Sometime today, while I was taking a much needed nap after being rescued by my mother in law, the babies offically turned ten months old. They are inching towards the end of their first year just as they are inching their way closer and closer to crawling every day. It seems like it’s all going a bit too fast for me, but for them, it’s just out of their reach and very frustrating.
I have been watching them closely as they accomplish a new task or learn a new trick that makes us laugh. I have been trying to take it in as much as I can knowing that these are my last babies. This is the last time I will be the mother of a 10 month old. The last time I use my hands to give my baby something to push off from so they can finally reach the beloved remote.
The triplets were born six weeks premature and we were prepped in the hospital that they would be behind on certain milestones and not to worry much until they reached 18 months. Still, I am worring about their development in ways that I never worried about our older two daughters. Those damn weekly emails from BabyCenter tell me that they should be crawling or, maybe, taking their first steps. I have three babies who absutely hate being on their stomachs and think we’re missing several marbles for wanting them on their soft pudgy tummies. I wouldn’t worry as much as I do, but I’ve been spying other triplets who were born within the same week as mine doing amazing things. Bah.
I know, my kids are totally rad and I have nothing to worry about; but I’m a mom, and it’s my job, dammit.
When I had planned this post out in my head last night (and trust me, it was a much better psot then) I was planning on taking a bunch of pictures of the babies and sprinkle them throughout this post. Then, I woke up. Raging headache and 101.4 temp. The camera stayed in it’s padded case and I promptly crawled into bed when my mother in law showed up after my husband called her because I was too stubborn to.
This post isn’t about me, though, it’s about my babies. My babies who are less and less baby-ish every single day. You’d think after 6 kids my biological clock would stop ticking. It hasn’t.
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