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Archive for March, 2008

We had an experiment today. It wasn’t a total disaster or anything, but I thought Abby might deck me a coupla times:


Yeah, I said I wasn’t going to have anything to do with solid food until after Passover…and I meant it. But see, I had these avocados and bananas that were not going to last if they hung around too much longer, and well…


Actually what really happened was that I was concerned about Ellie because she’s back to not gaining weight particularly well, and I thought the fat from the avocado would be good for her if I could get it into her. She didn’t mind the food, but I can’t say we got much into her. I also tried some banana, thinking she might like something sweet, but honestly, I think she liked the avocado better. Either way, I gotta say, it was a whole lot of effort for not a lot of success, and the truth is, Ellie was positively STARVING later, so I’m not sure that’s really the answer. Ounce for ounce, breastmilk has more concentrated calories than any solid food, and since we fortify her milk to 28 calories per ounce, all the more so. My guess is that solid food is not the magical answer to Ellie’s weight gain.


Well, Sam woke up while I was feeding Ellie, so we tried it with him too. He didn’t take well to it immediately and at first he just pushed everything right out of his mouth. He didn’t seem to mind the taste, but he definitely still had the reflext that causes babies to push things right back out of their mouths when it gets put in there. So I put some bananas on my finger and let him suck on it and then tried the same with avocado. He was all for that, and he also didn’t mind sucking down milk served on a spoon, so once he figured all that out, he did a reasonably good job with food on a spoon, though he made a MUCH bigger mess than Ellie did (but all things considered, he also probably consumed a lot more than she did, so I’m not surprised by the difference in mess).


Though my original plan had been only to try Ellie with some avocado and banana today, since I’d ended up with 2 out of 3, it seemed only fair to try Abby with some food also once she woke up from HER nap. After all, she’s the only one of the three that’s shown ANY signs that she might be getting close to being remotely developmentally ready for solid food (and even then, I still think they’re not entirely ready, so there!). Well, Abby wasn’t sure just WHAT to think about the experiment, and I have to say, I’m not sure what to think either.

So it wasn’t a total disaster, but I have to admit, I’m not eager to repeat the experiment any time soon. It took freaking FOREVER to feed them, and they were all positively STARVING later, especially Ellie (and she’s the one I’m worried about). It didn’t make as huge a mess as I’d been worried about (but then again, I didn’t use the dreaded rice cereal…ick). I contained them in the bumbo seat (with tray, though the tray wasn’t strictly necessary)…though Seth just held Ellie in his lap when we fed her, which was easy enough. I think it would have been harder if we’d been trying to deal with high chairs, so I’m not sorry I don’t have high chairs yet. For now, I’m okay with it being a one-time experiment that we can play around with some other time in the future, but I don’t feel some compelling need to do this again tomorrow. I did freeze a bunch of mushed banana and avocado in an ice cube tray, though, just in case.

And yes, I know I TOTALLY broke that rule about introducing only one food at a time, so don’t even worry about telling me that one. Neither banana nor avocado is considered a high-allergy food which is why they’re both considered excellent first foods. Plus, we Americans get far too ridiculous about our approach to solid foods. I refuse to make myself any more neurotic about this than I already am. I have no concerns that any of the three is going to have an allergic reaction to either banana or avocado, so I feel absolutely no regret about serving them both on the same day.

And hey, if you have nothing but free time on your hands, here’s the whole pile of pictures from the grand experiment, because, well, WHY NOT? Enjoy!

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We had an experiment today. It wasn't a total disaster or anything, but I thought Abby might deck me a coupla times:


Yeah, I said I wasn't going to have anything to do with solid food until after Passover…and I meant it. But see, I had these avocados and bananas that were not going to last if they hung around too much longer, and well…


Actually what really happened was that I was concerned about Ellie because she's back to not gaining weight particularly well, and I thought the fat from the avocado would be good for her if I could get it into her. She didn't mind the food, but I can't say we got much into her. I also tried some banana, thinking she might like something sweet, but honestly, I think she liked the avocado better. Either way, I gotta say, it was a whole lot of effort for not a lot of success, and the truth is, Ellie was positively STARVING later, so I'm not sure that's really the answer. Ounce for ounce, breastmilk has more concentrated calories than any solid food, and since we fortify her milk to 28 calories per ounce, all the more so. My guess is that solid food is not the magical answer to Ellie's weight gain.


Well, Sam woke up while I was feeding Ellie, so we tried it with him too. He didn't take well to it immediately and at first he just pushed everything right out of his mouth. He didn't seem to mind the taste, but he definitely still had the reflext that causes babies to push things right back out of their mouths when it gets put in there. So I put some bananas on my finger and let him suck on it and then tried the same with avocado. He was all for that, and he also didn't mind sucking down milk served on a spoon, so once he figured all that out, he did a reasonably good job with food on a spoon, though he made a MUCH bigger mess than Ellie did (but all things considered, he also probably consumed a lot more than she did, so I'm not surprised by the difference in mess).


Though my original plan had been only to try Ellie with some avocado and banana today, since I'd ended up with 2 out of 3, it seemed only fair to try Abby with some food also once she woke up from HER nap. After all, she's the only one of the three that's shown ANY signs that she might be getting close to being remotely developmentally ready for solid food (and even then, I still think they're not entirely ready, so there!). Well, Abby wasn't sure just WHAT to think about the experiment, and I have to say, I'm not sure what to think either.

So it wasn't a total disaster, but I have to admit, I'm not eager to repeat the experiment any time soon. It took freaking FOREVER to feed them, and they were all positively STARVING later, especially Ellie (and she's the one I'm worried about). It didn't make as huge a mess as I'd been worried about (but then again, I didn't use the dreaded rice cereal…ick). I contained them in the bumbo seat (with tray, though the tray wasn't strictly necessary)…though Seth just held Ellie in his lap when we fed her, which was easy enough. I think it would have been harder if we'd been trying to deal with high chairs, so I'm not sorry I don't have high chairs yet. For now, I'm okay with it being a one-time experiment that we can play around with some other time in the future, but I don't feel some compelling need to do this again tomorrow. I did freeze a bunch of mushed banana and avocado in an ice cube tray, though, just in case.

And yes, I know I TOTALLY broke that rule about introducing only one food at a time, so don't even worry about telling me that one. Neither banana nor avocado is considered a high-allergy food which is why they're both considered excellent first foods. Plus, we Americans get far too ridiculous about our approach to solid foods. I refuse to make myself any more neurotic about this than I already am. I have no concerns that any of the three is going to have an allergic reaction to either banana or avocado, so I feel absolutely no regret about serving them both on the same day.

And hey, if you have nothing but free time on your hands, here's the whole pile of pictures from the grand experiment, because, well, WHY NOT? Enjoy!

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Wary of Milestones

What happened to my tiny little babies? My tiny helpless babies who were not even remotely threatening to become mobile EVER? My tiny, quiet babies who never made a peep?

When the babies were in the NICU, their cries sounded like kittens mewing. It was cute, even, and it never lasted more than a few seconds. The never moved much, even unswaddled. They would stare into space, and they’d look for me if they heard my voice, but beyond that, they didn’t do much. Still, I thought they were just the bees knees. I mean, most people probably didn’t think they were all that interesting, but I sure did. Was I complaining that they weren’t smiling yet? No. Was I complaining that they weren’t running and jumping yet? No. Was I complaining that they weren’t winning any debate competitions yet? Was I complaining that they weren’t writing their dissertations yet? No. Was I complaining that they hadn’t yet made their first million? N-.. er… maybe, but that’s just because I wasn’t sure what the hospital bills were going to look like…as it turns out, insurance covered the full cost of their NICU stay.

Still, grow they must, and my babies are certainly growing. Abby started smiling in early January and Ellie followed soon thereafter. Sam didn’t like the nickname Smiley, which we’d given him before he had a name. His revenge was that he refused to smile until February, but now he’s the smiliest of them all and giggles and squeals along with his big gummy grins. They are all cooing and giggling and smiling and squealing like normal babies now. Abby grabs for toys, and this morning instead of drinking her bottle, she played with my hair – completely fascinated – for a full 20 minutes. They have discovered that there are many things in this world that are far more interesting than the inside of a pack n’ play or their cribs and they want to know all about it!

Unfortunately, Sam’s figured out that he’ll learn much more about the big wide world if he can move into more of it. To that end, the big guy rolled over Tuesday night from his back to his tummy. He didn’t like it much, because that landed him on his tummy and if there’s one thing my babies hate, it’s tummy time. But he must not have hated it too much, because the next morning while playing in his crib, he did it again! And I missed it both times, darnit (I saw the result, but not the actual action). And by golly, that little stinker keeps doing it, and keeps doing it when I’m not around. That’s okay, because I’m not eager to confirm that it’s any more than a fluke, because rolling over… well, gosh, rolling over is just the first step (no pun intended) toward mobility and then my life will become H-E-double-hockey-sticks!

Can you imagine? I can, and it’s not going to be pretty. In fact, this might be worse than the dreaded transition to solid food!*

Dear Lord in Heaven, HELP ME!

* (Which, by the way, I’ve pretty much decided can wait until after Passover when they’re closer to 6 months adjusted… so there!)

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Wary of Milestones

What happened to my tiny little babies? My tiny helpless babies who were not even remotely threatening to become mobile EVER? My tiny, quiet babies who never made a peep?

When the babies were in the NICU, their cries sounded like kittens mewing. It was cute, even, and it never lasted more than a few seconds. The never moved much, even unswaddled. They would stare into space, and they'd look for me if they heard my voice, but beyond that, they didn't do much. Still, I thought they were just the bees knees. I mean, most people probably didn't think they were all that interesting, but I sure did. Was I complaining that they weren't smiling yet? No. Was I complaining that they weren't running and jumping yet? No. Was I complaining that they weren't winning any debate competitions yet? Was I complaining that they weren't writing their dissertations yet? No. Was I complaining that they hadn't yet made their first million? N-.. er… maybe, but that's just because I wasn't sure what the hospital bills were going to look like…as it turns out, insurance covered the full cost of their NICU stay.

Still, grow they must, and my babies are certainly growing. Abby started smiling in early January and Ellie followed soon thereafter. Sam didn't like the nickname Smiley, which we'd given him before he had a name. His revenge was that he refused to smile until February, but now he's the smiliest of them all and giggles and squeals along with his big gummy grins. They are all cooing and giggling and smiling and squealing like normal babies now. Abby grabs for toys, and this morning instead of drinking her bottle, she played with my hair – completely fascinated – for a full 20 minutes. They have discovered that there are many things in this world that are far more interesting than the inside of a pack n' play or their cribs and they want to know all about it!

Unfortunately, Sam's figured out that he'll learn much more about the big wide world if he can move into more of it. To that end, the big guy rolled over Tuesday night from his back to his tummy. He didn't like it much, because that landed him on his tummy and if there's one thing my babies hate, it's tummy time. But he must not have hated it too much, because the next morning while playing in his crib, he did it again! And I missed it both times, darnit (I saw the result, but not the actual action). And by golly, that little stinker keeps doing it, and keeps doing it when I'm not around. That's okay, because I'm not eager to confirm that it's any more than a fluke, because rolling over… well, gosh, rolling over is just the first step (no pun intended) toward mobility and then my life will become H-E-double-hockey-sticks!

Can you imagine? I can, and it's not going to be pretty. In fact, this might be worse than the dreaded transition to solid food!*

Dear Lord in Heaven, HELP ME!

* (Which, by the way, I've pretty much decided can wait until after Passover when they're closer to 6 months adjusted… so there!)

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I’ve been promising to write about my hospitalization and subsequent delivery for the last six months now. I haven’t pulled together the story of the actual delivery yet, but here is the VERY LONGWINDED story of my hospitalization… and this is just the readers’ digest version! I’ve been writing this since the end of February, but just in tiny little chunks, so bear with me if it’s not entirely coherent!

I’m on my way out to Winchester, VA to visit with Jess and her husband and their Five Little Monkeys. Since Jess was one of my biggest supporters in the latter part of my pregnancy and through my hospitalization (even going so far as to post updates for me while I was internet-less in the hospital), I figure there is no better time than now to finally start writing my epic post about my last few days in the hospital and my subsequent delivery at 33 weeks of my 3 little miracles, Abby, Ellie and Sam.

So, to recap, I was admitted to the hospital on September 11, 2007 (which happened to be my admitting perinatologist’s birthday), because my blood pressure was creeping out of control, my liver enzymes were elevated, the contractions weren’t getting any better, home monitoring wasn’t helping, and the terbutaline, procardia, and indocin weren’t keeping things at bay any longer. While the contractions in and of themselves weren’t that worrisome (I was far enough along that they weren’t going to stop labor if it happened), the elevated liver enzymes were worrisome, as was my blood pressure. I went to my check up knowing full well that I was likely to be admitted that day. We’d been playing this dance for weeks, really. They’d been offering to admit me for a while, and I had almost taken them up on it several times. If I hadn’t had an almost-four-year-old at home, I would have been in the hospital a couple weeks before, because I was having such a hard time managing at home. What I hadn’t been expecting was to hear my doctor suggest that if they monitored me for a day or two and felt it was necessary, they’d deliver me. DELIVER ME? WHAT? As far as I was concerned, I still had at least two weeks left! And here my doctor was talking about delivering me in the next day or two. Gah!

Anywhozit, I got all checked in, and my nurse got me hooked up to the dreaded monitor because the perinatologist that admitted me had ordered non-stress tests (NSTs) qshift. That meant that at least three times a day, they strapped on three fetal monitors plus a toco monitor to my enormous belly for about an hour in order to get at least 20-30 minutes worth of readings for all three babies. Suffice it to say, that was all sorts of fun. The good news is, I was having so many contractions (at least 10 per hour) that the nurses FREAKED OUT every shift even though I tried to assure them that it was totally normal for me. So every single shift they would call my doctors to make sure that it was okay to do nothing. Needless to say, when Dr. G. came on call a day or two later, he put a stop to the NSTs real quick. He asked me if I felt like I was comfortable judging for myself if things changed significantly enough so that I could alert the nurses. If I wanted to continue with the NSTs, he was fine with it, but he thought it was probably a little silly. I agreed, particularly since they were waking me up in the middle of the night to deal with the stupid NSTs. He ordered Percocet for pain because the contractions were really painful, and they also ordered Ambien to help me sleep if I wanted it, though I don’t recall ever actually taking it while I was there.

I wrote in my notes on 9/12:

5:30am– nurse took me off the monitor finally. Now I’m wide awake, b/c it’s pretty close to normal wake up time anyway.
6:10am– Babies are kicking away, just as awake as I am. I’m still in a lot of pain fr. contractions, but I could care less, which is essentially what Percocet does for me, which is why I don’t really bother. I know it’s fantastic that I made it to 32 weeks, even though my goal was (and IS 34. Still, I’m scared about it. I did not want this. I went to my appt. yesterday completely prepared to be admitted to the hospital, but absolutely UNPREPARED to hear the word ”deliver,” let alone when grouped with “in the next day or two.” That left me completely incapable of processing anything else.
I am supposed to have a “NICU Consult” today. Hopefully that will help ease my fears, but I worry it will only solidify them. I know logically that triplets born at 32 weeks do really well. And I also know that it’s not a sure thing that I’m going to have to deliver yet. But I’m completely freaked out nonetheless. Hopefully the neonatologist will be able to help calm those fears somewhat. I know that we’ve already passed the point of serious concern re: intraventricular hemorrhage (IVH). And I got my 1st of 2 betamethasone shots yesterday, so that should help with concerns re: lung development. So we’re in good shape.
Dr. G. should be coming by this morning. I should apologize for having him woken up at 4:30 in the morning. I do hate waking doctors up- it makes them less alert during the day to do things like c-sections! (Speaking of which, I think I’ve pretty much kissed my chances of avoiding a c-section goodbye) Anyway, I’m curious what he’ll have to say about the game plan. He seems to be the most cautious and conservative of the three doctors in the practice. My guess, though, is that at this point, all three doctors would pretty much havce the same approach given what’s been going on. At any rate, it’ll be good to see him. I had thought I’d be seeing him at my appt. yesterday, but it was Dr. M.
Much Later-Dr. G. came in at 7:30am. Asked what was going on last night [I’d had tons of contractions through the night and he’d been called a couple times about me]. I told him the number of contractions was fairly consistent with my normal rate, but the intensity/pain level of each contraction was much higher than usual- except for the night my terbutaline pump hadn’t been working. Dr. G. suggested that we might re-start the pump for the sake of my comfort level. He isn’t looking to hold off labor at this point – if it happens, it happens, but there’s no good reason for me to be in that much pain. Fair enough.

My notes over the next several days are really sketchy because it was Rosh Hashana and I couldn’t write anything or use the computer. It was weird to be in the hospital on Rosh Hashana, the Jewish New Year. I couldn’t use the phone or electricity or anything. I did have some visitors, because fortunately, the hospital is walking distance to my house and my community, so it could have been a lot worse. Also the hospital arranged to have Yeshiva students come in to blow the Shofar for the Jewish patients. I was at a Catholic hospital, so it was a little surreal to have a nun come into my room to ask if I’d like to hear the Shofar, but it was great that they did that for us. Also, Pastoral Care Services made sure that apples and honey were on my dinner tray every night.

I had a sonogram on 9/14, with a BPP. They didn’t do growth measurements, but the sonographer could tell from the Doppler that Baby C was smaller than the other two. She seemed worried, but Dr. G. was running off to an emergency procedure, so I didn’t get to talk to him. I assumed that if it were anything to worry about, he would let me know after he reviewed the pictures later in the day. I didn’t hear from him, so I assumed all was well. I asked Dr. M. about it the next day (Saturday) and she said that particular sonographer is very jumpy and that she and Dr. G. talked about it and looked at the pictures and didn’t think they needed to be too alarmed just yet. They would be doing a growth ultrasound on Tuesday, when they’d know more about what was going on. And not to worry anyway, because she’d scheduled my c-section for next Friday, the 21st, so the end was in sight.

Uh. What? First of all, what c-section? I was still holding onto the thought that we were going to get me to 34 weeks. The 21st would only be 33 weeks and 2 days. Second of all, if I made it to 34 weeks, Dr. G. and Dr. P. said we could talk about a vaginal delivery and avoid the c-section. I knew Dr. M. wouldn’t do a vaginal delivery, so she and I had never discussed it, plus I nearly never saw her during my pregnancy, so it just hadn’t occurred to me to discuss this with her. But what do you MEAN it was scheduled for the 21st? Worse, the 21st was right before Yom Kippur, which was just NOT going to fly with me, unless I went into labor and just didn’t have any way around it. No way was I going to PLAN to deliver my three babies just hours before my husband would be completely unavailable to me for a full 25 hours. No possibility.

The most horrible part about it was that she told me this on a Saturday when I couldn’t call anyone, I couldn’t talk to my husband (he was sick, so he didn’t make the walk down to see me…it’s about 2 miles, so it’s completely doable, but when you’re not feeling well, it’s sucky). I was in a blind panic that they were going to make me do this on the absolute worst time. Dr. M. was convinced that the real reason I was upset about it was that there was a date on the table and that it was hard to imagine the concrete-ness of it all. While it’s true that there was probably some element of that, it’s really hard to describe how horrible it would have been for me to have delivered three babies and had them in the NICU with me recovering from major surgery after three months on bed rest and not have my husband even remotely available to me. Even if he skipped out on shul and stayed with me at the hospital (which would have been hard for him to do because remember there was still J at home to take care of), he would have been fasting, and Seth is not terribly functional when he’s fasting. Yom Kippur is a full 25-hour fast. No food, no water, no nothing, so it’s not pretty. While I would have been exempt from the fast, he would not have been. Delivering on the 21st would have been miserable and horrible at best.

I spent the entire day in tears, absolutely panicking. Two friends came to visit and I burst into tears the second they walked into the room (the first friend was the one to break the news to me that Seth wasn’t going to come visit that day, which was the last straw for my nerves that day). I had put up with an awful lot of discomfort, an awful lot of pain, an awful lot of fear and uncertainty through 7 months of pregnancy. And dammit, I’d mostly done it with a smile on my face. I had been fairly graceful about it all, looking back, but that day I absolutely hit my limit.

Finally, the sun set, and I called Jess and completely lost it. Jess had been commenting in all our conversations about how unflappable I’d been. When I was admitted and they started talking about preeclampsia and cholestasis and delivering and whatever, I’d really been okay. I was calm, I was at peace. I was just trying to hold onto my babies. But poor Jessica didn’t know what to do with me that night. She listened to me blubber and she told me it was okay to be upset and she told me she understood, even though she was probably thinking that it was a mistake to have ever given that total nutjob her phone number. I sobbed and sobbed into the phone and told her it just couldn’t be and I couldn’t let it happen and how I just felt so completely out of control and I begged her to find a way to stop it, even though I knew there was nothing she could do.

Poor Jess. Jess had never heard me so out of control. Jess had absolutely no idea what to think of me that night. She calmed me down. She told me she understood why I was upset. She told me that she would be upset too. She told me it would be okay. She told me that it was okay to tell the doctor that I was NOT okay with having a c-section the day before Yom Kippur if it was elective. Going into labor and not having a choice? Okay. Doing it on purpose? Not okay, and it’s okay to tell the doctor that. And then, poor Jess had the misfortune of having to update my blog. The poor dear had no idea what to say. She didn’t want to betray my state of mind and tell the whole world that I’d completely lost my shit, but she couldn’t very well say that I was completely okay either. She did a pretty good job

I remember I was having horrible, uncontrollable migraines and headaches while I was in the hospital. Percocet wasn’t helping them, and there wasn’t much else we could do for them. The itching from the cholestasis/preeclampsia was nearly unbearable. I could hardly move, which wasn’t so bad because I wasn’t really allowed to move anyway. The contractions were fairly regular, but that wasn’t the end of the world once they took me off the qshift monitoring. So long as the nurses weren’t freaking out about it, I was okay with it. I still dream of having a pregnancy where I don’t know what it’s like to have 12 contractions an hour every hour for three months. I still remember having a doctor tell me he wasn’t worried about me having 12 contractions an hour. “That’s not what labor’s like… When you’re in labor, you won’t have that many contractions. You’ll have contractions about every 4-5 minutes.” Uh, yeah, you do the math, okay? I’ll wait. See my point? Yeah.

Anywhozit, the days passed and blurred one to the next. Sunday, the 16th, was J’s 4th birthday. Seth brought him to the hospital to open presents and have cupcakes in my room. I broke the rules and curled up on the couch with Seth while J played with the adjustable bed (it goes up! AND down!) and watched cartoon network (seriously! there are NO kid-appropriate shows on that channel!) It was quite possibly the best birthday J has ever had. He loved that adjustable bed! 🙂 The nurse was pretty amused by his jumping around, which I was pretty happy about, because it distracted her from scolding me about being out of bed. But, eventually it was bed time for J and I was alone again.

The lack of internet at the hospital was definitely getting to me, and when Seth and J left that day, I felt more alone than I did on most days. For some reason, the emptiness of the room resonated more than ever, perhaps because J’s exuberance at turning four was so clear… He was so excited to turn four, because, you see, now it meant that at his NEXT birthday he’ll be FIVE and five is his VERY FAVORITE number. So now he’s even closer to his very favoritest birthday EVER. What more could a boy ask for? But when they left… oh it was beyond quiet in the room. The silence was deafening. Even the TV didn’t help. Monday was even worse. I looked forward to Tuesday because I was scheduled for ultrasounds on Tuesdays and Fridays.

And so, Tuesday came and they brought me down for an ultrasound…

There was a student nurse at the ultrasound and she asked permission to stay for the ultrasound and I said, sure what the hell. I mean, everyone else and their sister has seen my insides, why not someone else? And really, how many sets of triplets was this student going to get to see while she’s in school? How cool am I? I remember I freaked out the nurse because my legs and feet were really swollen and I guess my hands must have been too. I might have been more freaked out about it myself had the ultrasound itself not have been cause for so much activity the rest of the day. Baby C hadn’t grown at all. Again. Baby C was a very small baby. They estimated the baby to be about 2 pounds, 14 ounces at best, compared to baby A, who they thought was 4 pounds, 4 ounces (in retrospect, they were a little optimistic on both counts, but really not that far off, actually. I can’t remember what they estimated Baby B at, but I think it was 3 pounds 14 or 15 ounces, which was the closest to accurate). The sonographer disappeared to talk to the doctor, but it was clear that she was worried. I chatted with the student nurse for a long, long, long, long time. Eventually she got pretty nervous and she disappeared to figure out what was going on with the doctor and sonographer and they all came back to talk to me.

Dr. M. came in, took a look at the pictures, poked around at the babies, and said, “I want to deliver you. Today or tomrorow at the latest.” And yeah, a vaginal delivery was out of the question. Baby C (who I now know is Abby) would not have done well with a vaginal delivery. While she might have survived the delivery, she probably would have ended up with a prolonged NICU stay as a result. It wasn’t worth the risk of course. I was despondent, but I obviously wasn’t going to put my baby’s life in danger.

I went back to my room and called Seth and told him he needed to take the next day off of work. And I called my dad and gave him the news. And I called a couple other folks, including Jess and my mom of course. And then I quietly freaked out. Remember how I wanted NOTHING TO DO WITH A C-SECTION? I still wanted NOTHING to do with a c-section. I was still utterly terrified of having an epidural. I was still utterly terrified of not being able to feel my lower half. I still didn’t want to have my babies whisked away from me without the joy of a normal delivery. I was angry. And worried that something would get forgotten or overlooked or whatever.

AND OH CRAP.

WE HAD NO NAMES! Well, clearly we could NOT have these babies! Seth was given directions to get a babysitter (my mother) for after J went to sleep that night so that he could come to the hospital to go through the baby name books AGAIN to look for names (AGAIN) to see if THIS time we could come up with SOMETHING that seemed like a reasonable list of names that MAYBE would work for our babies when they arrived. As it turned out, we weren’t terribly successful, and this was probably largely due to the fact that we didn’t know what we were having. It’s amazing how hard it is to make a list of names when you know you’ve got three babies coming, but you don’t know what flavor of babies you’ve got. Impossible, really.

I was convinced that I couldn’t possibly deliver the babies if I didn’t at least have a list of possible names, so we did make a list of possible girl names, but we never did come up with a list of boy names. For this reason, I was absolutely certain that we were having three boys. I was also convinced, by the way, that I could not deliver my babies until I was done knitting my three hats for them… but I finished the three hats I was knitting and needed to sew one last seam, but Seth accidentally threw out my needle… so I said I would NOT deliver those three babies until he found me another needle. Suffice it to say, he didn’t find me another needle, I didn’t finish the hat before I delivered, the doctor wouldn’t delay the surgery for something that dumb, but the hat got finished when they were a few days old. Sigh.

But I digress…

Seth and I did NOT come up with three perfect names that night. Seth and I came up with a list of about 15 girl names that I didn’t hate, but nothing in combination (in other words, they were just random names, not first-middle complete names) and ZERO boy names. I had NOTHING, and I mean NOTHING for the possibility of having a boy. Eventually, my poor, weary husband had to go home, knowing that he had to be back at the hospital early the next morning so as not to miss the main event, names or no names.

This post is long enough, so you’ll just have to wait for the story of the birth itself! But rest assured, I AM actually working on it.

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I've been promising to write about my hospitalization and subsequent delivery for the last six months now. I haven't pulled together the story of the actual deliveriy yet, but here is the VERY LONGWINDED story of my hospitalization… and this is just the readers' digest version! I've been writing this since the end of February, but just in tiny little chunks, so bear with me if it's not entirely coherent!

I’m on my way out to Winchester, VA to visit with Jess and her husband and their Five Little Monkeys. Since Jess was one of my biggest supporters in the latter part of my pregnancy and through my hospitalization (even going so far as to post updates for me while I was internet-less in the hospital), I figure there is no better time than now to finally start writing my epic post about my last few days in the hospital and my subsequent delivery at 33 weeks of my 3 little miracles, Abby, Ellie and Sam.

So, to recap, I was admitted to the hospital on September 11, 2007 (which happened to be my admitting perinatologist’s birthday), because my blood pressure was creeping out of control, my liver enzymes were elevated, the contractions weren’t getting any better, home monitoring wasn’t helping, and the terbutaline, procardia, and indocin weren’t keeping things at bay any longer. While the contractions in and of themselves weren’t that worrisome (I was far enough along that they weren’t going to stop labor if it happened), the elevated liver enzymes were worrisome, as was my blood pressure. I went to my check up knowing full well that I was likely to be admitted that day. We’d been playing this dance for weeks, really. They’d been offering to admit me for a while, and I had almost taken them up on it several times. If I hadn’t had an almost-four-year-old at home, I would have been in the hospital a couple weeks before, because I was having such a hard time managing at home. What I hadn’t been expecting was to hear my doctor suggest that if they monitored me for a day or two and felt it was necessary, they’d deliver me. DELIVER ME? WHAT? As far as I was concerned, I still had at least two weeks left! And here my doctor was talking about delivering me in the next day or two. Gah!

Anywhozit, I got all checked in, and my nurse got me hooked up to the dreaded monitor because the perinatologist that admitted me had ordered non-stress tests (NSTs) qshift. That meant that at least three times a day, they strapped on three fetal monitors plus a toco monitor to my enormous belly for about an hour in order to get at least 20-30 minutes worth of readings for all three babies. Suffice it to say, that was all sorts of fun. The good news is, I was having so many contractions (at least 10 per hour) that the nurses FREAKED OUT every shift even though I tried to assure them that it was totally normal for me. So every single shift they would call my doctors to make sure that it was okay to do nothing. Needless to say, when Dr. G. came on call a day or two later, he put a stop to the NSTs real quick. He asked me if I felt like I was comfortable judging for myself if things changed significantly enough so that I could alert the nurses. If I wanted to continue with the NSTs, he was fine with it, but he thought it was probably a little silly. I agreed, particularly since they were waking me up in the middle of the night to deal with the stupid NSTs. He ordered Percocet for pain because the contractions were really painful, and they also ordered Ambien to help me sleep if I wanted it, though I don’t recall ever actually taking it while I was there.

I wrote in my notes on 9/12:

5:30am– nurse took me off the monitor finally. Now I’m wide awake, b/c it’s pretty close to normal wake up time anyway.
6:10am– Babies are kicking away, just as awake as I am. I’m still in a lot of pain fr. contractions, but I could care less, which is essentially what Percocet does for me, which is why I don’t really bother. I know it’s fantastic that I made it to 32 weeks, even though my goal was (and IS 34. Still, I’m scared about it. I did not want this. I went to my appt. yesterday completely prepared to be admitted to the hospital, but absolutely UNPREPARED to hear the word ”deliver,” let alone when grouped with “in the next day or two.” That left me completely incapable of processing anything else.
I am supposed to have a “NICU Consult” today. Hopefully that will help ease my fears, but I worry it will only solidify them. I know logically that triplets born at 32 weeks do really well. And I also know that it’s not a sure thing that I’m going to have to deliver yet. But I’m completely freaked out nonetheless. Hopefully the neonatologist will be able to help calm those fears somewhat. I know that we’ve already passed the point of serious concern re: intraventricular hemorrhage (IVH). And I got my 1st of 2 betamethasone shots yesterday, so that should help with concerns re: lung development. So we’re in good shape.
Dr. G. should be coming by this morning. I should apologize for having him woken up at 4:30 in the morning. I do hate waking doctors up- it makes them less alert during the day to do things like c-sections! (Speaking of which, I think I’ve pretty much kissed my chances of avoiding a c-section goodbye) Anyway, I’m curious what he’ll have to say about the game plan. He seems to be the most cautious and conservative of the three doctors in the practice. My guess, though, is that at this point, all three doctors would pretty much havce the same approach given what’s been going on. At any rate, it’ll be good to see him. I had thought I’d be seeing him at my appt. yesterday, but it was Dr. M.
Much Later-Dr. G. came in at 7:30am. Asked what was going on last night [I’d had tons of contractions through the night and he’d been called a couple times about me]. I told him the number of contractions was fairly consistent with my normal rate, but the intensity/pain level of each contraction was much higher than usual- except for the night my terbutaline pump hadn’t been working. Dr. G. suggested that we might re-start the pump for the sake of my comfort level. He isn’t looking to hold off labor at this point – if it happens, it happens, but there’s no good reason for me to be in that much pain. Fair enough.

My notes over the next several days are really sketchy because it was Rosh Hashana and I couldn’t write anything or use the computer. It was weird to be in the hospital on Rosh Hashana, the Jewish New Year. I couldn’t use the phone or electricity or anything. I did have some visitors, because fortunately, the hospital is walking distance to my house and my community, so it could have been a lot worse. Also the hospital arranged to have Yeshiva students come in to blow the Shofar for the Jewish patients. I was at a Catholic hospital, so it was a little surreal to have a nun come into my room to ask if I’d like to hear the Shofar, but it was great that they did that for us. Also, Pastoral Care Services made sure that apples and honey were on my dinner tray every night.

I had a sonogram on 9/14, with a BPP. They didn’t do growth measurements, but the sonographer could tell from the Doppler that Baby C was smaller than the other two. She seemed worried, but Dr. G. was running off to an emergency procedure, so I didn’t get to talk to him. I assumed that if it were anything to worry about, he would let me know after he reviewed the pictures later in the day. I didn’t hear from him, so I assumed all was well. I asked Dr. M. about it the next day (Saturday) and she said that particular sonographer is very jumpy and that she and Dr. G. talked about it and looked at the pictures and didn’t think they needed to be too alarmed just yet. They would be doing a growth ultrasound on Tuesday, when they’d know more about what was going on. And not to worry anyway, because she’d scheduled my c-section for next Friday, the 21st, so the end was in sight.

Uh. What? First of all, what c-section? I was still holding onto the thought that we were going to get me to 34 weeks. The 21st would only be 33 weeks and 2 days. Second of all, if I made it to 34 weeks, Dr. G. and Dr. P. said we could talk about a vaginal delivery and avoid the c-section. I knew Dr. M. wouldn’t do a vaginal delivery, so she and I had never discussed it, plus I nearly never saw her during my pregnancy, so it just hadn’t occurred to me to discuss this with her. But what do you MEAN it was scheduled for the 21st? Worse, the 21st was right before Yom Kippur, which was just NOT going to fly with me, unless I went into labor and just didn’t have any way around it. No way was I going to PLAN to deliver my three babies just hours before my husband would be completely unavailable to me for a full 25 hours. No possibility.

The most horrible part about it was that she told me this on a Saturday when I couldn’t call anyone, I couldn’t talk to my husband (he was sick, so he didn’t make the walk down to see me…it’s about 2 miles, so it’s completely doable, but when you’re not feeling well, it’s sucky). I was in a blind panic that they were going to make me do this on the absolute worst time. Dr. M. was convinced that the real reason I was upset about it was that there was a date on the table and that it was hard to imagine the concrete-ness of it all. While it’s true that there was probably some element of that, it’s really hard to describe how horrible it would have been for me to have delivered three babies and had them in the NICU with me recovering from major surgery after three months on bed rest and not have my husband even remotely available to me. Even if he skipped out on shul and stayed with me at the hospital (which would have been hard for him to do because remember there was still J at home to take care of), he would have been fasting, and Seth is not terribly functional when he’s fasting. Yom Kippur is a full 25-hour fast. No food, no water, no nothing, so it’s not pretty. While I would have been exempt from the fast, he would not have been. Delivering on the 21st would have been miserable and horrible at best.

I spent the entire day in tears, absolutely panicking. Two friends came to visit and I burst into tears the second they walked into the room (the first friend was the one to break the news to me that Seth wasn’t going to come visit that day, which was the last straw for my nerves that day). I had put up with an awful lot of discomfort, an awful lot of pain, an awful lot of fear and uncertainty through 7 months of pregnancy. And dammit, I’d mostly done it with a smile on my face. I had been fairly graceful about it all, looking back, but that day I absolutely hit my limit.

Finally, the sun set, and I called Jess and completely lost it. Jess had been commenting in all our conversations about how unflappable I’d been. When I was admitted and they started talking about preeclampsia and cholestasis and delivering and whatever, I’d really been okay. I was calm, I was at peace. I was just trying to hold onto my babies. But poor Jessica didn’t know what to do with me that night. She listened to me blubber and she told me it was okay to be upset and she told me she understood, even though she was probably thinking that it was a mistake to have ever given that total nutjob her phone number. I sobbed and sobbed into the phone and told her it just couldn’t be and I couldn’t let it happen and how I just felt so completely out of control and I begged her to find a way to stop it, even though I knew there was nothing she could do.

Poor Jess. Jess had never heard me so out of control. Jess had absolutely no idea what to think of me that night. She calmed me down. She told me she understood why I was upset. She told me that she would be upset too. She told me it would be okay. She told me that it was okay to tell the doctor that I was NOT okay with having a c-section the day before Yom Kippur if it was elective. Going into labor and not having a choice? Okay. Doing it on purpose? Not okay, and it's okay to tell the doctor that. And then, poor Jess had the misfortune of having to update my blog. The poor dear had no idea what to say. She didn't want to betray my state of mind and tell the whole world that I'd completely lost my shit, but she couldn't very well say that I was completely okay either. She did a pretty good job

I remember I was having horrible, uncontrollable migraines and headaches while I was in the hospital. Percocet wasn't helping them, and there wasn't much else we could do for them. The itching from the cholestasis/preeclampsia was nearly unbearable. I could hardly move, which wasn't so bad because I wasn't really allowed to move anyway. The contractions were fairly regular, but that wasn't the end of the world once they took me off the qshift monitoring. So long as the nurses weren't freaking out about it, I was okay with it. I still dream of having a pregnancy where I don't know what it's like to have 12 contractions an hour every hour for three months. I still remember having a doctor tell me he wasn't worried about me having 12 contractions an hour. "That's not what labor's like… When you're in labor, you won't have that many contractions. You'll have contractions about every 4-5 minutes." Uh, yeah, you do the math, okay? I'll wait. See my point? Yeah.

Anywhozit, the days passed and blurred one to the next. Sunday, the 16th, was J's 4th birthday. Seth brought him to the hospital to open presents and have cupcakes in my room. I broke the rules and curled up on the couch with Seth while J played with the adjustable bed (it goes up! AND down!) and watched cartoon network (seriously! there are NO kid-appropriate shows on that channel!) It was quite possibly the best birthday J has ever had. He loved that adjustable bed! 🙂 The nurse was pretty amused by his jumping around, which I was pretty happy about, because it distracted her from scolding me about being out of bed. But, eventually it was bed time for J and I was alone again.

The lack of internet at the hospital was definitely getting to me, and when Seth and J left that day, I felt more alone than I did on most days. For some reason, the emptiness of the room resonated more than ever, perhaps because J's exuberance at turning four was so clear… He was so excited to turn four, because, you see, now it meant that at his NEXT birthday he'll be FIVE and five is his VERY FAVORITE number. So now he's even closer to his very favoritest birthday EVER. What more could a boy ask for? But when they left… oh it was beyond quiet in the room. The silence was deafening. Even the TV didn't help. Monday was even worse. I looked forward to Tuesday because I was scheduled for ultrasounds on Tuesdays and Fridays.

And so, Tuesday came and they brought me down for an ultrasound…

There was a student nurse at the ultrasound and she asked permission to stay for the ultrasound and I said, sure what the hell. I mean, everyone else and their sister has seen my insides, why not someone else? And really, how many sets of triplets was this student going to get to see while she's in school? How cool am I? I remember I freaked out the nurse because my legs and feet were really swollen and I guess my hands must have been too. I might have been more freaked out about it myself had the ultrasound itself not have been cause for so much activity the rest of the day. Baby C hadn't grown at all. Again. Baby C was a very small baby. They estimated the baby to be about 2 pounds, 14 ounces at best, compared to baby A, who they thought was 4 pounds, 4 ounces (in retrospect, they were a little optimistic on both counts, but really not that far off, actually. I can't remember what they estimated Baby B at, but I think it was 3 pounds 14 or 15 ounces, which was the closest to accurate). The sonographer disappeared to talk to the doctor, but it was clear that she was worried. I chatted with the student nurse for a long, long, long, long time. Eventually she got pretty nervous and she disappeared to figure out what was going on with the doctor and sonographer and they all came back to talk to me.

Dr. M. came in, took a look at the pictures, poked around at the babies, and said, "I want to deliver you. Today or tomrorow at the latest." And yeah, a vaginal delivery was out of the question. Baby C (who I now know is Abby) would not have done well with a vaginal delivery. While she might have survived the delivery, she probably would have ended up with a prolonged NICU stay as a result. It wasn't worth the risk of course. I was despondent, but I obviously wasn't going to put my baby's life in danger.

I went back to my room and called Seth and told him he needed to take the next day off of work. And I called my dad and gave him the news. And I called a couple other folks, including Jess and my mom of course. And then I quietly freaked out. Remember how I wanted NOTHING TO DO WITH A C-SECTION? I still wanted NOTHING to do with a c-section. I was still utterly terrified of having an epidural. I was still utterly terrified of not being able to feel my lower half. I still didn't want to have my babies whisked away from me without the joy of a normal delivery. I was angry. And worried that something would get forgotten or overlooked or whatever.

AND OH CRAP.

WE HAD NO NAMES! Well, clearly we could NOT have these babies! Seth was given directions to get a babysitter (my mother) for after J went to sleep that night so that he could come to the hospital to go through the baby name books AGAIN to look for names (AGAIN) to see if THIS time we could come up with SOMETHING that seemed like a reasonable list of names that MAYBE would work for our babies when they arrived. As it turned out, we weren't terribly successful, and this was probably largely due to the fact that we didn't know what we were having. It's amazing how hard it is to make a list of names when you know you've got three babies coming, but you don't know what flavor of babies you've got. Impossible, really.

I was convinced that I couldn't possibly deliver the babies if I didn't at least have a list of possible names, so we did make a list of possible girl names, but we never did come up with a list of boy names. For this reason, I was absolutely certain that we were having three boys. I was also convinced, by the way, that I could not deliver my babies until I was done knitting my three hats for them… but I finished the three hats I was knitting and needed to sew one last seam, but Seth accidentally threw out my needle… so I said I would NOT deliver those three babies until he found me another needle. Suffice it to say, he didn't find me another needle, I didn't finish the hat before I delivered, the doctor wouldn't delay the surgery for something that dumb, but the hat got finished when they were a few days old. Sigh.

But I digress…

Seth and I did NOT come up with three perfect names that night. Seth and I came up with a list of about 15 girl names that I didn't hate, but nothing in combination (in other words, they were just random names, not first-middle complete names) and ZERO boy names. I had NOTHING, and I mean NOTHING for the possibility of having a boy. Eventually, my poor, weary husband had to go home, knowing that he had to be back at the hospital early the next morning so as not to miss the main event, names or no names.

This post is long enough, so you'll just have to wait for the story of the birth itself! But rest assured, I AM actually working on it.

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Last Wednesday, the triplets had their six month check up. I’m still astounded that we’ve made it this far, to be honest. All the sleepless nights, the weeks of worry over Ellie’s weight gain (or lack thereof), the weeks in the NICU, not to mention the months of pre-term labour… I just can’t believe my babies are six months old. I gave my nanny the afternoon off and took the babies to the appointment myself. That was my first mistake. I mean, I’ve taken the babies to nearly all of their appointments by myself (I had help for their 4 month appointment, but that’s because I couldn’t stay for the whole thing because I had to leave when they started their vaccines so I could get to my first day of work). So I didn’t really think anything of going by myself to this appointment. But this time when I left the house, it was drizzling, and by the time I got to the doctor’s office it was POURING DOWN RAIN.

My doctor’s office is about to move locations, but the current location has sucky parking and lousy stroller access. The office suite itself can’t accommodate the triple stroller (the new office suite will be able to without a problem), which is fine because I hate putting the triple stroller in the car (you have to take the wheels off to get it to fit in the van, that’s how huge the stupid thing is!). I usually take the double snap n’ go and then baby bjorn the third baby, which is no problem at all when it’s not raining, but is a little trickier when it’s POURING DOWN RAIN. Ugh. It doesn’t leave me with a hand free for an umbrella (not that an umbrella would do much good with the horizontal rain that was happening that day), and oh, by the way, I don’t have a rain cover for the snap n go (do they even MAKE rain covers that fit the double snap n go? For that matter, do they make rain covers for the triple strollers?). I had to park in just about the furthest parking space away from the door that will accommodate a stroller and run through the rain with a baby strapped to my chest. Ugh! I was a total disaster by the time I got to the receptionist’s desk. For those of you who know me in person, you know this is a great travesty for me… one thing I PRIDE myself on is that despite the fact that I have four children, I still manage to keep myself together in public, at least. But I stood there dripping like a wet poodle, apologizing for being 2 minutes late for my appointment (I would have been on time, had I not been trying to navigate the parking lot puddles… I have NEVER been late to an appointment…yet another thing I’ve always prided myself on!).

But we muddled through, wet poodles are the new black, you know. For some reason, they didn’t have a nurse come back with me to take initial weights, lengths and head circumferences, but had an office aid doing that. She’s young and pretty and sweet, but not so bright and she stood there rather helplessly as I got the babies undressed. The nurses, see, the nurses jump in and help. Or at least hold a baby while I get the next one undressed. Sigh. Anyway, it was a long, drawn-out, painful task, but EVENTUALLY everyone got weighed and measured:
Sam: 14 pounds, 7 ounces; 24 inches long
Ellie: 11 pounds, 14 ounces; 23.5 inches long
Abby: 12 pounds, 10 ounces; 23.5 inches long

I put a blanket down on the floor, plopped all the babies down on the blanket and sat down and played with them until the doctor arrived. I’ve found this is the easiest way to control the craziness in the doctor’s office. They’re not big enough to crawl away, but they’re big enough that they don’t love being cooped up in their car seats for too long, so it’s a good compromise.

This was the triplets’ first well-visit with Dr. F. Sam and Ellie both saw him the previous week for an ear infection and suspected ear infection, respectively, but he’d never met Abby before. Julian adores Dr. F, so I already knew I liked him. I absolutely love his demeanor with kids and he’s great with parents too, which, to me, is the mark of a good doctor… being good with both the kids AND the parents! He was impressed that the babies are getting mostly breastmilk still. I told him I was a blubbery mess the day I first gave them their first ounce of formula and he told me not to be silly – no tears allowed – I’m doing a great job. Dr. F. has six kids and I told him I don’t know how he handles it, but he pointed out that six singletons (his range from 18 years down to I think 22 months) are not as hard as triplets. I wouldn’t know, of course, having never had six singletons.

He said all the kids look great. They’re all on target for their adjusted age… they’re roughly the equivalent of normal four month olds and they are right on target. Abby’s maybe even a little ahead of the curve in some ways – yay for her! He reiterated that Sam should be “able” to sleep through the night, but I think it’s crap, to be honest. And I don’t really MIND feeding him through the night if that’s what he needs (or wants, for that matter), so I’m all good there. The topic he DID broach that I don’t want ANYTHING to do with was… oh gosh, can I even say it?… solid food. Gah! I know, I know. There’s no good reason to be terrified of solid food, right? I should be excited to move on to a new stage in my babies’ lives, right? But I’m not ready! And frankly, I’m not convinced that they’re ready! Yes, they’re six months old, but they’re only four months, developmentally-speaking. So there!

Why am I having such serious panic attacks about this? WHY? I don’t know, but I swear to you, I’m having all-out-anxiety-ridden-complete-hyperventilating panic attacks about this. Can you imagine the logistics of dealing with spoons and bowls and solid food and messes and chairs and all that crap with three babies? THREE BABIES? My triplet mama friends CAN imagine, and I’m afraid to even ASK what kind of disaster my life is about to turn into. My house is already suffering from the neglect and I’m not sure how much more it can take, to be honest. I’m not sure how much more I can take! (I’m a neat freak at heart, even though my house is not proving it at the moment – gah!) Anyway, the doctor said it’s perfectly fine to wait until after Pesach (Passover) to start dealing with solid food, which is good, because I definitely can’t handle it before then.

The funny thing is that every time I think of rice cereal or oatmeal or anything like that, I have a serious panic attack. But if I think about just mashing up some banana or avocado, I think, “hey, that wouldn’t be so bad…maybe I’ll try that next week…” Except, I don’t know that I want to open that can of worms! Gah! I told you… it’s totally irrational, all-out panic attacks! (I never claimed to be rational. And hey, did you know there’s no medical reason I have to give my kids rice cereal? Somehow, that calms me down. I don’t know why rice cereal is giving me a panic attack, but IT IS! And so, I think we’ll be skipping rice cereal all together and moving straight to bananas and avocados and oh, other stuff. But probably not until after Pesach, because seriously… I can’t handle any more mess in my life!)

But anyway, other than the solid food panic attack that I had in the office, the visit went well. The babies look great. The doctor was impressed with how well they’re doing. He asked how we were coping. He noted that this was the first time ever that he’d seen a mother bring in six-month old triplets all by herself (score one for me! … I’m not the only triplet mama they’ve got either; they’ve got I think 8 or 9 sets of triplets and a set of quadruplets in the office). He thinks I’m doing an amazing job (I am, thankyouverymuch!). Sam and Abby don’t have to go back until June (well, Abby went back today for her last Synagis shot, but she doesn’t have to go back for a well-visit until June). Ellie needs to go back in April for a weight check.

Ellie, I noticed, had lost a little weight by Friday, which had me a little jumpy. By Monday, she was down to 11 pounds, 8 ounces. If she’s not on an upward trend by the end of the week, I’ll take her back in on Monday for a weight check, but I know if I bring her in now, Dr. B. will just tell me to keep an eye on her, so that’s what I’ll do for now. In other news, she’s a super-smiley girl and she still has the longest baby tongue on the planet. She loves to stick it out and she loves to get kisses. Lately, she’s been quite vocal and has taken to making loud, screechy noises when she’s happy.

Sunday night, Sam actually slept most of the night! He only woke up once and then went back to his crib sometime thereafter. Oh, did I mention that we recently separated Ellie and Sam? They used to share a crib, but I kept finding Sam on top of Ellie, and while Ellie didn’t seem to mind (it didn’t wake her up at all), it was making me nervous. So now they sleep in separate cribs. It’s kind of sad for me. 😦 My babies are growing up and becoming more independent! *sniff* Other things about Sam… he definitely knows who his mama is. If I come home for lunch, he gets SO excited and practically leaps out of the nanny’s arms to get to me, even if he’s in the middle of drinking a bottle. He wants mama! He knows where food is supposed to come from and he will stop at nothing to get it! 🙂 That’s my smart boy. He giggles and smiles and loves to play. He is the only one who’s even close to being on the growth charts (you have to be in the 5th percentile to be considered “on the charts”… he’s in the 3rd percentile for weight)

Abba-dabba is super-sweet. She loves to play on her activity mat and thinks that people were put on this earth to entertain her. She has a hard time drinking her bottle because she spends the entire time smiling and making googly eyes at whomever is feeding her. She will reach out to pull the bottle closer to her, but lately has mostly wanted to play with the bottle rather than drink from it. I’m shocked that she’s still growing because she eats the least of all three of the babies, and lately has been refusing to eat more and more often. Hopefully this will not be a permanent trend. She is the one baby that has me questioning whether I should be thinking more seriously about solid food, because she’s the one I think might actually consider eating it without causing me too much heartburn. We’ll see.

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