that our babies seemed warm and lethargic. We became convinced they had heat stroke. “How could we be so reckless and foolhardy? Who did we think we were, Bear Grylls?” (Turns out they were warm because it was warm outside and lethargic because they were FREAKIN’ NEWBORNS!)
A simple trip to CVS felt like flying too close to the sun. We’d have to set our sights lower. Rite Aid, maybe.
Our first family day trip was to a winery outside of Charlottesville. Wheeling our freak show of a stroller out of the parking lot we were overcome with an incredible sense of accomplishment. That is, until some horrible woman staggered across our path like a day-drunk black cat and slurred, “Ha! This is the easy part—wait ‘til they start walking!” Before we could respond she disappeared into the crowd…or maybe we killed her. The point is that, for the first time in three months, we felt a glimmer of hope that we could live life again and this woman just had to piss all over it.
But that psychological wet-willie paled in comparison to the existential atomic-wedgie we received the first time Kate and I attempted a weekend alone. An hour after checking into a bed and breakfast we got a frantic phone call from our au pair saying that our dogs had gone missing. And so, we celebrated our fifth anniversary with a tense, three-hour drive to collect our kids and start the search for two dogs whose fate looked worse with every snowflake that hit our windshield.
The good news—we found our dogs!
The bad news—our kids found a cold. And that cold begat RSV and RSV begat a week of emergency room visits, extended hospital stays, in-home nebulizer treatments and zero sleep for anyone.
It would seem the universe was trying to tell us something …
But, you know what? Eff the universe.
When you’re presented with limitations (however adorable; however severe) you have to make a choice—you either surrender to them or you learn to thrive within them.
We may not get out as often as we used to but, damnit, we still get out. So what if, instead of lingering over the perfect two-top at some hip new restaurant, we’re monopolizing all the high chairs of a Pizzera Uno at 11AM on a Sunday. We are out! All of us!
I sit back and drink it all in like a bottomless Mr. Pibb—James is trying to eat his own foot; Finn is grinning serenely; Bran catches my eye, smiles a gummy smile and grunts like a gorilla. I look at Kate and we laugh. This may not be the life we pictured for ourselves, but it’s more weirdly perfect than anything we could have imagined.
Our poor waitress approaches. “Can I start you guys out with some apps?”
How about a pitcher of beer with two straws, whatever pizza you can cook to a non-hazardous temperature the quickest, and a check. It’s only a matter of time before the wheels fall off this traveling freak show.