My Diary of Triplet Fatherhood

Just a quick update while I am home from the hospital collecting some things and grabbing a bite to eat. All the babies are still doing incredibly well. Since last night they have filled out a little, especially Baby Three, and are less wrinkly.

We need to choose names today. Calling them by numbers, while essentially practical, lacks a certain personalisation. None of them look like they are a Daisy however, so we need to choose another name, something I’m sure will have been done by this evening when I get back again. We are sticking with Jemima and Scarlett for two of them, despite my suggestion we expand upon the numbers thing by calling them Una, Tulula and Theresa (with a “th”).

I couldn’t believe how small the babies – my babies – are when I arrived this morning. I’sd forgotten quite how tiny they are. Their hands and feet are so delicate. Their fingernails no larger than a thyme leaf. And they are quiet, too. The midwives are amazed by how placid and well behaved they are. Even, Tulula, with her frowning expression makes very little noise.

They’re beautiful.

Here’s a s election of pictures from today. I’ll post more when I have a chance to go through them properly and to take stills from some of the video footage.

These first three are from the delivery. The babies are still covered in gunk but at the time I didn’t care in the slightest. They were there. That was all that mattered.

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Baby One being checked out.

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Baby Two’s bid for freedom. They should know to never ask a woman her weight.

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Vitamin K injections for Baby Three.

These next pictures are from when I went with the babies to the transitional nurery while J was being stitched up. They needed to be got warm and fed as quickly as possible. While the midwives did that I generally got in the way and took photos. A privilege of being the dad, I reckon.

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Baby Three, still under an incubator while her blood sugar and temperature were a little low.

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Baby One. Snoozer by name…

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Baby Two. Frowning again, the poor mite. Maybe it’s just the way I’m holding her.

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Baby Two. Much happier after a cuddle and some food. Must take after her dad, I reckon.

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Baby Three. Saying goodbye before I went back to make sure J knew everything was alright. Her holding my finger made me realise just how small she was.

And these are taken when the babies and J have been reunited in Transitional Care.

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Finally J and Baby Three get to cuddle. Neither could take their eyes off the other. Except, of course, at the moment I took the photo. Typical.

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J and Baby One. Is that a smile?

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Me and my daughter.

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The view from J’s bed.

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And from the other end. Can’t go leaving Brui… Baby Two out.

I’ll post more tomorrow or at the weekend depending on when I am free. Lots of the time I was taking video and ripping stills is bit time-consuming so it may be a while before I can pos some of the more amazing pictures, particularly those of the babies at the moment of birth.

Friday, They said.
Maybe even next week, They said.
Hull, They said.
And then, after all that, they said “Today?”

J was awoken at around 11.30 with the question, “Do you fancy becoming a mum today?”. Shortly afterwards I got a call myself.

“How do you fancy becoming a dad today?”

I didn’t believe it at first but rushed to the hospital nevertheless. When I got there, things were already in progress. Consent forms had been signed, J was fasting (fortunately she hadn’t snacked on anything since breakfast so there was only an hour to go until the magic 5 hours of foodlessness that is needed for anaesthesia). Nurses quipped that I looked calm as I walked into the ward. “Only on the outside,” I told them, which was more or less true. On the inside I was calm – the bemused calm of a man who is about to meet a fate he has awaited many months and who suddenly realises that until this moment he never truly internalised its essential truth. The kind of calm, in fact, that can only exist at the heart of a cyclone.

Today was a day I will always remember. There are times in my life that become crystallised even as they happen, each moment adding to the perfect, 3-dimensional whole. A whole that can be held up and admired in your memory for the rest of your life. Each experience another facet, reflecting the light of whenever it is evoked, but in and of itself a perfect and immutable thing, a star around which the rest of your life will always be brought back to orbit. Light reflected back from these moment brings truth to the here and now by the nature of it’s solidity, it’s hyper-reality.

I was present during their births and wouldn’t have missed the experience for anything. I even managed to catch much of the delivery on a film which, having watched it over, is definitely not for the squimish. Unfortunately, I missed the first baby being brought out as a surgeon was in front of me and when I moved for a better view I was so awestruck by what I saw that I forgot the camera. There it was – the baby I had waited for so long, crying, pink and thoroughly surprised by its rude awakening. There she was – my first child. Fortunately I managed to pull myself together quickly enough to capture my second being born amidst a splash of waters akin to a bucket being emptied from insode J’s tummy in a single splash. And my third.

The room was very crowded. There was one team for each of the babies consisting of three people, three anaethsetists, four or five people doing the actual procedure, a couple of students, me and J. And the babies. Amidst all the bustle I wandered taking pictures or just staring or talking to J, letting her know what was happening, that the babies were alright, making sure she wasn’t forgotten in the midst of what seemed to me to be chaos but was in fact orchestrated to the last degree.

It was over quickly. The babies were out in around 2 minutes. Maybe less. When they were taken to the ward I went with them. J didn’t feel comfortable letting them go without me. She kept asking the names of the midwives who were taking them and if baby three was alright as she wasn’t given a chance to see her before she was whisked away.

I can feel something inside me that was never there before. It feels solid. It dwells somewhere near the top of my stomach. It swells when I look at my babies… my children… and makes the whole World shrink away until there is nothing there but them and I.

Already it seems to me that their personalities are becoming clear. Maybe I am reading more into their expressions than is there but it definitely seemed that they each reacted differently to the World around them. J and I chose three names but I still don’t know who should receive which. Who is Daisy? Who Scarlett? And Jemima. Which is she? Are those names even right? What does a Daisy look like? Are they still the Bruiser, Snoozer and Wriggler they were this morning? Somehow not. But it doesn’t seem right to leave them in nameless limbo. We must decide tomorrow. Besides, Bruiser isn’t the most feminine name.

So. Who are they, these children of mine?. Allow me to introduce…

Baby 1. Born 3.28 pm. The second largest at 4lb 9oz, this baby was the one we called Snoozer only yesterday and she is living up to her name still. She fell asleep within minutes of being born. She bears a slightly bemused expression that seems to say “I think I remember all this” as she gazes around curiously. From her lack of frown I can only suppose the remembrance is a fond one. She’s an ‘Old Soul’ if ever there was one. Makes the sweetest high pitched snoring noises when snoozing. Currently sporting green knitted hat and cardigan.

Baby 2. Born 3.29, feet first. “She’s not very happy about this!” one of the doctors quipped as they brought her into the World feet first. She barely stopped frowning at first, giving the World looks akin to an Edwardian matron from an Oscar Wilde play forced to travel third class. Most unimpressed with the whole experience, she was. Only stopped frowning when I rocked her to sleep or when staring into my eyes, the charmer. Actually, I suspect she just doesn’t like being surprised. Born second but the first to be held. A belting 5 pounds in weight and last seen in classic white crochet hat and white cardigan combo.

Baby 3. The smallest and last to enter this World. Also the feistiest, despite having a bit of trouble breathing at first. Baby three (nee Wriggler) had to be whisked away to special care so was the only one not to see her mother straight away. Her stay in special care was only brief. Infact it may qualify for the shortest ever. She began to breath alright halfway down the corridor and so the midwives just kept going through the ward and out the other side. Baby Three weighs 3lb 15oz and is noticeable smaller than her sisters. Although from the impressive quantities of milk she’s consuming I suspect she doesn’t intend to allow things to remain that way. Has not only a pink hat and woollies but a fetching pink blanket as well. Tres chic.

Three girls.

Three girls. Three daughters. A family. My girls. My family. Our family. The words sound rich and heavy as I roll them around my tongue. They have a poigniance, a meaning, a depth, a texture, that I can’t quite fathom the full extent of but that makes me quiver with happiness nonetheless.

It’s funny but babies One and Two look identical to me. I spent several minutes trying to see a difference but there was none. They have eyes, noses, cheeks, chins, face shapes, foreheads, all of which are the same. Yet they are not the two identical twins according to the consultant. That’s Baby Three and either One or Two (I can’t recall just now – it is written down somewhere though). Of course there’s a possibility that all three are identical. It depending on when the eggs divided. Not that it matters. They’re all my children, all sisters. Anything that excludes one is unwelcome. J thinks that they resemble me. I have read that all babies look like their fathers for a day or so, presumably as a defence/bonding mechanism but am still pleased. They have dark hair and brown eyes, together with reasonably dark skin.

Anyway, it has grown late and I still have one last duty to perform as a new father. I have cigar to smoke (only the one) and a whole new future to ruminate upon.

The twins were born yesterday. At twenty four weeks I can only assume they’re in a pretty critical state. Poor mites. Of course they’re taking up the spaces that we might have had but I find that I don’t mind particualrly. If there’s cots available in the special care unit they need to go to whoever needs them most. If waiting a few more days helps those babies, then waiting is fine with me.

In any case, I don’t think we’ll be parents this week. Tomorrow is almost certainly off, Friday unlikely. The doctor is going to check the babies on Friday and see how they are. Depending on how that goes, the doctor may choose to either wait until next week (in preference) or transfer J somewhere else (Hull???!) to deliver.

Just got a message from J. Apparently the SCBU has gone into meltdown today so we are looking at Friday at the earliest for our babies to be delivered. If there’s still no beds then, they’ll scan J then and see if she’ll be alright to wait until the following week. If not they will look into the transfer situation.

Having received a text message reading “Help! Food inedible! Please bring snacks!” on the way home from work yesterday I arrived at the hospital laden with supermarket carrier bags full of fruit, crisps, fruit corners, and cold sandwichy ingredients. J had almost been forgoten for lunch, so had not only to eat someone else’s choices, but it was even more overcooked than usual (if that’s possible). At least with the provisions I took, her diet will contain a little goodness over the coming days.

Later on, a midwife came into the room to attempt to monitor the babies’ heartbeats. It was the first time anyone has tried to do so just with an audio ultrasound monitor. Before, all the nurses just laughed at the idea. With three heartbeats and three cords all giving off rythms of their own it’d be like trying to pick out one player in a maracas band by ear. Nevertheless she had a go and eventually managed to get all three heartbeats measured and during the course of her searching remarked that baby two’s heart was beating faster than the others so was probably a girl.

A girl? I can’t deny that the idea of having a daughter makes me nervous. As one of four brothers who went to an all boys school and was even placed into the all male hall at university, I really have no idea what to do with a girl… or three girls, even. Boys I understand: they’re simple, straightforward, it’s all on the surface. Girls are… well, that’s it. I don’t know what girls “are”.

But perhaps that’s not such a bad thing. Sure, I won’t be as confident that I know what to do, but equally they won’t be saddled by the preconceptions I have of who they should be and how they should be treated. This is all going to be one big learning experience. What’s one more hurdle in the whole experience-hurdles race-thing.

Anyway, J seems to be settling in OK. It’s quiet and cool in the room she’s been given and she passed most of yesterday happily snoozing and reading. Although she was given a tour of the transitional care ward and the operating theatre that I was sorry to miss out on. It’s smaller than at the LGI, apparently, and we will be given a private room there, too, otherwise we would need two of the bays for all the cots.

The operation sounds like it will be crowded. There will be one delivery team for each baby and a midwifery team for Janet as well as a number of students and observers. And me. J was warned that the various teams may not have time to really explain what’s going on during the operation as it’s critical to get the babies out quickly and everyone will have an important part to play in the procedure. I hope I don’t feel too sidelined by the whole thing. I mean, sure, I understand that the babies’ health and safety comes first, but I want to be part of the experience.

Anyway, each baby will be taken to an incubator first where they’ll be given vitamin k injections and be helped to breath, then they’ll be shown to us and whisked away to special care. I intend to go with them so I can see them properly and also bring J some pictures. She probably won’t be able to see them for a bit as she’ll be freshly stitched up and drugged to the eyeballs and as much as I trust the hospital, I’m sure I won’t want to let them out of my sight.

Wow – that came fast, huh? Welcome to my world. Eight months just passed in a flash.

So much for the countdown. Sorry to anyone who was following it – I hope you weren’t concerned that something was wrong because of the lack of posts – but there’s hardly been a moment free this week. I’ve been trying to make sure everything at work is ready for my taking leave, looking after an increasingly immobile J, getting baby preparations in place, and enjoying the last days of childless life as much as possible. All that has left little time for blogging, or even my new addiction, su doku, although that is probbaly a good thing to be honest. I’ll have little enough time when the babies are home without getting lost in pointless-but-engrossing logic puzzles.

Everything was so quiet this weekend. Busy, but quiet. I’m not sure how many times I’ve slumped on the sofa and congratulated myself that all the preparation’s now over, only to discover that in fact there’s another load of stuff I hadn’t thought of. Well, now it’s too late for any more preparations. Janet went into hospital this morning and so I’ll be visiting her rather than doing up the house in the evenings for the forseeable future.

She has a room to herself, which is good as she was concerned that it would be noisy at night and has enough trouble sleeping already. As well as being hot and heavy, she has developed an itchy rash over the past week that has been keeping her up most of the night.

She went to the doctor’s about it on Monday but her said it was nothing and gave her some cream. Unfortunately that did nothing and by Friday she was concerned enough to call the hospital. There’s a condition called obstetric coliastasis caused by the liver being unable to process the waste produced by both the body and foetus(es) that can be fatal to the child. The symptoms of obstetric coliastasis are an itchiness and rash, so J was understandably concerned. The midwife told her it was probably just heat rash but she went back to the doctor’s anyway. This time she saw a different GP (a Doctor Watson!) who recognised the symptoms and sent off for urgent blood tests. I had to be very firm with the hospital on Saturday after they claimed to know nothing of the results. There was no way we were waiting all weekend to know when the symptoms had already been there a week. Fortunately the results were negative.

I took this morning off work to go in with J and make sure she was settled. Everyone at the ante-natal ward was very nice (and excited about the fact J is preganant with triplets) and have provisionally booked us in for cesaerean on Thursday (of course, when I say ‘us’…). So before the week is out I’ll be a dad of three if all goes well. There is, however, a woman “twenty-four weeks, fully dilated with twins presenting” (as the Doctor so succinctly put it) who may deliver this week. If so, we may have to go elsewhere, or the babies may be sent somewhere else. One of J’s antenatal class friends recently had to go to Hull to deliver but I’m trying not too think about that possibility too hard (even if it would allow me to make awful “come Hull or high water” puns for years to come).

Regardless, the thought of having three new born babies to look after is really very daunting. I get butterflies when I think about it, torn between a feeling of I’m not ready, I’ll never be ready and I wish it would hurry up. I also can’t help the feeling that shouldn’t I have to pass an exam or something before I am given so much responsibility?

I keep telling myself that the fact that I am daunted by the responsibility is a good sign. It means I am taking this whole thing seriously, that I realise the importance of the changes that are about to overtake me. Yet, despite the dauntedness, I am optimistic. I know that everything will work out. Sure, there will be tough times and times when things seem impossible but that’s the nature of challenge. And without challenge and adversity, life would be bland. It’s the peaks and troughs which define us. People change in response to their overcoming challenges and I’m looking forward to seeing how this whole experience makes me grow, to learning who I am. If I can just hang onto this optimism when times are hard, this could just be the best thing that has ever happened to me. Come back in eighteen years and see if I was right.

Warning: I’m in a sentimental mood today. Readers with a low tolerance for such things are advised to stop reading now.

It’s thirty four weeks today. I can’t believe we’ve got this far. Every day I talk to the babies and tell them to grow big and strong and I guess they listened. That’s all I wanted from them. Me and J have given them everything we could. All they had to do was keep on cookin’.

I feel really blessed by how fortunate we have been thus far and I’d like to say thanks you to everyone who’s helped us along the way.

To our families who have been wonderful in helping to get our house ready and filling it with so many of the things we will need when they arrive. And for your kindness and support, now and when they arrive. Becoming parents makes you really look hard at your own upbringing, so thank you for giving to us all the things we will be passing on to our children.

To friends who have been there with company and help and advice during Janet’s bed rest, who have offered help when we will really need it, who make us feel like we are not alone in facing the trials ahead. Thanks to everyone who’s helped us get ready, and will help when the babies come.

Thank you to everyone who has given us things for the babies, in fact. The generosity of people I would not have expected to help has been really touching. And to everyone who has spared a thought for them. To the prayer groups who have been praying every week for the children of a couple they haven’t met. To friends or workmates of our parents. To other parents of multiples we have met through TAMBA or ante-natal classes.

Thank you to everyone.

J was tired this morning and stayed in bed. When I came downstairs I was struck by how quiet and tidy the house is. The three moses baskets were all set up in front of the window, looking immaculate. The triple buggy and change table are all there, unused and waiting. As I sat putting on my shoes it felt like the house was holding its breath. A stillness pervaded everything. I was alone in this silent, clean room full of all the stuff babies need… but no babies. Nor any of the noise and activity they bring.