April Twenty Fourth Two Thousand Fifteen
Sadie's first tooth came in April 10! Then Martha's on April 20! And then Ellie's, like, just this very moment. How is it possible that there's this much time between them? Of all things, shouldn't this be biological clockwork?
I mean, they're physically enlarging at the same pace, and teething is essentially just concentrated bone-growth - a little, angry rectangle punching through soft gum tissue. (Not a great design, if you ask me). So how could it be that there are two weeks between one stabby pioneer to the next? The girls are all the same height, close to the same weight, and are certainly developing at the same rate, so why the discrepancy here? When you've only been alive for 6 months, two weeks is a big difference. 8% of total time on earth. Another triplet mystery, I suppose...
In general, April hasn’t been a great month for the lot of us… A possible explanation: the manic energy of the last 6 months is finally dying down, and now the hangover is setting in. As the novelty wanes, so too do the endorphins. Waking up is getting hard. The morning routine is long and trying. And then work, and then home, and then bed, and then repeat. Adult-hood, in other words.
But I do know this - the second child was always going to be harder than the first. The fact that our second is actually our second, third & fourth makes it harder still of course, but only marginally so. The larger change is simply leaving the familiarity and ease of one kiddo, of no longer outnumbering your brood.
A single child is an accessory. More is a family. And that's brand new territory, both in terms of how it affects your life, but also in how you're perceived by others and yourself. Because no one minds a sleeping infant at a party, but try pulling up with a van full of sticky toddlers. It is frowned upon.
On the topic of sticky toddlers, Ozzy had his first true tantrum a few days ago, and it was a fairly despicable event. I woke him up from a late nap at his friends house, and he wouldn’t stop whimpering and crying, almost like he was emerging from a mini night-terror or something. We asked if he wanted an orange, and he mumbled yes but then just kept laying there. So eventually, frustrated, I picked the kid up and walked out the door. And he lost it.
For the next 40 minutes he was inconsolable, violent and terrible. Pure raging chaos. Throwing toys, kicking, screaming, etc. We'd never seen it before.
He's been an angel since, of course, but what a harrowing glimpse. It's not really an unexpected moment - kids are shits sometime - but there is something slightly disillusioning about it. All human beings have an 'irrational asshole' mode, and I guess it's a little jarring and sad to see it flip on for the first time. Some among us are arguing that it's a delayed response to the baby bomb, but I'm not so sure. I think it may be that he's a three year old.
And how are those girls, anway? (Not 'The Triplets', by the way. At some point we stopped referring to them as such. They are now 'The Girls'). They are perfect. The whole lot of them. Such beautiful, gentle, funny, happy babies. At least until they turn three, I guess.