Raising triplets is very much like that job where you hate the work, but love the people. Sure there may be elements you like, but it’s the people that keep you working there.
William, Polly & Penny are that for me. I love them to the pit of my very soul but after the fortnight we’ve had, I could quite happily resign and find a nice cushty job emptying bins or cleaning toilets.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m speaking personally here, not on behalf of Rach who, once the holidays are over goes back to primary carer of our trio whilst I bugger off for several hours a day pursuing my dream of fitness world domination…well, Bognor domination anyway.
After a blissful night’s stay at The Grand hotel in Brighton; enjoying a much needed night as ‘Kris’ & Rach’ again, the season took a turn for the worse with a norovirus sick 9 year old in the run up. Add to that from the 23rd, little Lady P, the apple of our eye (if our eye was a bloody hammer!) decided she liked to cry…a lot, non-stop in fact! Now I don’t mean that in an exaggerated ‘it wasn’t really that bad’ way. I mean it in a ‘seriously, she hasn’t stopped in 3 hours’ way. This Penny onslaught then continued right through to Christmas Eve then into Christmas Day when we were also greeted with a very sick 11 year old for the evening too. Thanks to all this cheer, Christmas itself didn’t really happen. We got enough time for a good meal and then right back into Penny fire-fighting again. “Do you want a toy? Okay maybe not, what about Moana? You like Moana! Oh okay..no Moana” …it went on…
Into Boxing Day and my family’s turn. From the moment we arrived at my grandparents Penny began. Opening her once premature lungs to unleash a sound only Satan himself would call pleasant. This continued again, faultlessly throughout the day for no reason. Not wet, not dirty, not cold, not hot, no high temp, not ill, not hungry, not tired, not wanting a cuddle. Insatiable to the very definition.
After barely getting a chance to sit for 45 seconds, we bailed out around 6pm; exhausted and submitting to a truly disastrous Christmas with what felt like a fever and flu on the horizon.
But no. Not flu.
It was our turn with the Norovirus.
Boxing night, Rach & I proceeded to spend most of the night talking into the porcelain telephone. It’s not over yet though, because Polly then started. Sick in her bed twice; it was bathtime and washing time at 3:30am…not ideal when you yourself are one move away from giving her a blanket of second-hand Christmas dinner.
Queue the next week, one filled with screaming Penny (yep, she’s still going!) and a very sick Polly, slowly creating a washing pile of sick clothes and bedding that rivalled any laundrette’s weekly business.
Then came the day before New Year’s Eve. Are we well? No, not exactly, but we powered through. William sick overnight as he had now come down the bug. Polly still sick but we had a date with Rach’s Dad in Surrey the very next night and we were going to make the occasion. Car then decided it didn’t want to play ball for an hour or so but luckily fate smiled down on us with a little “Okay, maybe I’ll give you a break on this one”
We made it to Surrey to bring in 2018 and as we celebrated with board games with the boys, William refused to settle. Not surprising being the babes’ first time away staying in travel cots, we were never in for an easy night, but what followed was the final nail in the festive coffin!
After William not settling for nearly an hour, I brought him down for a cuddle.
Got myself a nice milk and mash shower in the only pair of trousers I brought with me (note to self: spare clothes for EVERYONE in future Moysey!). After taking him up for a bath and with what we thought were two finally settled girls asleep next door, we heard her go. Polly had erupted with the very same mash and milk mix and was now underwater in her travelcot, searching desperately for a liferaft so she could climb aboard and make her way to dry land! Ew…
After cleaning them both up, getting boxer-naked in front of my theoretical in-laws, apologising profusely for the milk-mash puddle that William left on their beautiful tile flooring we finally managed to get them to sleep, and so brought in the new year in style. Watching ‘Big Fat Quiz Of The Year’ in borrowed trousers that kept falling down and playing Scategories (which is surprisingly fun by the way!).
Next day, queue more Penny screams (That’s 7 days straight now, this girl needs to be a singer!), I took the trio out for a long car ride round Woking to McLaren HQ and back to give Rach & the boys at least a little time with their loved ones before we eventually decided enough was enough with Penny and we headed home.
In closing, every year we have always alternated Christmas between the two families over Boxing Day & Christmas Day, but no more. Taking three babies, especially three sick babies away from an environment where we have amassed everything we need to be the ‘trio-parents’ is no longer something on the cards! It’s hell and when they’re on form, they are no longer these beautiful little cherubs, they’re the job you want to resign from and have the power with nothing but their lungs to ruin EVERYONES Christmas.
Next year at least, it’s Christmas at home and if the world wants to, the world can come visit our zoo for a small fee of 3 pigs in blankets and a handful of Celebrations.
Someone told me today it’s 2018 now, so happy new year folks! I do hope your festive season was as jolly as ours(!)
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