The early years …. of kids

Since I published my first post yesterday I have written a 1000 words in my head while in the shower, washing dishes, driving the car…. there is so much I think I want to share it is kind of hard to know where to begin… and if it will be of any interest to those reading. So as my 3 boys “discuss loudly” the different ways of building mansions in Minecraft, I am seated at the PC in the hope another interesting blog will make it’s way through my fingers. Since my 3 gorgeous boys really do take up most of my time and energy; and my greatest worry is I will not have been a good enough mom to them; I will continue to share how we got to where we are today. I honestly don’t know how we survived the first year – I think it was well after the twins were 8months old before they started sleeping through, but there was always someone who woke up anyway. The standard wake up time in our house until the boys were well past 2 was 4:30am – which we tried to capitalise on, and some Saturdays we could be home by 10am having done grocery shopping and taken the boys on an “outing”! Once I started working though, it was exhausting. Feeding, bathing, entertaining, clothing and cleaning up after 3 little boys was an all consuming task. We came up with little things to help make things easier – bumbo chairs on the kitchen table served as high chairs for the twins for ages and doubled up as great shower seats for bath time. And yes we had 2 (and sometimes 3!) of just about everything. My nappy consumption was ridiculous, and once the twins started on solids I spent a small fortune on jarred baby food. I did attempt to make purees myself but finding time to actually do this, and the fact that it was all too often rejected, meant my “supermom” cloak was dropped and I turned to jarred baby food. As soon as they were big enough for finger foods I cooked up pasta, pears, corn, sliced grapes, buttered rice cakes, cooked up meatballs to my hearts content. In the very early days the twins each slept in the “cot” section of their pram on the dining room table out of harms way. It was all too soon though before we would see Oliver craning over the edge of the cot and we moved on to Alexander & Oliver sharing Max’s camp cot which we set up in the living room. Max wasn’t quite ready for a big boy bed and we couldn’t face the thought of THREE cots in the house. It was very special seeing 2 little babies head to toe or side by side sleeping in  the camp cot and worked surprisingly well for quite a while. While all this was going on, renovation work on a little room above our garage was being done so that Max could move into his own room and the twins could move into his.  And as luck would have it, it didn’t take too long for the room to be completed, or for Max to start climbing out of his cot – and the move to a big boy bed was done, a 2nd cot purchased and the twins rehoused in Max’s old room in a cot each. So much must have happened in those first 18 months that I honestly can’t remember (sadly) but we were too busy just getting through each day. Thank goodness for the invention of digital cameras and to the fact that I am quite happy to snap away. Many memories and events have been date documented as a result so they boys have a record of some of the events that marked their early months/years. I fretted enormously about being a good mom (something that to this day causes my enormous angst) and worried about doing the right thing for my children. Thankfully in between all the self doubt and worry I still went with my gut and instinct and looking back did pretty ok. I pushed the boundaries when I allowed Tinkerbell (our cat) to roam freely in the boys rooms and would often find her curled up asleep at the bottom of a cot. I also let the boys sleep on their tummies from an early age as they slept so soundly and comfortably when they did. (Their necks were strong enough so they could life their heads and move from side to side thought) .Little did I know that my need to constantly be perfect and seem organised and on top of everything would lead me down the fretful path of Postnatal Depression – and I would really battle to climb out of the deep hole it threw me into.


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