Great Joy and Great Hardship

I started this post several months ago and never finished, mostly because I really do this for us and the kids and there are some things in our lives that just need to fade.

But lately I've had more than a few people ask if "it" is getting easier because the kids are getting older. My answer is always "a little easier, sometimes a lot easier, but mostly different". It isn't the logistics any more of how to clean and make 27 bottles/day or how to get everyone to and through the grocery store, or the unholy sleep deprivation...it's the parenting. The daily routine is certainly less challenging, but the mental and emotional exhaustion brought on by trying to lovingly parent 5 kids ages 6 and under can be overwhelming.

And so I remembered desiring to vaguely write about the early years and here it is (mostly composed pre-Annie):

Before I begin, I need to qualify everything with the fact that I desperately, desperately love and cherish my children. Even in our darkest days, weeks, months, after the triplets were born, I have never desired for any other plan for my life. I can't and won't imagine our world without one of my babies. I am NOT complaining, because that would mean I was dissatisfied and I am not. I know and am, beyond measure, thrilled with my family.

That said, I'm always shocked when someone tells me "I wish I had had triplets", which is usually followed by some reason such as "it would have been so nice to get all the pregnancies taken care of at once" or "I always thought it would be hilarious". Side note: this is not nearly as ridiculous as when I get the "Oh, they're triplets? I had Irish triplets, so that's the same". It is not the same, random stranger. Not at all.

I would never wish for someone to have triplets. They brought out the very, very best in me and in John and also the very, very worst. The triplet road is hard and long and sleep-deprived and, unless you have an extraordinary amount of help or are the most wonderful and perpetually cheeriest people in the world, the potential for serious collateral damage is great. I think we had more help than the average triplet-couple (from incredible and self-less friends, some of whom still want to just be with us and some of whom still aid us in raising our children) and I still would never want to repeat the first 1 1/2 years again. Ever.

Yes, there was great joy in those dark months. We rejoiced that they were born healthy. (In the triplet world, we were very, very fortunate in this aspect.) We rejoiced that we were given the privilege to have four children when at one point in our marriage we had to face the idea we may not be given a child at all. We rejoiced in their smiles and sweetness and sometimes silliness. We rejoiced in the quiet times because it was then we were gently reminded they were ours.

The great hardship details are unimportant and unnecessary and I hope I will completely forget them all someday. They were part of a time when John and I had nothing left to give to each other, let alone other people, even though we wanted to. When the urge to run away, just for an hour because it would make my heart hurt to be gone any longer, had to forcibly be suppressed. When I (very much a non-crier) had to cry in the shower because that was the only time I was alone. This "forgetting" process has already started, of course, because our home is wonderfully maxed-out with four children who make us laugh. There are times when John and I just look at each other and are happily incredulous at whatever event just happened x 4. And then happened again.

But then a couple months ago I was at the zoo and ran into another triplet family. The mom firmly had both feet in the "oh I wish we had so many more kids" la-la-land, but the dad circled back after the conversation was thankfully over and, very seriously and somberly said, "tell your husband it finally becomes easy when they turn 4. Tell him you will make it.". I almost hugged him and cried because sometimes it felt like we weren't going to make it.

And so I am thrilled when someone calls to tell me they're pregnant with triplets or a friend-of-a-friend has been blessed. But I also instantaneously pray for them and hope they are praying, too. Because there will be hours and days where they will need to cling to what they know is True and Perfect and Holy, just so they can get to the next hour.

House Of Pestilence And Woe

It has been a rough 48+ hours at Chez Laird and I am praying the worst is over. Actually, I know the worst is over because John and I are no longer violently ill and simply in the recovery period. I still don't know what happened, really. John had been limping along with a cold throughout the week, but the rest of us were perfectly healthy until 4:33 p.m. on Friday when the awfulness caught me off-guard as I was playing outside with the kids. The only reason I know what time it was is because we were waiting for John to get back home and I was doing the checking-my-watch-every-two-minutes routine to see if maybe 10 minutes had passed from the last time I had glanced down.

The nastiness hit the ground with an all-out sprint from that time on and went through me, then Gracie, then John, then Ainsley, then...mostly avoided Johnny and Lizzy. So far, those two have only had The Fever and another mild issue (please, PLEASE thank me for sparing you gory details).

What was the worst part? Both parents being simultaneously knocked out and still having to parent. We so wished we could have called someone to help, but we so did not wish our germs upon anyone. What did we do? Well, I'm pretty sure the kidlets got about 8 hours of television on Saturday and 4+ today. No guilt and I think I can handle it if they don't go Ivy because of the brain cells they lost this weekend. We had no choice, although if I have to listen to the shrill voices on "Fireman Sam" again I may run away.

I only got a couple pics from the weekend:

We had to get some fresh air and A just couldn't handle being on the couch inside. Poor thing. Our graffiti on the back porch looks fab. We are so classy.

This doesn't quite represent John's misery unless you know him, but the guy always smiles. Shortly after this I sent him inside and up to bed.

Lizzy and Johnny - you are not allowed to get this full-on. I will feed you ice-cream and lollipops for dinner if you stay in the clear. Capiche?

Happy Father's Day!

Baby, thank you for everything, everything, everything. The kiddos and I desperately adore and love you and are beyond thankful you love us, even when we're all a-yellin' and a-hollerin' and driving you to crazy-town. Perhaps next year they won't wake up before 6:00 to celebrate your day and perhaps next year you'll have something better than Sister Schubert's and Folgers for b-fast and ice cream for dessert. Don't count on it, though. I love you, sweetie.

A Little Embarrassed (Not Much, But Enough)

You see, I have these sandals.

They have been part of my life for 11 years now and I love them. They have been worn to oodles of track/cross country practices and meets. They have been immersed in the Gulf of Mexico and the Atlantic, plunged into the icy waters of the Arkansas, Colorado, and Blue Rivers (and I can't remember the others), and splashed in who-knows-how-many puddles. Dirt from countless mountains and cities in the great state of Colorado has been washed off of them. They have witnessed the beauty of Tahoe, the Grand Canyon, Moab and the mountains of North Carolina. Miles and miles of memories are recorded on these things and I am going to have to part with them.

Why? The soles are falling apart. And to be honest, the foot bed is cracked as well, making them irreparable (I checked the company's website). I wasn't as bothered by my tackiness last year because last year I was going a little kooky with 4 kids ages 3 and under and had bigger things to worry about. This year I still wasn't that moved to purchase replacements because of my attachment issues with these, my beloved footwear. Then I went to the zoo last week with my sister and her kids (post and pics sometime in the future) and a wood chip got stuck in the crack in the bottom of my left sandal. It was then, as I was tugging out a sizable hunk of nature from the sole, that I admitted defeat. Mark my words, sometime in the next couple months I won't be an embarrassment any longer and buy new shoes.

Sandals w/out wood chip.

Sandals with wood chip.

Acronyms

I consider myself fortunate that I did not read any blogs focused on infertility during our 5 1/2 years of waiting for Ainsley. Rather than giving me comfort that other people had the same struggles, their words would have brought more of the pain I was finally handling by the time we got pregnant.

However, when we discovered we were pregnant with triplets, John and I started exploring triplet blogs in the hopes of gleaning knowledge about what our pregnancy and [hopefully] infant road would look like. It was a bit scary to read sometimes because lots of triplet pregnancies end up with insane bedrest/early hospitalization/use of lots of tocolytics, but we found solace that most everyone handles the triplet experience - all of it - without completely losing their mind...even when there is tragedy.

That said, since most of the triplet mamas had gone through infertility treatments and had documented their sometimes painful journey, I noticed in their posts a lot of acronyms I was completely clueless about. Parts of these online journals were completely incoherent to me and it took some time to learn what the heck these people were talking about.

So, I've listed some below. I don't do this because I think it's important for anyone else to know these things, because I don't. I do this because John and I lived on the infertility planet for a long time and this is a part of our story I don't want to forget.

I haven't listed all of them for three reasons:
1. Some of them are 100% irrelevant for what we went through.
2. Some of them are sort of gross (bad images that will never go away from your mind).
3. Some of them I still don't get (lots of the hyper-medical terminology/drugs)

Without further adieu:

2WW = 2-Week Wait (the agonizing time between procedure and hCG tests - see below)*

AI = Artificial Insemination
AO = Anovulation
ART = Assisted Reproductive Technology
AWOL = A Woman On Lupron (a very scary person - do not cross her)

BCP = Birth Control Pills
BFN = Big Fat Negative (pregnancy test results)
BFP = Big Fat Positive (see above)
BW, b/w = Bloodwork (and there's lots of it)

C# = Cycle Number
CB = Cycle Buddy
CD = Cycle Day

DPO = Days Post-Ovulation
DPR = Days Post-Retrieval (of eggs)
DPT = Days Post-Transfer (of embryos)
DP3DT = Days Post 3-Day Transfer (3-day-old embryos)
DP3DT = Days Post 5-Day Transfer (5-day-old embryos)

E2 = Estradiol (hormone)
EDD = Estimated Due Date
ER = Egg Retrieval
ET = Embryo Transfer


FET = Frozen Embryo Transfer
FF = Fertility Friend

GIFT = Gamete Intra-fallopian Transfer (essentially put egg and sperm separately in the fallopian tubes and let them have a party)

hCG, HCG = Human Chorionic Gonadotropin (the hormone pregnancy tests measure - you have to go in for two blood tests measuring your levels after the 2WW to see if you're pg. The worst is when the first test says you aren't and you have to go back 2 days later for another blood draw to find out - again - that you still aren't pg. Twisting the knife.)


IF = Infertility
IM = Intra-muscular (WRT injections) [These are not pleasant, but entertaining. John and I call it "butt darts" b/c you hold the syringe just like a dart]
IUI = Intra-uterine Insemination (one of the first levels of IF treatments people do)

LH = Luteinizing Hormone
LMP = Last Menstrual Period (start date)

LP = Luteal Phase (the critical days post-ovulation)
LPD = Luteal Phase Defect

MC, m/c, misc. = Miscarriage
MF = Male Factor (I must admit this is NOT what I thought it was for a long time...umm...hmm)

O, OV = Ovulation
OD = Ovulatory Dysfunction (an umbrella diagnosis for many infertiles)
OHSS = Ovarian Hyperstimulation Syndrome (not good - potentially very dangerous situation and usually results in hospitalization)
OPT = Ovulation Predictor Test

P4 = Progesterone (hormone)
PCO = Polycystic Ovaries
PCOS = Polycystic Ovary Syndrome
POAS = Pee On A Stick (taking a home pg test)

RE = Reproductive Endocrinologist (I seriously had no idea my doc was called this - so clueless)
RPL = Recurrent Pregnancy Loss

SI = Secondary Infertility (easily get pg for first kid, then can't for the second)
SMEP = Sperm Meets Egg Plan

TTC = Trying to Conceive

US, u/s = Ultrasound (there are LOTS of these done and not the fun kind.)

* Everything in parenthesis is from me.

That's about it. Consider yourselves equipped to figure out what in the world those people are saying. Good luck.

Heart Check

For the last few months and at least 3x/week, Ainsley has appeared at my side of the bed between the hours of midnight and 4:00 a.m.-ish because "she can't sleep". In 4-year-old language, this means I need to come to her room and snuggle with her until her eyes close and those deeper sleep breaths start. In my confused state I always comply and usually wake up around 5:30 to stagger back to my bed for hopefully another 1/2 hour, or 45 minutes when Johnny decides to be generous and "sleep in". I will say Ainsley is not a cover-stealer, which is nice. The problem is that I had sort of gotten used to at least 6 hours of uninterrupted sleep when the triplets quit waking up during the night. It was nice.

It was becoming mildly frustrating. I need sleep to handle the following day well. It keeps me from turning into Not-Rational-Mommy during those inevitable moments when everyone is grappling over the Dora sunglasses. There are some other very 4-year-old and, let's face it, lots of 18-month-old issues going on at our house right now, and there are days when I am tempted to go back to work. Teaching teenagers is definitely easier than this.

But then something happens to remind me of why I am home with my little monkeys and today it was a song by Darius Rucker (known to my generation as Hootie). I stopped what I was doing and almost cried. I say almost because crying is just not something I do. Now, I realize this song has been out a few months and I am always, always woefully behind in the music scene (can't imagine why), but here's the link if you have a moment. And for even if you don't have a moment but the kids are sending you over the edge.


It Won't Be Like This For Long

I hope Ainsley comes in tonight to get me.

In Brief

We're back. The trip was good (except for that driving part) and I'll have a much longer and more boring post in the next couple days. In the meantime, here's a reasonable pic of us. We would have attempted the classic beach shot, but Gracie made it clear at the start of the week that she did not care for sand. Therefore, the boardwalk was as close as we could get with her. What you don't see in the picture is that Lizzy took a fabulous fall right beforehand and had a knee that looked like it had been put through a meat grinder. What you also, thankfully, don't see is that my top had some sweet blood stains on it from her. You'd think I would have learned years ago to never wear white.

We Made It

15 hours. That's at least 3 hours longer than what a normal family would take to drive to the beach. I must say the kidlets handled it very well; probably better than me. Ainsley was an angel, Johnny was content watching the cars and trucks as we passed them (he is SUPER in to vehicles right now), and Lizzy only cried 2 hours of the trip. The other 13 hours were spent in sullenness about her confinement. Gracie benefited from my extreme generosity and was allowed her lovie the entire time, which leads me to my teeny story:

At one point I swore I smelled gym shoes. As an ex-PE teacher, I happen to be very familiar with this particular odor. We are old, old enemies. When I was pregnant and nauseous with Ainsley, I would gag every time I had to walk past the boys' locker room. Not to say that the girls' didn't smell, it's just that it wasn't as overwhelming. So when I announced "I smell FEET!" about 10 hours into the trip and then found nothing on a sniff test of the kids, I was flummoxed when I couldn't determine the source. Of course I had the fleeting thought of "oh man. I hope my feet don't smell like that - how horrible would that be?". Still, every few minutes the old gym-shoes would creep past my nose.

You can understand how grossed out I was when I finally discovered where the smell was coming from: Gracie's lovie. The thing she sucks on smells like old gym shoes. It is probably not wise to allow this to continue and I need to burn the thing before she contracts Legionnaires' disease or whatnot.

We only have one picture from today to prove we arrived:

I Love...

Heartache and Hope

I've held off with this post for a couple weeks because I wasn't quite sure what I wanted it to be. I do know that I do not want to appear dramatic or in despair. I am accutely aware that John and I are very, very fortunate and that many friends have bigger issues. But it is what is happening in our lives right now and I feel as though it is false to document only the lighthearted goings-on in our little world. Those are important and I love them, of course, but they are not the whole story and someday I want to look back and remember all the pieces of our history.

Anyway, I've mentioned Lizzy's developmental delays a couple times in passing, but in reality we've always been a bit concerned. Maybe more than "a bit". She has some obvious speech/language/gross motor delays and we had her evaluated by our state's early intervention program to see if she would qualify. She barely missed (still not sure if that is good or not).

Results in hand, we consulted our pediatrician who recommended we take her to see a pediatric neurologist. This happened two weeks ago and we were taken aback by his initial diagnosis. You see, I've always harbored the hope that Lizzy is just, well, Lizzy. She does things her own way at her own pace and that her pace is WAY behind her siblings. The neurologist feels there is something bigger going on, that her delays are not the result of: being a triplet, a preemie, a mellower personality, getting "lost" in a family of 4 kids. He feels there is something "biological" with her.

The result from our appointment is that she has an MRI and blood test for chromosomal disorders this Friday and I feel a little sick about it.

My feelings aren't because I care if Lizzy's "bar" may be set lower than her siblings (I don't care). It isn't that I won't go all crazy-mama-bear about getting her as much help as necessary (because I will). It isn't that we will most likely be in limbo for a few years until we know what really might be going on with her. It is that I am sad for her. No mom rejoices that her child may struggle with something they can not help having their entire life. There is enough junk we have to go through without any added help. Heartache.

But (and there is always a but), I have hope. Hope that nothing of consequence will show up on her MRI. Hope that there are no chromosomal disorders shown on her blood test. Hope that the scary words "autism spectrum disorder" will not be used in finality. Hope that she really is "just Lizzy" and will always do her own thing on her own time and all we need to do is get her the extra help she needs to set her bar a little higher.

I have this Hope because God created Lizzy beautifully in his image and especially for us. I have this Hope because I believe we are here for a purpose and not to just take up space. She is here and ours for a reason and it is for something wonderful.

The choir at our church did a rendition of the hymn "It is Well With My Soul" the Sunday after our neurology appointment and it is not only appropriate but it is my all-time favorite. I tried to find something on youtube to post, but all the renditions were stereotypically obnoxiously christian and were annoying to me. It doesn't matter, though, because it's really the first stanza that I love the most and aptly describes how I'm feeling:

When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.



It is well.

A Shout Out

We were very, very fortunate to have so much volunteer help when the crumbgobblers arrived. It's crazy to think how we had at least one person/day come over for an hour or two the first two or three months to help. They held, fed, and bathed the triplets. They played with Ainsley, which was sometimes even more appreciated. They cleaned my kitchen. They made bottles. They let me shower. While I do not miss those months at all and hope the memories go away someday, I do miss the conversations and relationships that were built. There were many times when I would go days without stepping foot outside and this awesome group of women (and a few guys) kept me reasonably sane.

We still have a devoted few who come by every week to hang out. STILL! They are my main interaction with the world and I covet their friendship and love for my family. They have experienced me at my very worst and maybe at my very best They are wonderful examples of what a servant's heart looks like and my hope is that someday I can help someone else as I have been.

A shout-out to our friends has been necessary for quite awhile and I'm not sure why I've put it off. Maybe it's because I'm afraid to miss someone. I wish I had pictures of everyone, but pictures were low on the priority list for those first few weeks of survival. Anywho, I'll do my best and please forgive me if you aren't on the list. In no particular order:

Liz and her son, Colin (college friend and pediatrician who I call about nearly everything)

Christine (neighbor/friend), still comes for "Triplet Tuesday"

Kellie - old high school friend

Annie - old high school friend who has been beyond generous (as has her entire family)

Miss Dianne - still lets us come around every week

Pack and Bean - friends and still going to Costco for us. Love those wipes!

Joan w/IV at the baptism. Friend and neighbor who still rescues us every day.

Fooz! Of course! I dread the day she tires of us...

Uncle Bob. So generous to us and certainly helps keep John sane.

War Eagle Family. What would we do without you??
Philip - still hanging in there and one of Ainsley's buddies. Thank you.

Those I don't have decent pictures of: Rachael and Frenchie, Janet, Pat, Genevieve, The Zells, The Cagles, Graham, Susie, Christie, and lots and lots more. Thank you all. I am a better mother because of you.

One Year Ago...

One year ago, I would have told you this day would come too quickly. The first year with AC flew by and I assumed it would with the wee ones, too. It did not.

One year ago, I thought I would only desire friends to stop in and help for a couple months and then I/we would be able to handle it. I could not and my friends rose to the occasion.

One year ago, I felt isolated and imprisoned in my home and thought it would never end (as an outdoor person - this was debilitating). After 6 months or so, the incarceration ended and we were free.

One year ago, I was wigging out and tired and didn't have an angstrom of knowledge of what I was doing. I'm still constantly improvising, but am not freaked out. There isn't time for such nonsense.*

One year ago, I had ridiculous crazy-person thoughts that there was no way I could love another child/ren as much as I love AC. I now know that was a ridiculous thought from a crazy-person.

One year ago, I had no idea how hard and frustrating and spiritually draining and easy and loving and perfectly wonderful life at Taigh Laird would be.

*Okay, I still wig sometimes...

There is Daylight...

Life is getting somewhat easier now that the crumbgobblers are approaching 1 year (although it still seems like it's been longer than that). The horribleness of the first 4 months and slightly less horribleness of the 5-7th months are still very real and I hope they'll fade away. I doubt it. They're branded on my brain. It was like I was a character in an awful horror story with no end in sight.

I was thinking about how psychotically tired I was those first few months and remembered a funny story that would help describe it: I was in church and it was a communion Sunday. I usually pray before I take the bread and the "wine" (grape juice for us and oh, how I wish we'd get a juice box or something - that teeny little cup just isn't enough). Well, I was so tired that when I closed my eyes to pray before I took the juice, I fell asleep. I was actually dreaming when, all of a sudden I felt this wet stuff running down my leg (No, I didn't urinate. That's gross.). The cup had spilled all down my leg, all over the pew, and onto the floor, startling me awake. I'm pretty sure "oh, s---" (again, with the cursing problem) popped out of my mouth, IN CHURCH, and I totally jumped. Then, of course, I started that silent shoulder laugh/shake that cannot be gotten rid of. Fortunately a friend was nearby and had tissues, so there I was, bending way over, cleaning up my legs and the floor which would now be assuredly sticky for the next service.

Oh well. Again, it's much better now.

Road meanderings

As previously mentioned, my husband surprised me with a mini-break from life here with a trip to Nashville to visit a friend. It was wonderful and definitely helped fill my empty spiritual well which had been dry for months. I think I've tried to keep in touch with my friend, KJ, because she is the kind of person who challenges me to rethink the aspects of my life where I don't feel change is necessary. I don't feel any walls with her (I could be wrong, but that's my perception) and that isn't terribly common in my life. It isn't absent in my world here, but how often do I have time to spend, alone in conversation, with these friends?
The actual point of this post, however, is that I was forced to be alone with my thoughts for 10 hours in the car (especially when the cd player quit working on the way back. grrr...). It was awful and fabulous and has definitely helped with my attitude. Those close to me may disagree with this, but I willingly came to accept some things which had been upsetting to me these last few months. Issues that had actually hurt (this is hard to do to me) and still do, sort of. But the hurt is less because, in most cases, I haven't had time to give to others. Yes, yes, 4 kids ages 3 and under do not make giving simple, blah, blah, blah. Some people, even though they understand this, still don't really get it. They're great, but damage has been done and it's up to me to fix it. It's a long, bumpy road ahead, so pray for me as I slowly, slowly come out of the
kidlet cocoon and restart life. The story goes on.

The Uninteresting Triplet Pregnancy/Birth Story

During my triplet pregnancy, I started reading lots of blogs from other triplet families. I was fascinated and comforted by their stories, especially from the women who were due about the same time I was. I wish now I had started blogging then, mostly because I have honestly forgotten a lot about that time period. Of course, part of the reason why I've forgotten is that it wasn't terribly interesting to begin with, especially since we had other craziness happening at the same time. So, here it is, 34 weeks, condensed into a couple longish paragraphs.

We obviously freaked in the ultrasound room when Mary, my very favoritist nurse who had been with us through all the horrible years of infertility, told us the news. She had gotten very quiet (never a good sign in the past) and was taking forever. Then the news "umm. hmmm. I'm counting 3". J and I laughed that nervous, sort of crazy laugh and then entered a peculiar world where you are well aware the path you are currently on just ends and there isn't a new one to take. You're in a random place without definition, without absolutes (yes, I realize there are no absolutes in life, just let me run with this), where the answers to your questions are often vague.
We talked to my ob, were given all the statistics (not that great) and sent on our way to just...wait. We called the very few people who knew we even did a FET (frozen embryo transfer), who all laughed the hysterical laugh we did with a few expletives occasionally chucked about.

There were lots and lots and lots of visits to: the specialist (loved him), regular ob (also loved him), the Perinatal Center at the hospital (really loved them), blah, blah, blah. J and I are very aware that we had a textbook triplet pregnancy (if there is such a thing) where there really never was any news or action required. I did develop a mild case of gestational diabetes and got a seriously NASTY rash where I ended up sleeping in the bathtub a few nights. That's about it. The stress of the pregnancy came from: making sure our then 2 1/2-year-old was taken care of, praying I could be at her 3rd birthday party (I was) and, oh yeah, we were putting on a now necessary large addition to the house. I didn't have a kitchen for a few months, or a bathroom on the first floor, or any running water on the first floor. It totally sucked. The good part was that the babies always looked great, I never had any of those major contractions, and was never on total bedrest. I voluntarily, with a lot of whining, finally submitted and checked into the hospital which was the most horrible part of the whole gig. I wasn't at home, AC cried when she and J left that night, I cried and cried and cried. Such a baby. So many other triplet moms would have maimed to stay off bedrest and here I was freaking out after making it to 34 weeks at home, walking around. That was Wednesday, October 17th and my water broke around 2:30 a.m. October 19th. I had rolled over to get out of bed and go to the bathroom when it happened, immediately called the nurse who asked "are you sure you just didn't wet the bed?". What the frick?????!??!?!?! I think a monkey would know the difference between urinating all over yourself and your water breaking. I remember sort of laughing and telling her I didn't wet the bed and, of course, there were several people in my room in 2 seconds. One of the cool things about that night was that an old friend of ours was doing her residency at our hospital and she was on duty that night. It was so awesome to see her walk in. Everything else is sort of surreal from there because it happened so fast. I remember J walking in with the camera bag, finally being allowed to use the toilet (absolute relief), a nurse not getting it that "no, I don't want to keep my pillow from home that has amniotic fluid all over it" (so grody), the nurses messing around with trying to strap on the heartrate monitors for the babies and finally giving up, the wonderfulness of the epidural, and then, by God's grace, my healthy babies arriving:
In order:
Baby A: IV, 5 lbs even
Baby B: EL, 4 lbs, 10 oz
Baby C: MG, 4 lbs, 13 oz
I don't remember too much of the delivery because the epidural meds always make me feel like I'm going to hurl and I couldn't really focus on what was going on. That's a bummer, but I can deal. I felt so bad that they put EL to my face so I could give her a kiss and I couldn't do it because I didn't want to throw up on her. So sad. MG did have a bit of oxygen for an hour (?) afterwards, but that's it and I know how fortunate that they were all relatively large and strong. I really need to write about post-delivery, because that was when life got sort of sucky for a week or so. Maybe in a few days.

Some words of explanation...

So I've already been questioned about what Zone Defense and Stand Fast mean and here goes. In sports (I used to teach PE), zone defense is used is a type of defense (I'm often redundant) used as opposed to man-to-man, when the player is guarding a corresponding player from the other team. In zone, a player is given a zone to cover and can therefore cover more than one opposing player, if need be. In our house, J and I are outnumbered and can therefore no longer play man-to-man, or parent-to-child as it may be. We have to rely on zone.

Now on to Stand Fast. My husband's heritage is Scot and many of them feel strongly (he is included) about this. The family motto is "Stand Fast" and it not only accurately describes my immediate family, but it currently defines our lives as he and I can't and don't let our guards down and stay strong in rearing the wee ones. Forever and ever, amen.