Mother. It means many things. In my house it can mean nurse, comforter, chauffeur, house cleaner, fashion police, teacher and even on occasion cook. I have kissed boo boos, fixed broken toys, rocked, cuddled, scolded, and even sewn (once). In the last 10 years that I have been a mother of triplets I have taught my kids many things and they have taught me more. They have taught me that I am tougher than I ever imagined. Whoever said “what does not kill you makes you stronger” must have had triplets. Memories that I can look back at now and laugh but did not seem so funny at the time. Like the fact that when my children were between the ages of 1 and 2 they would steal. We would be browsing through the stores in the mall and when we would get back to the car, without fail someone would have pulled something into the stroller with them. It was almost always clothing, and almost never their size. Therefore, we learned to pat down each one before leaving to avoid the long trip back. Frisking my toddlers was not what I had in mind when becoming a mother. I had visions of cuddles and kisses with bedtime stories and rainbows, not meltdowns at the most inappropriate times, or potty accidents when no spare diapers are at hand.
Before the triplets, I taught a class of 3-year-olds and had no infant experience. I always said I would like to give birth to a 3-year-old since I would know what to do. Well I now know why that is never the case, because it takes three full years to love the child enough not to want to kill them at that age. With each passing year, we were faced with a new set of challenges. From potty training to training bras the fun never stops. The last 10 years have been filled with heartache and headaches. Bumps, bruises and braces. I love you’s, I hate you’s and I need you’s. Nights that felt they would never end with crying babies or sick children, but days that seemed to go too fast. From wishing they would be quiet from all the baby talk to praying they will never stop telling me things.
One day the sound of footsteps running through the house will be gone. The laundry will be back to a manageable size. When I put something down it might actually be there when I return, and the words “please stop whining” will leave my vocabulary. Until that day comes, I will complain about the dishes and the muddy shoes. I will be heard on the playground moaning about homework and cheer practices. I will even be caught looking frazzled and stressed. However, in the midst of it all I will remember that every moment is one I will not get back and I will cherish them all with a heavy heart, a tear in my eye, and a strong drink in my hand.
