My Diary of Triplet Fatherhood

Our (well, stricktly speaking, the girls’) health visitor has been on holiday for a few weeks, so, until Friday, they hadn’t been weighed for a bit. It’s been pretty clear that they have had a growth spurt over the last three weeks or so, though, from the constant waking early from naps and demolishing of enormous bottles of Nutriprem 2 (the special premature baby milk we’re prescribed), and I think I’ve mentioned before the fact that there have been days when one or more of the girls will have visibly grown between my leaving for work and returning 9 hours later. However, I don’t think anyone had fully appreciated the effort all three girls have been putting in to their growth.

The health visitor weighed Jemima first and, to use her words, had “never, ever, ever seen weight gain so rapid in [her] entire life”. She was so flabbergasted that she double-checked the scales to ensure they weren’t malfunctioning, Jemima having gone from being in the 2nd percentile at birth (ie. 98% of babies are bigger at that age) to somewhere around the 95th percentile!

We were warned early on that although most premature babies eventually catch up with other children their age, that isn’t the case for triplets. They nearly always remain small throughout life. Well not with our three! I reckon I might have that basketball team after all… if I can persuade J to have a couple more.

And Jemima isn’t the only one to have grown well. Evelyn and Scarlett are also up in the nineties for their weights. Plus there was another suprise: while Scarlett is still the biggest at a whopping 11lb 9oz, Jemima has overtaken Evie for second place at 11lb 3oz to her 11lb 2oz. If she carries on at this rate it’ll only be a few months before she’s gone from smallest to largest of the three. Talk about making up for lost time.

Before they were born, I would, like everyone, talk to the bump every day. And whatever else I said, I’d always end by telling the girls to “grow big and strong, big and strong for Daddy” over and over.

I think I may have to begin being careful what I ask for. I wanted babies so much and got three. I wanted so much for them to be healthy and they astonished everyone at the hospital with how well they were. Then, I wanted big, strong belters of babies… and they’re going off the scale. Fantastic!

Firstly, both a big “Wow” and an equally big “Thank You” to the 10,000 visitors my blog has had over the last nine months. It’s great to realise so many people care about what J, Evie, Lettie, Jem and I are going through. I hope you’ve found these piecemeal accounts of the pregnancy, birth and first few months interesting and that you’ll all keep checking in on our triplet family for a while yet.

Anyway, on to today’s entry. It’s about identicalness (or should that be identicality?). Whenever J and I get stopped by strangers so they can see the girls, they always ask the same questions, among them, “Are they identical?” Up until now we have generally answered with a “yes” even though that’s not strictly true. The facts are somewhat more complicated. Evelyn had her own placenta so she almost certainly came about as a result of two eggs being fertilized together. Scarlett and Jemima, however, shared a placenta. This meant that they were, at one point, a single egg, which then split. This makes them monozygotic twins. Babies formed as a result of a sepeate egg being fertilized are called dizygotic and it’s likely that this is what Evelyn is. Likely, but not definitely. It’s possible that only a single egg was fertilized and split very early on, then a few days later, one of them split again. In this case all three girls would be monozygotic.

Evie being dizygotic while the others are monozygotic is more likely than all three being monozygotic but we would never truly know unless we had a DNA test done. Obviously, all that is rather a lot to explain to every old lady in the high street, which is why we’ve been just answering “yes”, or sometimes “we don’t know”.

In fact, as the girls have grown up a little, it’s becoming clear that Evie almost certainly is dizygotic as she face has a slightly different shape, as do her eyes.

While I’d rather be honest and say “Scarlett and Jemima are but Evie isn’t”, it worries me that Evie would find it upsetting to be constantly told “they are, you’re not”. Everyone tells us how competitive multiples can be and I really don’t want to reinforce any divisions between the girls, especially such meaningless ones. After all, the fact is that none of them are identical. Already each has their own personality, their own way of reacting and interacting to the World, their own mannerisms and moods. Evie snuggles up when you cuddle her, is inconsolably furious when denied her meals, forgets how to drink sometimes and loves snoozing; Scalett is laid back, loves to sit up, loves baths, smiles easily and isn’t easily disturbed or ruffled; and Jemima is curious, impatient (going from waking to crying much faster than the others if she’s hungry), pulls funny faces and stares around the room with big eyes when wide awake. In short, each is very much their own, unique person.

So I think I may answer everyone with a “no” from now on, instead, because the fledgling individuals I see very day are clearly not identical, regardless of any accident of biology. Not only do I not want Evelyn to feel excluded but maybe it’ll even encourage that individuality even more, helping my girls each to grow into whoever they are to become.

I have a very clear memory, from when my parents split up. I was nine years old and my dad told me: “You’re the man of the house now. You have to look after your mum if she needs you.” That moment has stayed with me even though everything else from that time is mostly a blur. In that moment I felt a sense of responsibility and, I guess what could be described as pride. It meant a lot to me to be given a role to play, to feel like I could help. That moment is, I think, at least partly responsible both for always having been so concerned with doing the right thing and also for how I need to be needed, both facets of my character that my new life provides for amply.

And now, I really am the man of the house. The role which I first tasted at nine years old is really here. I am needed, I have to make choices for the benefit of my entire family, not just myself. I admit that before the girls arrived I was scared that the weight of responsibility would be too much. In fact, the opposite is the case. I find it terribly empowering to have a family. There’s challenges to face, expectations to live up to. Being pulled out of my comfort zone is the best thing to have happened to me for a long time. Looking back, the last five years of my life suddenly seem rather insipid, a stream of self-pleasuring nothingness. Sure I had fun and no shortage of distractions but, really, what have they amounted to?

Would I rather look back on my life and say “Why yes, I had quite a lot of nice times” or would I rather look not upon the past but on the people I brought into the World, and to feel the love and pride that their existance has brought me?

In a way, being the man of the house gives me strength when I need it. I guess we all have things we draw pride from and acting in whatever manner allows us to feel that pride is a great source of confidence, so it is that caring for J and the babies manages to be both exhausting and envigorating. It’s very rewarding to be care for the ones I love. Yes, even in the middle of the night when all I want to is sleep, when I finally get the girls off and I look at them lying there peacefully, I still swell with happiness and realise I wouldn’t swap them for anything.

I’m tired today, despite actually getting more sleep last night than I did over the entire weekend. That often seems to be the case. I think that what’s happening is that it takes a day to feel the loss of sleep so I’m currently suffering for Sunday night’s wakefulness. Hopefully tomorrow I’ll get to feel the benefis of last night’s rest.

Actually, although last night provided more sleep than usual, I still woke several times. We’ve moved the girls into their nursery and, unfortunately, sound carries from there to our room much better than it did before (when they slept in our room and we in the spare one). With this new arrangement, even if I’m not ‘on duty’, just one of them crying loud or long enough will wake me up.

Because of this I’ve taken to wearing ear plugs – but even then they aren’t always sufficient (or they fall out while I’m sleeping). Last night I woke a couple of times at around 2am and regularly from 5am onwards. And so did J. In fact, it’s even worse for her. Not only is she more tuned in to the babies’ crying but she can’t wear ear plugs because they make her ears hurt the next day. Poor thing. Plus, this week, she has been coming down with a cold which, while it might make her ears block up naturally, also makes it harder to sleep and everything just that little bit more difficult during the day.

Still, hearing an occassional cry and drifting back off to sleep (however briefly) beats being the one up all night baby juggling. I don’t know what we’d have done without our mums coming over every week and, between them, covering Monday to Thursday nights. Without their help, I’m sure the whole experience would have palled by now as tiredness leeched away any joy we might have taken in the girls. As it is, the mild haze of exhaustion that’s settled over me will do fine if that’s all I have to suffer for the sake of having my three daughters around.

Finally we got the car back! J is free again; I don’t have to drive a gas guzzler through heavy traffic every day any more; the final inconvenience caused by our burglary is dealt with.

I finished work early today to make our weekend together longer and J told me thew news about the car when I got back around 2. We (well, mostly J) take the girls out every day between 3.30 and 5 so we decided to go and pick up the car straight away. The garage was only in Armley so we would have time to get there and still go for a bit of a walk. It was raining but the buggy covers up well and even a walk in the rain is a tonic when you’ve been inside with babies all day. So we picked up the car which looked in perfect order and drove to nearby Hyde Park, right in the middle of the student area we both used to live in at Uni, and it was great. The rain didn’t matter at all. The girls slept like angels. J and I chatted peacably away, laughing about how finally all or bad luck must be over…

…which was perhaps tempting Fate…

…as we discovered when we returned to our cars to find that they both had £60 parking tickets on! How gutting – £60 is what we have to spend each month after all the bills, food and baby stuff.

I just hope this is one of those cases where bad luck comes in threes (just like everything else has recently: the burglary, the freezer defrosting and now this.

Actually, on the way home I almost reversed the Baby Bus into our other car and later on a woman driving much too close to the car in front swerved out when that car braked and very nerly hit me. Compared to a parking ticket (or two) those would have been much, much worse.

Here’s a few more pictures. As you can see, the girls are no longer very different in size. Jemima has caught up and even though there’s still a difference, compared to their total weights it isn’t so noticable any more.

What is noticable though, is how their faces change on a weekly basis. Perhaps it’s only noticable to someone who spends so much of their time looking adoringly at them, but their features are still settling down. Scarlett, for example, was the first to grow big cheeks, and for a while they dominated her face but she’s now grown into them as her eyes and mouth have caught up. In fact she now has noticably larger eyes than her sisters, even though Evie’s were the biggest at first.

I can’t help but wonder how they will look as they get older. It’s as if I can see shadows of their child, teenage and adult faces in how they look now but the girls are still so young, it’s hard to know for certain which parts of their appearance are here to stay.

And speaking of changes. They no longer have red hair. I wish I’d recorded the colours their hair has passed through over the last few months: ginger, auburn, black, blonde, browns from chestnut through to ebony, often changing between me leaving for work and returning at night. At the moment it has settled into a medium brown without a hint of red in it.

Anyway, the pictures…

This is Evie. I think she’s just caught sight of something exciting like a bottle, a lightbulb or her dad.

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And Scarlett, looking tranquil and happy – a state she seems to be falling into, suprisingly after her initial outraged attitude to life..

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And this, of course, is Jem, full in equal measures, of beans and mischief, as usual.

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What a week! Sorry for not posting to everyone who’s following life in tripletville but I have hardly had a spare moment since last week. And when I have had, the temptation to slump on the sofa and stare into space has been too great to resist.

Our freezer defrosted at the weekend, taking with it the forty or so meals we had spent several marathon cookery sessions preparing before the girls arrived. Most of the ingredients were organic or from the farmer’s market and even if we replace them, bought meals don’t really compare to home cooking, do they?

As well as that, we still don’t have our car back from the garage. I’d call it a comedy of errors if I could bear to admit it was at all funny. The garage have, at various points, locked themselves out of the car, immobilized it, lost the key and had to come and get our spare, rang up to ask if they can come and get the spare three days after collecting it, refit all the locks even though it wasn’t broken into and finally had to give up and transfer the car to a Toyota dealer who are starting all over again.

Meanwhile, I have to take the Baby Bus to work so J is housebound all week (or at least, tied to the area you can walk to in a half hour from our house) and is getting fed up of it – not surprising as the burglary was almost a month and a half ago.

Still, the girls are beautiful and cheer me up on a daily basis even while allowing us to experience new levels of tiredness and aural overload.

Anyway, hopefully these pictures will make up for the posting gap, though. We took them last week. As requested, they all feature dad, too.

Here’s a couple of me holding the girls (Evelyn, Scarlett & jemima, left to right, as usual)

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and one of me and Evie:

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I finished work early today so I could spend the afternoon with J and the girls. And a good thing it was, too. The girls were lying serenely on their play mat as I came in but it was the first time all day. They had slept briefly during their 9-10 nap morning, but only in shifts so there was always at least one girl mizzling or crying. Nothing, too unusual there. But it didn’t stop. J’s mum was here helping out and J left her in charge for the babies’ 12-2 nap but woken up by the noise at 1, J went upstairs to find not only all three babies apoplectic and screaming but her mum close to tears, too. Dealing with all three girls when they are in that state is simply impossible – one person just cannot cuddle three babies and even if they could, the girls have begun to dissolve into inconsolablity much more recently.

I think it’s partly because they are in the midst of a phenomenal growth spurt. I swear Scarlett has grown two inches this week (if not more). Last time they were super hungry like this they were also very difficult to settle. It only lasted around a week that time. I just hope that holds for this stage, too.

Anyway, I could see that J was frazzled so we went straight out in the baby bus, driving up to Roundhay Park. The girls had begun to cry again but the thrumming diesel engine soon lulled them to sleep and they stayed that way… for a good ten minutes after we arrived, Jemima deciding that the peaceful parkland was perfect in all but one feature – it lacked a piercing, repetitive scream echoing across the grounds.

Eventually we stopped and fed her with the emergency bottles we’d (wisely) packed, but Evelyn soon noticed the absence of the aforementioned wail and generously volunteered to keep it up while Jemima had he mouth full. Fortunately we were prepared and another emergency bottle was produced. Peace was restored to the park. Briefly. Now, I’m not sure if it was the lack of noise or indignance at being left out that prompted Scarlett to cry but nevertheless our park bench was once more the source of a piercing wail. Only this time we had neither a spare pair of arms or a bottle to make them interesting to Scarlett so the moment Jemima began to flag, Scarlett got her bottle instead.

It was at this point that I looked up to find that we had attracted the attention of the local fauna. Three canada geese had swum up to the lakeside to watch the baby juggling, three squirrels were watching nervously from a bank behind us (one holding a chestnut I thought might be intended for the increasingly indignant Jemima) and three seagulls were hopping along the path towards us, heads cocked sympathetically. Three babies, three geese, three squirrels and three seagulls; it was very peculiar – the scene only lacked three bluebirds fluttering cheerfully down onto our shoulders to be like a scene from Bambi only in triplicate.

Then Jemima yelled and they scattered (well, except the babies – they have, thank Heavens, not yet learnt that trick).

We’d walked a long way with Jemima crying, hoping she’d be settled by the motion of the buggy, so we had a long way to walk back, too. Still with Jemima crying. She only stopped, in fact, when the engine hypnotised her once more. Needless to say, we took the long route home.

Eskimos, apparently, have a thousand words for snow. It is, of course, because they are surrounded by the stuff all day (and all night, I suppose, as even their houses are made it) and anyone who’s exposed constantly to something is bound to start appreciating its finer points. Well, I also have experienced a marked increase in my exposure to certain things in the last two months* – but it ain’t snow.

Let’s start at the top… with sick. It’s everywhere! I scrubbed down the sofas yesterday but already the presence of three babies is beginning to spread it’s crusty infuence back over the soft furnishings. Now, with my newly trained eye, I have observed that what baby sick lacks in varied consistency it makes up for in varied delivery. Dribbles, possits, explosions, tidal washes, projectile vomits; sideways, downwards, up over your own face; down necklines, sleeves, over the sofa, the floor, yourself, down the back of daddy’s workshirt, the possibilities for creative regurgitation are endless and our girls seem determined to explore them all.

Then there’s the sticky subject… of poo. Here’s where we really see variety. Black, green, brown, yellow, orange, purple (ok, maybe not purple); solid, soft, grainy, watery – every nappy change is like a lucky dip. So much so, in fact, that we have started shouting “Jackpot!” if all three girls’ poos match. And, like Eskimos, we do have words for different kinds of poo. There’s the Jemima Special for instance, a huge yellow mudslide of an excretion reminiscent of the Amazon Delta, or the rare Black Gold, nuggets of solid black matter encrusted with occassional golden flashes, or, and fortunately we’ve only had this the once, the Depth Charge. I won’t go into details except to say it involved Scarlett and a bath full of water.

And lastly we have wee. This is where having three girls is something of a blessing. I remember once when I was a teenager and my brother Josh was a baby, him managing to wee a good five feet, off the change table, across the living room and bang into the centre of my other brother Kieran’s cheese on toast. Ou rhouse is small enough without having to create an exclusion zone around every change table. Scarlett has already made a hobby of puking on her sisters, I can only be thankful it’s only puke she’s able to project.

Sounds revolting, I know, but it’s hard to remain disgusted when you’re so inundated with these things. And if I have to live with immersion in the holy trinity of baby excretions, the least I can do is share the experience. A problem shared, as they say…

But seriously, I think the reason that it’s not disgusting being surrounded by all this stuff is that it’s just another facet of the symbiosis between perents and their children. Their dependence isn’t a chore, it’s beautiful, an opportunity to demonstrate the love I feel by caring for them.

* the girls were born exactly two months ago today!

I’ve been wondering recently what it would be like with just one baby. It must be a very different experience. For all that three babies gives me the opportunity to compare them and gives me thrice the children to adore, I also have only one third of the time to spend on each of them and even that time is less than it must be with a single child, as there’s so much housework to do (or sleep to catch up on if it’s all done).

For a start, if we’d only had the one I know that we wouldn’t be Gina Fording them. They’d be cuddled to sleep every night and probably allowed to sleep with J and I. In fact, J would probably be breast feeding so she could feed them at night without getting up. And, of course, the babies… sorry, baby… would not be in another room as the girls are now. The noise they make plus the fact that we have to have our mums and friends helping some nights means they need a room away from us. In fact, there’d be a lot more cuddling. You can carry one baby around the house as you do life’s little jobs lots easier than you can three.

We’d be able to leave the house without anyone staring or remarking ‘triplets’ in suprise as we passed. Old ladies wouldn’t mob us in Morrisons. Parents wouldn’t bring their children over have a look. We could visit tourist spots without being the main attraction. Catch buses. Take holidays.

We’d have more money, too. No need to buy three sets of everything with just one baby. No need for an expensive stretch limo of a buggy or a new car full of new car seats.

And sleep – worth more than gold dust to us new parents. With three babies there’s three times the chance of a nap being disturbed. Three times less chance of grabbing a quick nap yourself. I wonder if J and I would still compare how many hours we’d had each morning as we bargained over who gets the first siesta?

But then again, we may have only a third as much time, but we have three times the love to fill it. And the fact that we have adopted a routine allows us (well, J, mostly, now I’m back at work) not only to manage everything the day demands that much more efficiently but also, we are getting very fast at all the jobs due to having so much practice.

Moreover, with one baby we wouldn’t have so much help.My mum is here three nights a week, J’s one, maybe two. Friends come over to help with cleaning occassionally or drop off meals. My brother babysits and sometimes comes and cooks. That all helps significanty. By taking over some of the housework or cooking, they are gifting us with time to enjoy our children. By stopping us from becoming exhausted, they let us appreciate the time we have. All these people have been brought together by our girls. Their need has given people a chance to do something. We may not have so much time to cuddle them each but they’re far from unloved.

Our walls are heavy with cards from well wishers, friends, family and friends of family. I’ve not met most of them but it’s still touching to know all those people care. The birth of triplets is special. That’s why people stop us in the street. Sure it’s inconvenient sometimes and sometimes the thought of answering the same queries twenty times on two hours sleep is enough to make you not bother going to the shops but at heart, the fact is that these people stop you because they are genuinely interested and, more often than not, thrilled, at the mere sight of our babies. What is a chore for us lights up these peoples’ days.

Besides, if we were to have three children individually, it would probably cost just as much. Our house isn’t big enough to store the masses of baby paraphanalia we’ve accrued once the babies no longer need it. We’d have to spend time buying it all over again (although some things I would’t bother with next time – moses baskets, I’m looking at you).

And there’s benefits for the girls. I think it’s brilliant that they all get to be the first child, when parents are awe-struck and full of excitement. They’ll get to share other things together, too. Being the same age will allow them to share interests and want to do similar stuff. There’ll be no younger siblings being left out of things they’re too small for or older ones made to deal with their younger sisters tagging along behind them. As they grow up, they’ll always have a friend (well, two) on hand for company or to stop bullying. I think being a triplet would be great.

I can picture J and I fighting over just one baby. I love sitting around with one of us holding one baby, the other holding two. If we only had one, there’d always be one of us without a baby to cuddle.

In fact, multiples are a blessing for dads. So much of what you read about normal pregnancies relegates dads to a secondary, supporting role, which is fine during pregnancy (it’s not like J could have passed her bump over for me to carry for a while, as much as I’m sure she’d have loved to), but after babies are born, dads continue to get trated that way, with a little bit of time and then it’s back to work and business as usual. No wonder lots of dads take time bonding when there’s only one baby to go round.

With multiples there’s no watching from the sidelines not falling into easy mother/father stereotypes. Dad needs to jump on in and get his hands dirty. And I love that. I’ve got to know Evelyn, Jemima and Scarlett much better than I otherwise might have. I love being covered in babies (after all why else would dads have bigger arms if not to hug more kids at once?), being part of every mealtime, working with J as part of a well-oiled baby caring machine. And even if grandparents visit, there’s enough babies for them to get stuck in, too. Brilliant!

When people in the supermarket ask me (for the ten thousandth time) how I cope, I’ve taken to flippantly replying that “I don’t know what people do with just one,” which gets a laugh that allows me extracate myself long enough to get a bay or two further. But it’s not too far from the truth. I don’t know what it would be like with one because it’s never happened to me. I’m sure that, in its own way it is just as magical as having triplets. But I don’t have just one. I have three beautiful girls, and for all that it’s sometimes hard work and makes inconveniences of so many little things, I wouldn’t swap them for the World .

Jemima’s face was a picture of outraged shock. Flushed fuscia, eyes screwed up, gums white with fear, the cry she gave had her mum leaping from her chair to help. But she couldn’t. There was another injection to go. And if we thought there was no more anguish Jemima could display, man we were wrong. As the needle was pushed into her other thigh she actually shook with fear and her wailing rose to a scream. This time J couldn’t help but scoop her little girl out of the nurse’s arms.

Poor Jemima. She didn’t stop sobbing until we left the doctor’s surgery. In her limited experience, no one’s ever cuddled her nicely… then hurt her like that.

Of course, neither has Scarlett but she had fallen asleep within two minutes of her innoculations. She cried at first but I was holding her not the nurse and kept holding her tight and safe and she didn’t get nearly so upset. Evie, also, took it remarkably well. I lifted her up, taking her from the nurse, who was suprised to see me holding two babies at once. How else are we expected to cuddle all our girls if one of us doesn’t take two? Still, she and the midwife hovered around me as if I might drop them. As if I’d ever do such a thing.

The girls are still unsettled now, over twenty-four hours later, especially Jemima. I just hope she doesn’t take it so badly when she has it all done again in four weeks time.

Here’s Scarlett in her strawberry sleeping bag. Cute, huh?

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The girls were weighed again yesterday and, again, I’m really impressed with how well they’ve grown. Scarlett is 9lb 7oz, Evelyn is 9lb and Jemima is only narrowly behind her at 8lb 9½oz.

To celebrate, here’s a few more pictures of them.

We were given these strawberry sleeping bag & hat outfits by a friend of J’s mum and couldn’t resist putting the girs in them straight away. Unfortunately I think the girls sensed that they were being exploited for their parents’ pleasure and weren’t very cooperative. I wonder how they’ll find it when I put them all in a big cookpot for a picture like this guy did.

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Here’s a typical feeding time scene, Evie looking up adoringly at her mum. They follow J around the room with their eye now and always eat much more when she feeds them which is beautiful. For so long there was no interaction. Now it’s really clear that they love J and I.

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And after feeding… Jemima and Scarlett conk out after beng tanked up with milk. As you can see, although there’s still a pound between them in weight, they’re looking more and more similarly sized.

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Considering how limited the means are for the babies to communicate, I’ve got to say I’m impressed with how well Scarlett manages to convey her affections. On Thursday, J held her up and told her to “say hello to your Grandad” and Scarlett did just that. Of course, “hello” in baby language consisted, as far as Scarlett was concerned, of a spout of milky puke all over Grandad’s chest.

Scarlett, in fact, is showing herself to be very egrarious, saying “hello” all the time. Hardly an hour goes by without her generously bestowing one of her uniquely Scarlettish compliments onto shoulder, chest, neck, down the neckline, in the hair or otherwise about the person of her parents or sisters. Hell, she so friendly, she even greets herself if no one else is around. She’s especially keen to comment on how nice clothes look. Only this morning I went through three work shirts she liked them so much.

If I had to guess who would say a word first, I’d gamble on Scarlett at the moment. Not only is she by far the noisiest of the three, she seems to make sounds for pleasure more than her sisters. Of course it’s still to early for even the gurgling/chuntering stages but she does sometimes just make “ooh” or “aah” noises whereas Eveie and Jemima tend not to make any sounds not related to whatever activity they’re involved in (or want to be involved in, in the case of crying).

Scarlett was the second of the girls to smile. She looked up at me on Saturday afternoon and grinned properly. I can’t really describe how brilliant it was – I had tears in my eyes I was so moved. I love her so much that I’m always smiling at her so it’s just fantastic for her to smile at me in return. Then on Sunday, Evelyn smiled, too. At her mum, this time, which is only fair.

So I don’t mind all the milky-vom hellos. One smile makes it all worthwhile.

Here’s some pics, as promised.

These are of Scarlett. The first from bathtime today. She loves being bathed now. All the girls do. Even if they’ve been upset beforehand, they become really relaxed and trranquil the moment they’re in the tub.

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And this is earlier in the day, waking up from the lunchtime nap.

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These are of Evelyn.

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And finally, these pictures are of Jemima.

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As you can see, they’ve grown loads, even just in the last week or so. I’ll post their weights when the health visitor has weighed them next week. Their hair is still changing colour: blonde, red, chestnut. However, it always seems to go back to auburn before changing again so my current guess is that we’ll have three red-headed girls.