It’s late. Really late. I should be catching a few Z’s or at least doing something productive – like putting away the laundry that’s been sitting out for more than a week.
Instead, I’m looking back through photos from the last eight weeks and trying to fight back tears.
Eight weeks and two days have passed now since Tobias, Eleanor and Callista made their debut in the outside world. That blows my mind.
The photos from their first days – images that carried me through countless minutes I spent away from my trio and gave me the hope I needed to last until I saw them again – are somewhat painful to see. It isn’t because I think they look sick or too tiny or whatever. It’s because the progress they’ve made as thriving people and the progress we’ve made as parents hasn’t seemed like a huge leap because we’ve taken each moment as it comes. But looking back at the early photos shows me just how far we’ve come in these long-short eight weeks.
There was a time I couldn’t choke out the words to say goodnight because I was afraid it’d be goodbye. I’d cry and pat their isolette, trying my hardest to squeak out some sort of definitive sound so they’d know I was there.
Now my goodnights are cheerful and sweet – a promise that I’ll be back in the morning.
Their skin was once so fragile and sensitive that removing the thermometer from their armpit was a delicate procedure because their skin could have torn.
Now we’re burping them with back pats and rubs.
We once relished at the chance to dab a tiny sponge in the teeniest drop of breast milk that we’d use to moisten their lips.
Now they eat more than an ounce – sometimes close to 2 oz. – of milk every three hours. They’re champs at the bottle and at the breast.
It wasn’t long ago that we needed a nurse to pull out a baby with his/her mess of wires and tubing and place him/her exactly in the right position on us. All we did was sit and make sure nothing came undone or went out of place.
Now we can pick them up for a cuddle whenever we want, and while they still have wires coming off them, the epic game of cat’s cradle is now child’s play. Rob and I both can pick up a baby, sit down, organize wires, maneuver a boppy and start feeding without the help of another single soul.
What hasn’t changed is the celebration of each day. We tell the babies each night how proud we are of them and the progress they’ve made that day. I fall asleep each night thanking God for such beautiful and strong babies and for a husband who is my rock and the best daddy I could ever imagine for my trio. Each poop, each burp, each good temperature get cheers. We love hearing their cries of hunger – a sure sign of awareness and simple life skills that they once didn’t have.
One of the lactation specialists at our hospital asked me recently if there were days when I was just sure we wouldn’t overcome everything we were facing. Yes and no, I answered. There were days when I couldn’t imagine Toby not needing some help with his oxygen. I’ve become patient with bradycardia events, in which the babies’ heartrates drop, their oxygen saturation drops, and they occasionally turn greyish-blue. It’s been some time since that’s been a daily occurrence, but the memory and the patience and calm I developed have stuck with me. It happened so frequently, though, that I assumed we’d experience that for a long, long time.
I didn’t see an end to many of the problems we’ve faced and now overcome on an individual level, but the big picture has remained positive since our first weekend in the NICU.
After falling apart repeatedly because of some terrible-sounding test results (which ended up fine), I had an epiphany that has been my saving grace through this whole experience: All three of my sweet babies are alive and fighting, and that’s all that matters.
We’re nearing the end of our NICU stay. This time will eventually be a blip on our lives’ radars. We have a discharge date we’re working toward depending on the babies’ abilities to keep their heartrates and oxygen saturation up in the coming days. All three could be discharged on the same day, something a nurse of 16 years told us tonight she’d never seen in triplets.
I’m excited. I’m terrified. I’m proud. I’m uncertain.
Despite all we’ve been through, I’m normal. I just wish my fears were strictly imagination and not flashbacks.
Lucky for me, I don’t have much time to dwell on the what-ifs. Healthy, 8-week-old triplets pretty much solve that problem.
Those babies sure are fighters, and they have great coaches in you and Rob.
So proud of your family. Thanks for letting us be a part of the journey!
You said it best, they’re here and fighting and progressing. So proud of all of you, always in our prayers.
what a beautiful post (and one I relate to so well, even though it was 14 months ago that this was a similar situation in our house!)
I am so happy that everything is going great! It’s amazing – they are such fighters. I hope they get to come home soon!
you and your babies amaze me every day. I am so happy that hopefully, they will all be coming home together soon!
You are amazing, and so are your babies. I love reading about your journey. So glad they’ll be going home soon!
It’s so good to hear an update. You and those babies are always in my prayers! Looking forward to seeing you all together at home
Keep on fighting – you (and they) are doing an amazing job!
Beautiful post! You made me tear up!
Rock on, Jenny, Rob, T, C, & E!!!
Another beautiful post Jenny! You & the triplets are doing amazing!
You are a rockstar. Seriously I am so proud of you for all that you’re learning to manage, how you’ve handled these rough 8 weeks, and how grateful you have been for each and every day. Your babies are gorgeous and so very lucky to have you as a mother. Congratulations on a successful 8 weeks!
Amazing! So happy for you guys. You have accomplished SO much in the last 8 weeks.
your babies continue to amaze me! Happy 8wks babes. Amazing!!
So excited for you guys
I don’t know you, but I’ve been following your blog for a while. I have 9 month twin girls, born 5 weeks early and both spent time in the NICU. While your journey has been far more difficult than mine, this post brought back many familiar feelings. And now I sit here with tears in my eyes, so happy for you that your children are so strong and doing so well. Enjoy the excitement of bringing them home! It just gets better from here on!
This nearly brought ME to tears. Sending strength to you & your husband & babies.
Hope you don’t mind you’re our recent topic of dinner conversation. 😉 I just mentioned the other day to my kids & husband about “a mom I know online” who had triplets born early and tiny and that she’s been pumping and saving her breastmilk to feed them and that now they can drink right from her breasts – and we all thought that was amazing & awesome.
I think when it comes to being a fighter, it’s obvious that ET&C got it from their mama.
Love you, love them…in my heart and thoughts and prayers always. Xo.
wishing you all the best as you work toward your babies’ homecoming.
I love when you post, I love your blog, and I love your sweet babies. Not a creepy kind of love, don’t worry! haha! But I genuinely care, love, and pray for those babies daily. I admire your strength, you’re already a great mom!
I don’t know what to say other than what I’ve already said before. You’re an amazing mama with amazing babies! I guess I will just add that I am so excited for you to go home with all three and experience life outside the hospital with your little ones. I know it’s gotta be scary. But you’ll do great!
Jenny,
I was sitting at work just mere moments ago feeling sorry for myself. I’ve had a lot of personal, physical, and stress related problems and just life in general just blows… however, I read your blog and see what you accomplish and it makes me think “Stop whining dammit!”
You are so strong and you have such a positive outlook, even when you can’t hold your babies, you find a silver lining, even during a scary moment where you don’t know what’s what, you find a bubble of happiness.
I’m truly impressed and grateful for your outlook on life.
It helps people other than just mommies. I can’t have kids, but you attitude through all of this proves to me that women are strong, we can be tough and beautiful.
You are just that. Tough and beautiful.
Thank you!
WOW. talk about perspective. you’ve got it! what a beautiful and honest post (as always). i find myself wishing i could give you a big ol’ high five for being such a RAD mama. consider this your high five via the interwebs!
I love you and I love those sweet babies!! They are true little miracles that seem to surpass all odds every single day! Amazing!
I’ve gotten to where I am so happy to see your updates in Google Reader. I’m always in awe at your positive attitude through all of the trials and tribulations you’ve been dealt.
Tameka is right… ETC got their fight from their mama. I’m so excited that you will get to take them home soon and experience a whole new set of adventures. Just know that when things get hard, there are a lot of us virtual aunties out here in cyberspace rooting for you. Keep your head up. We love ya.
I’m tearing up reading this. You, Rob, and those babies are amazing! I can’t wait to meet them!
Well OF COURSE your babies are amazing… they take after you!
So glad to “hear” your voice again and to know you’re doing well. I love this post.
You amaze me and inspire me! God bless you and your beautiful miracles every minute. XOXO
Beautifully written! I am so proud of them, that they have come so far, and am so glad that you are able to see both the “trees and the forest!”
Wow. You’ve all come so far and taught me so much. I am proud of everyone! well done