And the Girls are Great, Too

I remember the moment - the very moment - that each of my girls was born.

I don't remember what time of day they were born, though Allison arrived at 3:27 a.m. See, we'd moved to Colorado the year before she was born. So it was somewhat unfamiliar territory. And all during our prenatal classes at the hospital, we practiced the route we would take when the big day came.

But my wife was well into labor when we left the house, and I got a better idea on the way to the hospital. Which meant we got lost, and we arrived too late for my wife to receive pain medication before Allison arrived.

She's still grateful for that one.

What I mean is, I was in the room when each of my daughters was born. I saw them arrive. Heard their first cries. I guess that's increasingly common for dads these days, but I'll never forget how each of those moments made me feel.

Last month, Allison started third grade. And Madeline joined her at school for her first day of Kindergarten. Two of my babies have suddenly become school-age.

All of the wise people you know will tell you to pay attention. Take it easy, and keep it all in perspective. The time, they'll say, will go by in an instant. Before you know it, they'll be rebellious teenagers, and then out of the house, on their own. And you'll wish you could have all those colicky nights and dirty diapers back again.

I'm beginning to think they're right.

At breakfast one morning, Allison asked me why the Bible doesn't mention dinosaurs. She followed up that cold water in my face with this perfect syllogism: the first people were cavemen; Adam and Eve were the first people; so Adam and Eve must have been cavemen. Right, dad?

Madeline is more emotional than her sisters, and I love that about her. She hangs on me, and many mornings, she refuses to let me go. But she's also learning to read, and write, and she has developed skills and opinions. Some evenings during dinner, I listen to her talk, and I wonder who this little girl is. Where did she come from, and how did she get so big, so fast?

And Olivia is perfectly willing to call me on my parental BS. If she senses that I'm trying to put one over on her, she juts out one hip, firmly plants her hands on her hips, and tells me that I'm wrong. She doesn't have to know the truth. She only feels compelled to point out when I'm wrong.

Some days, I feel like Tevya. My father told me this time would come. I just didn't think it would come so quickly.

As smart and bold as they are, that's not even the best part. They are just good girls. The first time we took the boys to see our doctor in Cheyenne, a group of nurses and others in the waiting room quickly gathered around the boys. They asked a lot of questions, and ooooed and awwwwed. And barely acknowledged that my daughters were standing there, too.

When the show began to wind down, I realized that my daughters had simply stepped back out of the halo and allowed everyone to gawk at their brothers. So I took the opportunity to tell the crowd how wonderful the boys' sisters have been. So helpful, so gentle with their brothers. And how they're growing up, heading into pre-school, Kindergarten, and third grade.

Yes, the boys are doing well, I said. And my girls are great, too.

I love you, ladies. And I appreciate the grace with which you have accepted your brothers.

Two Months (or 8 Weeks...)

My wife had placed Luke in the crib, sandwiched in between his two sleeping brothers, and had tiptoed out of the room, pulling the door shut behind her.

Almost before she was out of the room, the screaming began. It had quickly dawned on the boys that although the room was cool and quiet and dark, they were no longer swaying in a swing, or in their mother's arms.

So they let loose with their indescribable wailing - something akin to the scream a hawk makes, only over and over again at the tops of their lungs, until they're almost out of breath. After nearly an hour, the screaming stopped. They had worn down. They were learning to put themselves to sleep.

Except for one last whimper.

Allison, who has turned out to be perhaps the most helpful 8 year old in history, heard that last cry as she was walking down the hall to her room. Ever the dutiful assistant, she opened the door, turned on the light, and began vigorously shaking a baby rattle about five inches above Luke's face - a technique she had learned to help soothe the babies during the day.

And then the full-throated screaming began again.

The boys are a little more than two months old now. And it's not that I haven't wanted to write more frequently. It's just that every time I have a free moment to think about posting an update, I realize that's a moment of quiet that can be used for sleep. So I run to the couch, flop down, and fail to get any rest because I lie there anticipating the next request for help - either in English from the girls, or in Hawk from the boys.

In these two months, the boys' faces have rounded out, and they have more than doubled their weight. Our pediatrician told us that when babies get to be about 10 pounds, they are capable of sleeping through the night without waking up to eat. And thus, the daytime force feeding has begun.

The idea is that if we feed them a bit more often during the day, they won't need to wake up to replenish at night. And by putting them to bed (in the dark, behind a closed door in our bedroom) in the evening, they'll learn to put themselves to sleep.

Which they did, in fact, do. We are hopeful that we'll begin to get more done during the day, and in the evening, as they settle into a routine and learn to rest without coaxing. And my wife and I are hopeful that we'll begin treating each other like the best friends we are once we begin to get some sleep. Once we begin to recognize each other again through the darkness, and the bleary eyes, and the screaming chaos that our house has become in the last two months.

Correspondents on a triplets blog that my wife participates in assure us that this is the toughest part. We're in the trenches, they say, and if we can just hold on for a few more weeks, life should begin to return to normal.

Our boys are really beautiful. And their personalities are clearly beginning to emerge. I think we can hold on.

If we can just keep the helpers away.

Instant Celebrity

Some months back I remember seeing news video, the kind that plays on endless loop on cable news channels, of Britney Spears stopped at a traffic light. While she was sitting there in her car, the cars around her emptied, and photographers rushed up to her vehicle, snapping as many photos as they could before the light changed.

Some held on and others chased even after the light had gone green.

That, minus the insane dysfunction that is present in every news story about Britney Spears, generally resembles what it's like to take triplet babies out in public.

My daughters look forward to Cheyenne Frontier Days for only two reasons: 1) Grandma comes to our house for a week or two, and 2) they get to go to the carnival. And since my wife and I vowed to work as hard as necessary not to let our daughters get overshadowed by our sons, we loaded up the Expedition and took all six of them on our annual trip to the carnival.

It rained a little, as it does every year at this time. And we ate carmel apples and ice cream, as we always do. Allison rode the carnival rides, as always - though she was tall enough this year to get on more of them than she has in the past.

Only our triplet stroller was out of the ordinary at the carnival this year. That thing is like a rolling neon sign that flashes the words "Britney Spears Inside". We walked barely 10 steps at a time before being stopped by a group of strangers who wanted to gawk at the babies. (Some even wanted to touch the babies. But as you can imagine, my wife put a swift, fake-grinning stop to that.)

And there were paparazzi, too. Well, sort of. One carnival worker asked to take a picture with his cell phone because he'd never seen anything like this. We tried to keep moving through the onlookers, but it was no use. There were simply too many of them. At last, we resigned ourselves to our instant celebrity and simply tried to enjoy still another dimension of triplet parenthood.

It happened again later in the week, when we took the family to Cheyenne's historic Union Pacific Depot Plaza to enjoy the evening and listen to music. This time, though, the photographer was a German lady who said she had twin daughters, and the kicker was a free beer given to us by a man from Nebraska.

In Nebraska, apparently, one demonstrates his pity by offering free beer.

I was surprised at how all the attention affected me. Self-conscious. Borderline embarrassed. I had trouble just looking around the crowd - for fear that someone would think I expected them to notice the triplets, and I expected them to stop and tell me how amazing it all is, and how beautiful my boys are.

Meanwhile, my wife, whose self confidence I find both enviable and difficult to emulate, simply beamed with pride. Once again, she appears to have taken the smarter approach.

Frontier Days is over now, and I think I'm glad for it. It is 10 days long, but for us it was really only two surreal days of pushing a triplet stroller and getting stuck in traffic. Stopping to let strangers take photos. Answering the same questions over and over and over again. Riding the Cliff Hanger with my 8-year-old.

Celebrity is exhausting.