My Diary of Triplet Fatherhood

As I slipped back into the bathroom, my attention was first drawn to J, as her and Evie played peekaboo round the glass screen that runs along the bath’s side. But even as I watched them, somewhere in my mind alarm bells were ringing. I looked at the other two. Both quietly were sitting in the tub, absorbed in using various toy boats to drink bathwater with… Drink. Bathwater. The alarm bells rang louder but I still didn’t heed them. Everything seemed fine. Everyone seemed happy. I shrugged.I was about to turn away and start a game of something when it hit me.

The bathwater was cloudy. That was what had been wrong. The bathwater they were drinking was cloudy and, in fact, when I looked closer, not only cloudy but, among the mass of floating plastic toys, there was other things floating in it, too. And they definitely weren’t made of plastic.

Depth Charge!

Even though it’s not uncommon for Evie to allow the relaxing bathtime environment to loosen her bowels, I’ve never snatched her sisters away quicker. Urgh!. Jem and Lettie drinking their sister’s poo-water beats even Jemima standing and weeing then scooping up the same water to drink, as happened a few weeks ago.

Having triplets – having any kids I suppose, but more intensely with triplets – is like an exercise in aversion therapy. Poo, wee, puke, being woken up, staying up all night, screaming, snot, saliva; it’s hard to remember being revolted by these things any more. Partly it’s just that we can become accostomed to anything with enough exposure, I guess, but also, with children, the disgust is tempered with love. Is it wrong to find your own children drinking poo-tainted bathwater amusing, endearing even?

They don’t care, and as long as they don’t get ill (fingers crossed), I guess I don’t either. It’s just another anecdote to store in the family archives until they start bringing boyfriends home.

If a picture is worth a thousand words, I wonder what the exchange rate for animal sounds is? See, J and I made something of a mistake towards the end of last year, in spending lots of time teaching our girls the noises for all kinds of different creatures, to the extent that until this week, the number of animal impressions they’ve been able to do has vastly outnumbered the real words they can manage. I mean, that kind of thing’s fine if you’re Mowgli but in Leeds, English is generally easier to get around with.

Here’s how the lists compare…

You may have noticed that, while Evie and Jemima are in the list, Scarlett isn’t. We did think about choosing three names that would be about the same difficulty to write but never considered the fact that Scarlett would be a little trickier to say. Although I think part of the reason it’s not joined their vocabulary is that it’s often Scarlett who manages words first and she rarely has need to point herself out. More surprising, though, is the fact that the girls only seem to get these two names right about half the time. I wonder, can they not distinguish who’s who? Or is it the concept of names they haven’t yet fully grasped? J does occasionally get called Dadda and both J’s parents get called Nanna, so the second option is quite feasable but equally, children are so very self-absorbed it wouldn’t surprise me if they just thought of each other as “me and those other two pests who are always hanging around”.

Looking at those worlds, it’s surprisingly comprehensive. They paint a picture of the world my little children inhabit quite precisely. A world of relatives, sister and toys, where only the most prominent features of the outside world are paid much attention. There’s so much close at hand to investigate that it’s only dogs, bright flowers and celestial objects that draw the attention of a girl of one and one-third years of age.

Apparently, I was a very early talker and could say rhododendron by the age of one. But then again, I grew up surrounded by adults. My parents were still at university when I was born and no one else among their friends had kids. For our girls, it’s almost the opposite. They never spend a minute without the company of other children and, rather than being spoilt for attention and conversation, being mostly at home with just one parent means there are long periods where they occupy themselves as housework, cooking and all the other necessities are seen to, interspersed with periods when their carer has their attention split three ways. ONly if one wakes up from a nap early do they really get their mum or dad to themselves.

If I’m honest it does make me feel guilty. I wonder if their development is suffering, how it’s affecting them to never have intensive one-on-one time with a parent, whether they get enough hugs, let alone conversation. But, like so many things, all you can do is try your best. They’re read to several times a day. We have meal times together and I try to keep our chatter going. I make an effort to always respond when they call on my attention, even if it’s only a “Hello, Scarlett. I’m just making your dinner/loading the washer/letting Jemima climb on my head, I’ll be with you in a minute”. And everything I’ve read says that although triplets often have delayed language, they catch up by the time they go to school and it has little to no long term effect so maybe the guilt is just another incarnation of that lurking parental guiltiness that sprang into life 16 months ago.

And besides, is it so bad to have a vocabulary that includes fairies and flowers and people who love you but not a single sad or scary thing, to be able to ask for things but not refuse them, for every word you know to ones you can exclaim in joy? Maybe not.