My Diary of Triplet Fatherhood

Here’s a few of my favourite pictures from the last few days. I’m still so captivated I’m taking snaps of my beautiful girls at every opportunity. This time feels precious and I want to capture some of its magic before it passes. Having the wonderful newborn phase of all my children at once is truly amazing – but also sad, in that it will all be gone so soon.

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The morning muscleman competition. Unswaddled, the girls have a good stretch before starting the day.

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Evelyn and Jemima drop off together with hands held!

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Hark! Is that bottles being made up I hear?

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Happiness is a warm gum – milk and cuddles, what more could a girl ask for?

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Wide awake after bathtime.

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Scarlett looks for a nipple in an unlikely place.

Last night was the third of Gina Fording the girls and the fact that my eyeballs ache from tiredness is proof that the system hasn’t worked… yet. I do think that it will work though. It just requires J and I to be patient. After all, the girls aren’t even a day old yet, gestationally, and don’t have the body fat reserves to go for any time without eating. As they get bigger they’ll be able to have fewer, larger meals and go for longer at night. Also, the fact there are three of them makes it difficult at night – often only one will wake up hungry an hour before we would want them to but we then have to feed all three to keep them in synch. In essence, there’s three times the chance that they won’t last out any particular nap period.

That said, there have been definite improvements, even in three days. Part of the regime involves always putting the girls in the cot that they spend the night in during daytime naps, with the curtains closed, etc., to ensure it’s as dark as possible. At first, part of the problem with their unsettledness during the night was that they weren’t used to the room (they slept downstairs during the day) and had never really experienced darkness before, so when they woke up even a little they got frightened and couldn’t settle themselves back to sleep. Now they sleep happily upstairs in their cot during the day. At night they seem to settle better, too.

Another part of Gina Fording is to ensure the baby (or in our case, babies) eat enough during the day to keep them going all night, so night time feeds are just top-ups, which can be moved further and further apart as the baby gets more self-sufficient. In three days this hasn’t really worked for the night time, but yesterday was the first time J and I got an evening together, as they slept through from their 7pm to 10pm feeds uninterruptedly for the first tiem since they came home. I really hope that’s a sign tht they are taking to the routine. Having a few hours together to relax and recharge makes the World of difference. Not that we want to be free of the babies of course, as demonstrated by the fact that we spent the entire time looking at photos of the girls. It’s just good to have a break from the relentless demands of feed-change-keep awake-get to sleep-quickly washing baby things and making bottles-feeding-etc.

I am only working half days at the moment so am able to get back in time to let J have a nap in the afternoon herself (and sometimes have one myself, too). I think that may be the only thing keeping us bouyant enough to keep going through the interrupted nights. In two weeks, however, I’ll be back full time. I just hope the girls are settled into a routine and only waking once a night by then, otherwise it may get much harder to keep going. So, come on Gina Ford – you have two weeks to prove your methods work. Please don’t fail us.

On another tack, we have decided to change one of the girls’ names (I think it’s people like us tht make it necessary to allow six weeks before registering a birth). Scarlett Agatha Kathleen is now Scarlett Cecilia Kathleen. I think it rolls off the tongue better now. Plus Saint Cecilia is the patron saint of music, and with those long, graceful fingers, she’s bound to become a World-famous pianist.

Yesterday marked two new experiences for the girls (and one for me if you count being up all night feeding babies!) – A trip to the supermarket and their first ever bathtime. Of the two, I’d say the shopping trip was the unanimous winner, judging from the fact that the girls slept angelically through it all, unlike the baths which none of them were at all impressed by. Not that I was suprised. Just having their nappies briefly removed during changing causes yells of outrage (they’re such modest young ladies), so not only having all thier clothes removed, but being dunked in water to boot, was, unsuprisingly, not at all popular.

Still, they were nice and wide wake afterwards which made for more sleepiness later and cleaner than I’ve ever seen them which made for more cuteness right then. All in all quite a rewarding experience for me, if not for them.

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Here’s Scarlett. She seemed to enjoy it the most (well, she cried the least).

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Evelyn on the other hand hated being washed.

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As did Jemima. Note the look of shocked betrayal.

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And here’s all three of them in my arms, looking cleaner than ever. Notice the hair colour – every day they turn blonder!

The shopping trip was also suprisingly pleasant. Just like when we left the hospital, there were people whispering “triplets” and pointing us out to their kids, and several people came over to admire them. Yet not one derisory comment was made, just lots of exclamations as to how beautiful and adorable the girls are and claims of how lucky we are. It’s nice to know others can see straight to the heart of the matter.

I tried to tell them that I had only been kidding when I said, back in the hospital, that I knew they’d be little angels who slept through the night fom day one… but the girls weren’t having any of it. The gauntlet had been thrown down, and my placid-by-day daughters were, last night, determined to prove me wrong.

I have never heard noise like we experienced last night. Noise of such gut-wrenching, heart-breaking aural and emotional intensity that I wanted the earth to open and hell to swallow me whole for the sin I must be committing in allowing it to continue. Noise so unbearable in every way that it was almost impossible to try and get the babies to wait until they could next take a turn at being comforted, let alone their next feed time. Never has waiting just three or four minutes been such an ordeal as it was last night. Going to the cot, picking up a baby, cuddling them until they settled (but didn’t fall asleep), placing them back, picking up the next girl, settling them (by which time the first would have started fussing in preparation for another explosion), placing them back, picking up the final baby (by now the first is on the brink of explosion and the second is fussing) and settling her, before retreating to the bed, three feet from the impending sonic inferno to wait them out for a minute or two before beginning again.

I had to keep reminding myself that, in trying to teach the girls to settle themselves, we were doing what will be the best for them in the long term. With three babies we have no choice but to live by a regime if all of them are to be treated fairly and J and I are to have any chance of sleeping during the next year.

Last night really brought it home to me how different things would be if we were the parents of a singleton. There’s no way I could have left them crying if I knew it was within my power to console them. I’m sure they would have been whisked into bed with J and and I being cuddled to sleep within minutes of starting to really bawling, it was such a heart-wrenching sound.

Anyway, today Gina Ford has entered our lives. She is something of a mix between Mary Poppins and a war film camp commandant, promising to make any child into a “contented little baby” while allowing parents the luxury of a full night’s sleep at the earliest opportunity with her strict feeding/changing/playing/napping timetables. I always imagine her towering over a small child intoning, “We have ways of making you sleep” with monacle and arched brow. Anyway, she comes recommended by other multiple parents (and many who suffered from the rigours of on-demand feeding with a first child). Time will tell if her methods work. Or if we have the determination to see them through.

Just a quicky to post photographic evidence that, yes, it is possible to leave the house with triplets. We even managed to drop into the pub for a quick pint (J’s first since last December!) and a round of adorating questions.

Got asked all the (now becoming usual) questions and happily answered them all in my proud dadness. In return got financial advice from the landlord (who has twins).

I look forward to my next trip out with them in maybe eighteen years time.

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J with the mega-buggy

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From the front (just in case you thought it looked at all small in the last pic)

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The passengers

Another night of swamp noises marked the girls second day at home. I can only assume it’s some primaeval defence mechanism, originating in a time when babies needed to camouflage themselves against the noises of wild forests, marshlands and savannahs. Why else would a two week old child be able to so perfectly mimic the scritch scritch of the grasshopper, the hoot of the spider monkey and the gurgle of a small, woodland stream?

Aside form the manifold gurglings, squeaks and croaks, last night was more difficult than the one preceeding it. Evie was really unsettled most of the evening and again after she was fed at night. I assume it’s the change of scene. We have tried to keep them in a similar routine to when they were in hospital but there’s no escaping the fact that the location is a very different one, with strange noises, sights and experiences at every turn. Just the fact that she is experiencing darkness at night time must be peculiar. J also thinks that perhaps the amounts of formula calculated by the midwife are too low. They finish that much every time and generally still act as if they’re hungry. Today we are making up larger amounts so they can have more to eat if they want to.

One thing I wasn’t prepared for is the helplessness created by a crying baby. What do you do when you have checked they don’t have wind or a dirty nappy and there’s still an hour until they should be eating again? As cruel as it sounds, we just cannot allow them to demand cuddles with crying. With three babies, it is physically impossible to pick them all up even when we are both at home. They have to learn to settle themselves. Just as we cannot allow them to associate cuddles with sleep – they must be put down before they drift off.

And yet, when they are lying there distraught, it is almost impossible not to pick them up and cuddle them to sleep. But what about when two are crying? Or all three? Even comforting two of the girls by laying a hand on their chest or forehead becomes an excercise in plate-spinning when all three are unsettled, so I have been trying to settle them by talking (or – and I realise this is a truly terrible thought for those of you who have experienced it – singing) to them. I don’t want to not comfort them, it’s just that giving comfort has to be in a way that they can come to rely upon. Teaching them that there’s cuddles waiting when they’re unsettled would be crueller in the long term, as they each find their voices more and are more awake.

None of which stops me feeling incredibly mean right now, of course.

On a lighter note, J and I took the girls for their first outing yesterday afternoon. They looked quite incredibly cute all bundled up in pink fleecy blankets and strapped into their triple buggy. After a few hiccups (like not being able to unfold the buggy frame for 20 minutes) we walked them round Kirkstall Abbey in the afternoon sunshine. It was great. It felt like being a real family. And it was good for J to get out of the house after all that time in hospital. Unfortunately, I forgot to take any pictures – something I’ll remedy this afternoon if we manage to repeat the experience.

Typing hard while feeding babies. Quick post – here’s my babies at home at last.

In moses baskets in living room…

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And, later on, in their bed…

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Tired but happy. Baby noises sound like a swamp at night. Gurgles, splutters, squeeks, yelps, rumbles, etc. all night long. Most entertaining.

My heart was beating heavily as I stepped down from the baby bus (as I’ve christened our new people carrier) and entered the Gledhow Wing. We were coming home. This was the last time I would enter that squat, grey building. A building which had become a central point in my life. It has been the scene of the important, life-changing events around which my thoughts and energies had revolved for almost the whole of this year. It has been the place where waiting came to an end, of revelation, of wonder, and, when we left it, of waiting once more. After months of admissions and of fortnightly visits, of waiting for milestones, checkups, delivery or homecoming, I was going there for the last time.

Inside, J was waiting with our babies. Her bags were packed, the babies fed, waiting for one last time.

As we left a boy in the lift gaped “triplets?” at us three times. People turned their heads to follow our passage, some even dropped into step with us so they could look at the babies. I could hear whispers of “triplets” from across the foyer. And amidst all the hubbub I stood tall and smiled. I was taking home my girls. Despite the worries and all the possible complications, I was taking home three healthy, beautiful children. I was takig home the woman who had given me the most precious gift I have ever received. I was so happy that I wouldn’t have been suprised to have been told that I walked through that foyer an inch or two above the floor.

Outside one of the ultrasonographers was passing and ran over to wish us goodbye. She’d known all along that we had three girls, she said. No wonder she had that twinkle in her eye as we talked about being so sure they were boys. Still, I’m glad she said nothing. The surprise has made these last few week that much more magical.

It took a while to strap in all the girls to their seats and load up J’s many belongings (how had they managed to multiply so much?) but eventually we were ready to leave. But we didn’t. Not straight away. First J cried her eyes out. Relief, happiness, excitement, it was too much.

And then we came home.

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So this is it. Tomorrow I’ll go to the hospital as usual after work but when I leave I will be taking Janet and my babies with me. And when I get home, it won’t be rattling around a quiet, empty home until I go to bed. There’ll be babies there, and noise, and when I do go to bed, I’ll be getting up again a few hours later for feeding time.

No more hospital trips. No more convenient midwives or night nursery to take over one or two of the babies when it gets difficult.No more magically replenishing drawers full of baby clothes and cot sheets. No cleaners mopping up around the cots each day. No tea ladies. No prepared meals.

I won’t pretend that the prospect doesn’t frighten me. I am fully expecting the coming year to be a trial of my and J’s endurances. But as I’ve said before in this blog, it’s the hard times in life that give you the opportunity to define who you really are. If J and I can support one another, if we can approach every problem with open eyes and a determination to find creative solutions, if we can keep a sense of perspective, if the promises of help from friends and family keep coming, well, then I think we’ll be alright. Who wouldn’t swap a little sleep for having more love in their life?

On a different note, I’ve been told by a couple of people that my last post was a little harsh-sounding and I’d like to make it absolutely clear that I don’t mind people asking questions about our triplets. I think that the fact that I’ve been writing this blog is clue enough that I’m something of an overproud new dad. I want to show my babies off. I want everyone to think they’re as fascinating and important as I do. I could talk about them all day long. So when I wrote about coming up with a repertoire of responses, I didn’t mean to imply that I would be using them on everyone who showed an interest. Rather I was trying to write humourously about the fact that the questions one gets asked are so often the same. So, please, don’t be offended if you have asked any of those things. Sometimes I just need to blow off steam.

However, I did mean it about the commisserations. “The first twenty-one years are the worst”, indeed! Which reminds me. My dad was telling me the other day that when I was born he had a similar thing happen. He got into a taxi at the hospital to bring me home for the first time and gushed to the driver that I was his first child only to be told, “Kids. Urgh. Got ten of ‘em. ‘Ate ‘em all. All noise at one end, no sense of respect at t’other.” He then proceeded to list a thousand ways that kids ruin your life all the way home. Obviously it’s not just a triplet thing.

I had always been under the impression that having babies was supposed to be a happy event, and, just as with any other happy event – you know, weddings, birthdays, all the other things that keep greeting card shops in business – congratulations are the order of the day. With that in mind, I am suprised by how very many people have commiserated me since the birth of Evie, Lettie and Jem.

I have variously been called a “poor sod”, an “unlucky bastard” and looked at with blatant pity. I’ve been told innumerable times “Rather you than me”, “It’s going to be awful, “Your life’s going to be a nightmare”, “How the hell are you going to manage”, “One’s bad enough, I don’t know how anyone could cope with three”, and so on.

But this isn’t a time for deepest sympathy. It’s a time for rejoicing. I fell genuinely blessed by my girls; I’d rather have triplets than win the lottery, any day. Especially at the moment. I’m on cloud nine. I’d really rather people didn’t push me off it.

Sure, I know there’s hard work ahead but is it really constructive to point that out to me in such disparraging terms? I don’t believe that people are being deliberately nasty, rather they are just thinking about themselves – something which, in many instances, seems to not leave enough brain power to consider the possible effect of their pronouncements.

Fortunately I’m thick skinned enough for it to not really bother me but I can imagine some people finding these things hurtful. I think maybe the fact that I’m 6′ 6″ has got me used to being told pointless things by strangers. For some reason lots of people feel it necessary to point out to me that I’m tall. I mean, do they think I haven’t noticed? That I have been walking around with a niggling feeling that something wasn’t quite right… ‘Am I on stilts? No, definitely legs. Have I gone up a slope? Put platform shoes on? Has everyone shrunk? Wandered into a pygmy village? “Hey! Mate!! You’re tall!” Phew, that’s it! Thanks, mate! Thought I was going mad for a bit there.’

But it happens – and I’m used to it. Even the jokes. It’s just a fact that people comment on the unusual. Unfortunately it’s equally true that most people are unoriginal enough to comment the same old things and do so with little regard to what effect their words might have.

The repetitive questions are also beginning to rear their heads. Are they triplets? Are they boys or girls? Are they identical? Did you have IVF? Did you have a cesaerean? Did you know you were having triplets? Do triplets run in your family? Were you huge (J obviously gets this one)? How are you going to manage? Do you need three of everything?

After a while you end up with a repertoire of comebacks, ranging from leading the person on if I feel nice (which can, admittedly, lead to some funny situations as the person comes to realise what they said, or to some entertaining shows of ignorance. “How tall do you think I am?” can have some amazing answers.), through the nonsensical (”No, I’m normal height, – you’re just short”), the outright lie (”seven foot six”) and the sarky (”Am I?”) to the cutting (”What a stupid thing to say. Did you really think I didn’t know?”). OK, admittedly I have rarely actually reply with a cutting comment. It’s not really me, and anyway, these things are better approached with a sense of humour. There’s no point getting upset about things which are out of your control.

I think it’ll be the same with having triplets. We’ll soon have a repertoire of answers to the questions and comments. Some answers are already beginning to form…

Are they triplets? “No, quads. Hey where’d the other one go?”
Are they boys or girls? “There’s one of each”
Are they identical? “To what?”
Did you have IVF? “How about I just call my doctor and have him release all our family’s sexual health records for your perusal?”
Did you have a cesaerean? “Did you have a lobotomy?”
Were you huge? “No. I carried one in each leg to save space.”
Did you know you were having triplets? “No. When we looked at the scan we thought it was one baby with lots of arms and legs.”
Do triplets run in your family?“Give them a chance, they can’t even walk yet.”
How are you going to manage? “We’re selling one on Ebay to pay for the others.”
Do you need three of everything? “No. They take turns wearing the same clothes.”

Other suggestions for comebacks are welcome.

And at least with the pregnancy over, people no longer feel the need to tell me about all the twins they have heard of who were lost before birth and all the horrible compliations that can arise with multiples.

Freedom! J was temporarily allowed out of hospital today. She’d mentioned, yesterday, to one of the midwives that she was going a little stir crazy so they offered to take care of the girls so she could go and get a change of scenery for an hour or two. So this afternoon I took her to her favourite restaurant – Bibis. It was an extravagance we couldn’t afford really but I doubt we’ll be doing this kind of thing for quite a while to come and it would have been churlish to not seize such a serendipidous oportunity for one last fling. ALso, J has been craving a bloody steak since the birth, I think she must need the iron, and nowhere does steaks like Bibis. I don’t know how they make them so amazing but as long as they keep making them that way, I’ll be happy.

So I brought a big bag of pre-pregnancy clothes, early pregnancy clothes and various accessories with me this morning and after feeding and changing all the babies, we dashed off to town. At first J found it a bit much, I think. Two weeks of hospitalization and 17 weeks of bed rest had left her a little institutionalized, plus she is still not fully recovered from the cesaerean. However, once there it was fine. The food was exquisite, the bill extortionate, and the whole experience was just what J needed to perk her up.

Speaking of leaving the hospital, I was stunned this morning to hear the midwife on duty suggest that J could be returning home within a few days. Last I heard it was at least another week, quite possibly two. But the babies weights have been increasing so well and their feeding so good that the hospital is happy to let them go earlier than planned. I am, of course, really happy at how well Evelyn, Scarlett and Jemima are doing but I’m not sure that they’re ready to be home yet. It’s only been in the last day or so that they have been really ‘waking up’ so it’s only now that any problems with the feeding and sleeping routines are going to show themselves. The thought of losing all the wonderful support and advice we have in the Transitional Care ward just when we will need it the most also worries me. Not to mention the laundry, cooking and tea-round services.

Not to mention that J is still not 100%. In case you haven’t visited here, our house is possibly the worst possible design for triplets – a tall, thin terrace with five rooms spread over four stories, more stairway than anything else. Not the ideal place to be on your own with three wriggling babies when you have just had your stomach muscles sliced through and are not supposed to be lifting things.

Anyway, I need to sleep. Tomorrow is the last chance I’ll have to spend all day at the hospital, getting under the midwives feet and messing around with the babies in public unashamedly, so I want to get up early to make the most of it.

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Here’s a pic I took today of (left to right) Evelyn, Scarlett and Jemima. God I love those girls so much. I still spend hours each day completely lost in trancendent bliss as I gaze at them, wondering how they could be so perfect, so beautiful, so captivating. Somehow, to my mind, each of them manages to be perfect yet different to the others. Three flavours of perfection. I am so lucky.

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Jemima, hungry as usual, devouring a second helping of Nutraprem-2 after alreay taking her recommended amount of breast milk! Note the trademark sidelong glance. She does it whenever she’s feeding.

Feeding has been the main concern with the girls over the last few days. In particular, Avri…Evelyn (still getting used to that name change) was not eating (drinking?) enough for several days running. We write down what they take, together with if they poo or wee*, after each run and adding up Evie’s totals was pretty concerning. We were having to spend an hour or more trying to get the full amount down her even though she was fast asleep for much of the feed. The paediatrician talked to J about it and suggested that this might have been the problem. The long feeds were tiring her out. Now we stop after 30 minutes regardless of how much she’s had and I think it’s beginning to work. She’s a lot faster now and livelier between feeds, too.

The girls are also still struggling to breastfeed which is tiring for J and extends their feeding time quite a lot as they need to have a go at the breast and be bottle fed and then J needs to express for the next feed for an hour after their all finished. If one or two could breastfeed and the others be given a bottle the time it takes to get it all done would be cut dramatically.Of course, the other option is to give up on breastfeeding, which has the advantage of meaning the girls will manage to go longer between feeds and that they can all be fed by the same method and that J needn’t be there for feeds, both of which should allow for feeding to be streamlined. In the end, it’s J’s decision and I’ll support her whatever she decides because there’s really no right thing to do. I suspect that the coming years will require a lot of these decisions – balancing the needs of everyone in our family. What a responsibility.

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* Which I shan’t go into. I have managed so far to refrain from exalting at the amazing colours these babies have produced in their nappies (suffice it to say that Jackson Pollock’s works seem both dreary and neat in comparison). I’d rather that being a proud new dad did not spill over into being a baby bore, let a lone a baby-poo bore. So far I’ve even managed to not post about Jemima’s Seven-Nappies-In-A-Row Debacle, Scarlett’s Explosive Scatter-Bum Cot Destruction and Evie’s Amazing Three Day Save-Up. Good going, huh?

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J was feeling a lot better when I visited yesterday which was great relief. She’s still very tired, of course, but I think having a few days of quiet and a chance to bond with the babies in peace, together with the fact that they’re beginning to get the hang of breastfeeding, has been good for her.

The babies are also well. I was amazed by how much perkier they were yesterday. Evelyn was punching the air and getting her little hands out of her blankets, Scarlett was wide eyed and fussing, even after a full meal, and Jemima was ably demonstrating why we called her Wrigger before birth. They were even all awake at the same time for the first time I can remember. I took that as a good sign that they were growing out of their premature sleepiness and getting enough energy from their feeds… until I noticed that next to J’s bed was an enormous, and almost finished, bar of Swiss chocolate and was reminded that in the womb they used to kick out much more when J ate chocolate. Oh well, were not planning to give them refined sugar until they grow up a bit so they may as well make the most of it now.

I am back at work today and I have to say, it feels very strange. Everyone’s lives are going on as normal. The things that have turned my World upside-down are just news to everyone else. I have spent all day at the hospital since the birth, from 8am until they kicked me out around ten. Being somewhere different, especially somewhere with no direct connection to caring for J or the babies, seems unreal and meaningless in comparison. But I guess the babies need money to provide for them, not just love and care. Being at work is still looking after them, just not directly. I do miss them though.

J is still pretty washed out even now, almost a week later, which has been something of a surprise. During the pregnancy, because of all the risks, we concentrated largely on the health of the babies. We were always hoping and waiting for the next milestone to pass, J was resting, I was trying to ensure she was able to rest, we were both getting ready for the babies (as much as we dared). Yet in the end the babies are lartgely fine and it is J who is having trouble. She lost a lot of blood and even after her transfusion is very tired as well as being in a lot of pain. I can only hope she gets better soon. This is a magical time with the babies and I worry that she isn’t getting to fully experience it. She gets to hold and change them and I think breastfeeding either two or three of them each time is good for her but between the changing and feeding and then expressing for the next feed, then eating something herself, she is so tired she either sleeps or just has to rest in preparation for it all starting again. All of which makes me even more concerned that I am not there to help out today.

The midwives assure us that J will feel better with every passing day so I am being patient for the time-being. Things are still in the early stages and every little improvement is one step towards things being OK.

The babies are on bottles now as well as breastfeeding. They are only just learning to suckle so I don’t think they get a great deal from the breast. That’s why J has to express as well, so we can be sure of how much they eat.The suckling reflex is one of the last things to develop and the girls are only at a gestational age of 36 weeks now, around the time it appears, so they manage to latch on but then just lie there looking lost. I’m sure they’ll pick it up eventually. Every day they seem to do a bit better. We ditched the cup feeding as it took too long in conjunction with breastfeeding and expressing. The babies still fall asleep when they’ve had a little to eat, but at least with a bottle they can keep drinking while dozing. I think life will be easier when they are less sleepy during feeds and can breastfeed fully. That will mean feeding goes quicker and J will be able to drop the 40+ minutes of expressing after each run of feeds. Plus she will also be feeling more full of beans by then and be more practiced at the whole baby care caboodle – practice being one thing we’re not going to be lacking.

Anyway, I am still over the moon at my new dadness. It’s only now that everything seems to be clicking into place. I could never really imagine what it would be like when J and I turned from a couple into a family. I couldn’t imagine how being a dad would make me feel nor what dimensions it would add to my relationship with J. But the initial chaos is passing now and the first signs of normality are appearing and I am getting to discover the answers to all the musings I’ve had over the past 7-8 months. And I like it. I love it. Already I can’t imagine my life without my girls nor the love that I bear them and with each day I find I love them and know them a little better. As cheesy as it sounds, I feel like a door has opened and I have a whole new world to explore. I cannot wait to see what lies ahead nor who I become as result of my travels.

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Just the quickest of posts to say that the girls are all doing fantastic. J is a bit poorly – she’s had to have a blood transfusion today to try and get her blood count up – but is recovering slowly but surely, and I am… content. I love spending time with my babies and cannot imagine going back to work now. Not that intend to until J has recovered enough to do a bit more of the caring. At the moment she is just utterly washed out but with the three bags of blood they’re going to give her in total she should be feeling a lot better by tomorrow or the day after.

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Today the babies were visably more healthy looking. They’re still scrawny little mites but their cheeks are filling out a bit and they’ve lost most of their wrinkles. Their personalities continue to shine. Baby One (Sorry, still no final name to report) is tranquil, prefering to watch the world around her to making a fuss. Her eyes seem wise, like an old lady. Scarlett is uncertain of the World still. Her frown makes me laugh – so serious. Jemima is still the Wriggler of the bunch. Loves to be held more than anything which is a shame as there are only two parents to go around.

I’m starting to realise how military we will have to be with our routine. The babies take about 2 hours to change and feed with two people there and are on a three hour cycle, which leaves only an hour to anything else before it starts again. And that’s while they are all sleepy and newborn.

I am tired already. There’s not enough hours to spend with my babies and do the rest of the jobs for their homecoming never mind going back to work on Monday. Can’t quite imagine what J will do when she’s on her own all day at home.

They are still beautiful.

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Baby One with her dad. Is she an Avril? We can’t decide if she’s Avril Mary Evelyn or Evelyn Mary Avril.

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Does Jemima have ballet dancer’s feet?

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J feeding Scarlett from a cup

Here’s a few pictues from the first full day. The girls are doing great – and are astonishingly well behaved. When we ask the midwives if they’ll stay that way they say encouraging things but I can tell by their expressions they know more than they’re telling.

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Baby One. Currently still without a name.

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This was Baby Two. Now called Scarlett.

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And Baby Three is now Jemima.

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Janet. Happy to be reunited again with her babies.