Happy New Year!

The Burrus triplets have put together a little pictorial essay to help give you an idea of what to expect of your New Year's celebration.




8:05 PM

Champagne? Well...maybe just one glass.











Midnight

Happy New Year, everybody!!
Who wants Jello shots?!?!










8:00 AM

New Year's resolution #1:
No more Jello!!

Surviving Tuesday

For each day, I try to have but one goal. Some days it's a quest for clean underwear, sometimes it's a walk around the neighborhood -- small, but incredibly significant things. For the past several Tuesdays, I've meant to take Jack to story time at Barnes and Noble at the Summit. Each time, something would intervene -- laundry, crying fits, an unavoidable grocery run -- but I was determined that this Tuesday would be the one. Thanks to our very own Supernanny, Tessa, I was able to get Jack fed and dressed for the day, myself bathed, dressed and hair dried (I cannot stress how huge the last step was for me), and the trips fed and happily napping by 10:30 a.m. I knew the reading time began at 11, so we headed for the door. Jack pulled his hand free of mine to rub his nose and say, "Huhts... scratchy." We're all suffering from the effects of gas heat, so I gave him a quick dose of Dimetapp, and we were once again on our way.

Only after I took the shortcut through Cahaba Heights and began making my way down Summit Boulevard did it dawn on me that this is the week before Christmas. I...am...an...idiot. Oh, well. We were almost to the bookstore with a minute or two to spare. I actually found a parking place directly in front of the bookstore and took it as a sign that God was smiling. Turns out God was laughing at my predicament instead. We made our way to the children's section at the back of the store -- dodging people filled with holiday cheer all the way (did that woman really throw an elbow? Oh wait, that was me) -- only to arrive in front of a large sign that announced story time takes place on Wednesdays, not Tuesdays. Thankfully, I had put on my big girl panties that morning and decided we'd just make the best of it. I decided to spring for Goodnight Moon for Jack's bedtime. It's completely mind-numbing for adults but apparently taps in to a toddler's need to bid a nightly farewell to everything from his Daddy and the dog, to the wall and the heating vent. With a saintly halo hovering inches above my head, I sat on the tiny tot benches, and with my knees next to my ears began to have my own story time with my lovely and attentive son Jack. Only my attentive son was in no mood for bedtime fare at mid-day and had climbed on to the story reading stage and was dancing to the overhead Christmas Carols.

Still...the day wasn't a total bust. Jack was having a good time with mommy, right? That is until he danced too close to the edge of the stage. Before I could disentangle my knees from my neck, he'd toppled off the stage and cracked his chin on one of the oh, so cute tot benches. I couldn't decide if he bit his tongue or the inside of his lip, but there was some blood. From the onlookers rained a hail of "I told you so" glances in my direction. A few, upon making eye contact with each other, took it a step further to "Some people just shouldn't have children" eyebrow raises. I crooned nonsense to Jack until he stopped crying. Thankfully he's tough. I mopped the blood from his lip only to realize I had no tissue. Covertly, I wiped my fingers inside the cuff of my jeans, and slunk to the checkout counter to pay for Goodnight Moon and the Backyardigans book I quickly snagged to say "sorry for letting you almost brain yourself at the bookstore, but mommy really loves you anyway."

We made it out the door and into the ever increasing crowd of shoppers. I realized it was now lunchtime, and decided to make a Zoe's run. Jack loves their pasta and the fruit cup, so I hoped it would help him forget his scraped chin and bloody mouth. I found a pretty decent parking space near Zoe's. I opted to carry Jack instead of letting him walk simply for the sake of speed. Once inside, I realized we were 10th in line, but it was moving quickly. I made it to the front and ordered something for myself and Tessa, putting Jack down long enough to pay. As I settled him on my hip once more, I began to realize that Zoe's food didn't really smell as appetizing as usual. I wondered if their feta was a bit old, or if a cantaloupe had been allowed to rot in the garbage can nearby. Suddenly, I identified the smell. It was coming from Jack. Once again, poop -- my arch nemesis -- had foiled me again. It was one trauma too many. I briefly contemplated cleaning him up in the van, but quickly discarded that idea owing to the fact that every flat surface was occupied by a car seat base. Since we were only 5 minutes from home, and Jack seemed fine with his state of being, I opted to take the easy way out and wait until I made it back to my own turf.

We arrived safe at home, the poop was disposed of, and Jack took a nap. He then awoke with a fever and got rushed to the pediatrician where we found he has an ear infection and impetigo (which is a type of strep infection I had never heard of and couldn't spell well enough to Google it). His poor nose really did "huht." Today, he's feeling great and doing fine. He even made it to his school Christmas party -- "canny canes" are a new favorite.

There's no moral to this story. Just best wishes to all for a safe and blessed holiday filled with family and friends. Also, if your mom fails to come through with exactly what you wanted, just know that she loves you and was probably trying really hard. But after getting you through childhood, she just doesn't have a lot left to work with upstairs.

P.S. Please don't tell Santa about this site -- I might never make it back on the good list.

Variation On A Theme

I know you all must think our life revolves around poop, but with four un-potty-trained butts in the house, it does make up a large portion of our lives. Last night was no exception. At 1 AM, Jason and I were just beginning our feeding routine. I had changed Sam's diaper and settled down on the sofa to give him his bottle. All seemed well until a desperate cry rang out from the next room, "Oh!! Oh no! OH GOD!!!"

"What is it? What's wrong?" I shouted as a I raced to Jason's side. He stood motionless, hands poised near but not touching a wiggling Tom as he lay on the changing table. In the darkened room, I was at a loss to discern what had happened. Finally, Jason was able to choke out,
"Tom just did...Ugh!" The unmistakable odor hit me.
"...it went all over" (waving his arm toward the baby bed three feet to his right)
"...I can't even find" (wild gestures toward the wipes box covered in unmentionable gore)
...It's everywhere!"

I recognized the beginnings of shock, and wondered if I should make Jason lie down and try to keep warm. But that would make him unavailable for clean up detail, so I dubbed him 4F and advanced to the next order of business. Of course, the only other wipes were upstairs. So I ditched Sam in the bouncy seat (thank God he's the laid back one), and raced to retrieve them. Upon my return, I turned up the lights so we could see the full extent of the devastation. Casualties included the diaper changing table, the changing pad, the wipes container, the diaper genie on the floor below, the baby bed, the bumper pads, the crib sheets, the wall and possibly the carpet. It's a really great berber that doesn't show stains easily, so who knows. We gave it a quick rub down and moved on. Thankfully, my husband is the greatest, so we were laughing about it before we'd even managed to get the whole mess cleaned up. We were just so relieved that Will and Jack stayed asleep during the entire fiasco, that we were practically giddy. Jason re-wiped everything with a Clorox wipe so we could at least feel we'd done our parental duty, and we resumed normal activity.

If anyone would be interested in joining us at the Burrus Zoo, we're thinking of selling tourist packages to those who are bold in both body and spirit. Just like with any safari into the wilds, we can't guarantee what you'll see once you get here. But the odds are in your favor for one whale of an adventure.

Jack shows Will how to kick back in his own baby bed.

Jack and Sam share a snuggle while we get everyone ready for our Christmas pic. Thanks to Lisa Mills for the beautiful blankets -- they made an awesome backdrop for our amateur photo session.

Left to Right: Tom, Jack, Will and Sam

A Christmas Story

I sit here tonight chilled and waiting for the heater to catch up with the cold night air. I've been doing a bit of a dance with the furnace today -- 71 degrees is too cold, the heat just never comes on, and 73 degrees seems to be just a bit too hot for my taste and the boys' as well. My little ones, in particular, are a tough crowd to please. When it's too warm in their room, they can't stand to be swaddled. If they aren't swaddled, they punch each other and themselves in the nose causing much crying and fretting among us all. So the quest for the perfect temperature is very critical in my house. Also, I've begun the process of welcoming the holidays into our home. The tree is up, and most of the decorations are on. All the boys' presents are bought and hidden from the path of a very busy Jack. And as the mercury drops lower and lower, I can finally believe Christmas is coming once again.

The Alabama weather never fails to disappoint as Christmas rounds the corner. A stint in the lower 70s is designed to make the pre-holiday drop to freezing just that much more impressive. Nowhere was it more noticeable than our family home. It began its life as a small ranch house, and was expanded by my dad's own hands to accommodate the large brood that came to populate it. This resulted in a heating system that was seemingly patterned after a game of Russian Roulette. Some rooms were acknowledged as "cold rooms" and served as a weathering station for outside plants waiting for another spring to roll around. They also provided chilly storage for seldom used items and Christmas surprises. Others, located closer to the main source of heat might singe your eyebrows to a frizzy crisp. From Arctic tundra to desert sands, we had it all within our grasp.

An ancient coal burning furnace was our only weapon in the fight for climate control. The coal itself was a wonder to my small mind. Smelling both of the oil it once was and the smoky ash it would become, it started the winter as towering pile of shiny black gems right in our own backyard and ended up a sad scattering of castoffs too small to be chosen for the coal bucket. I remember being warned not to play in the cold rooms because the chill might make me sick, but conversely was never discouraged from my outdoor ramblings, which often included scaling Mount Coal and skittering back to the bottom again and again. The entire mountain was eventually sacrificed into the glowing red mouth of that gluttonous machine in our basement -- one that my father was constantly coaxing back from the brink of a smoky death. I'll never forget returning home from our church's Christmas pageant on a freezing Sunday night only to find our coal-fired dragon suffering from a severe case of indigestion, belching gouts of black soot from every register and leaving it to settle on each flat surface and nestle in every nook. I'd been an angel in that year's production -- perhaps they were casting against type -- complete with wings made from coat hangers covered in white butcher paper and edged in shiny gold garland. I crinkled with every step as I followed my mother from room to room opening windows and letting the smoky heat filter away as the crisp night air rolled in around our ankles. Daddy braved the basement monster and quickly beat it back into submission, emerging victorious with eyes reddened and nose streaming from the ordeal.

The awful smell of that episode still lingers somewhere in my mind -- called out of seclusion when the temperature dips to the lower end of the scale and Christmas begins to loom large. Part of me thinks the season is a little lackluster without it. Martha Stewart recommends an apple/cinnamon/clove combination to help your home smell like an old fashioned Christmas. It's a pleasant scent, but one that falls far from my own remembrances. In my mind, Santa smells like coal and sawdust and the outdoors -- of peppermint and oranges pilfered from my stocking with a wink and a smile. It's something he and my dad always had in common.

Post-Thanksgiving Report

Hello, all! Hope you've enjoyed your turkey sandwiches, turkey dressing, turkey soup, turkey hash, etc. It's a shame Christmas is so close to Thanksgiving, because I really don't want to see another turkey before sometime in February. Maybe the Cattlemen's Association should run some kind of ad campaign touting a nice beef filet for Christmas. Something along the lines of "Beef...at least it's not turkey." Maybe the veggie farmers should get in on the act with "Salad, because you're not as young as you used to be and roughage is your friend." Okay, so advertising taglines aren't my forte...sue me.

Our holiday included dinner at our house, and an early Christmas with Aunt Marie (Ree Ree), since her next visit won't take place until spring. Jack got a genuine plastic "Go, Diego, Go!" watch and now informs us at all times of the day and night that it is, in fact, nine o'clock. Nine is his new favorite number, and comes immediately after two, but just before twenty. That puts his math skills roughly on par with mine.

Anyhow, since the bathtub incident, poor Jack has been placed on an every other night bath schedule because his dad can't take the strain of it every day. Unfortunately, things got hectic last night, and he is now three days out. The poor little thing asked for a bath right after breakfast this morning. My child had to ASK to be bathed. Moments like these highlight the fact that my mother of the year award may be delayed a few decades.

I should point out that I was under the weather yesterday, which threw everyone into survival mode -- ensuring that Saturday was a NO BATH day for most of the inhabitants of the Burrus Zoo. What I thought was a vicious 24 hour bug, has stretched into 48. But on the plus side, I'm now 4 lbs. below my starting weight with the triplets. I still have about 9 lbs. to go before I'm back at my pre-Jack weight, so cross your fingers for a 72 hour bug.

Just in case anyone is considering calling Child Services, the triplets got their bath this morning and Jack will absolutely, positively get one before bed tonight -- come what may. And we all know that could be just about ANYTHING, so I'll keep you posted.

Just Your Average Wednesday

I was recently asked to describe a typical day in our not-so-typical life. I responded with the usual -- what time we get up, the triplets' feeding schedule, Jack's school routine, etc. But at the end of day yesterday, I realized that what I described wasn't typical at all. Instead, I had described a day where nothing interesting happened, and those are few and far between. Let's recap Wednesday, shall we?

We fed the trips at 4 and no one wanted to go back to sleep. By 7 o'clock, they were hungry again, and we started feeding them, feeling as if it were just a continuation of the early morning meal. Just before eight, the nanny called in to say I-65 was closed, and due to the bad weather she wasn't sure she was comfortable trying to make it in via back roads. I agreed and told her to just stay home. Eight o'clock passed and Jack was still sleeping. Taking the weather and the fact that he still seemed to feel crummy from his recent respiratory infection into consideration, I decide to let him miss school once again. He woke just before 9, and we still had not been able to get all three trips down at once. Linda and I call it baby bingo when we lay one down and pick another one up. Now Jack was added to the mix, and Linda opted to work with him while I juggled triplets until the next feeding. Somehow, I got them all bathed and we made it through one more feeding and Jack's lunch (after which, he was promplty put down to nap), then it was time for the afternoon nanny (Josie) to show up.

Linda and I greeted her in our pajamas, having had no opportunity to bathe or change ourselves. Linda pointed out that she bravely sacrificed her shower window to wash bottles. I agreed that she made the right choice, and we pressed on through the afternoon. Josie started helping with the trips' next feeding when it became apparent, that after an hour of talking, singing and generally not sleeping, Jack was ready to get up from his so-called nap. She headed downstairs and Linda and I resumed our vigil. We realized that we had gone the entire day with a baby in our arms.

The afternoon passed with more of the same and night fell. Jack had his dinner and was ready for some mommy time. He was fussy and tired and wanted to be picked up and carried like the babies. As I was still a little sore from the gall bladder escapade, I had to tell him no, and his world crumbled. Finally, he managed to stop whining and mustered a coherent request. "Bath? Watee?" I hesitated. At a quarter after six, the nanny was gone and Jason was almost home. The trips' were having a rare moment of quiet, and my arms were actually empty. But the wise thing to do was wait until we had a third soldier in the fray before taking on this task. I looked at those beautiful blue eyes, still brimming with unshed tears, and decided "What could it hurt?" And so the die was cast.

I got Jack settled in the bath, gave him a quick scrub and washed his hair. I was looking forward to letting him play for the next few minutes until his daddy arrived. Then I heard them. Sam and Tom began their battle cries, and Linda called "When was the last time we fed them?" Unbelieveable!! Somehow the time had slipped my mind, and now I was needed in two places at once. Linda could handle feeding two at once, but she couldn't go to the kitchen to make the bottles. I couldn't leave Jack unattended in the bath, so we were in a quandary. I ran to the bedroom, and helped Linda quickly arrange Sam and Will (who was now awake and screaming as well) in a position that allowed her to see into the master bath where Jack was bathing. I quickly donned my Baby Bjorn, slid Tom into the straps, then raced to the kitchen to make bottles. I realized we didn't have enough formula, and quickly began to mix more. About this time, Jason came in from the garage, took one look at me, and burst out laughing. I had to smile too, and conscripted him into counting formula scoops while I stirred, so we wouldn't have to spend extra time squishing out lumps. We were midway through when the phone rang. It was the pediatrician whom I called three hours previously in a fit of desperation. We began conversing about possible solutions to the problem of non-stop fussiness, crying and eating. I left the formula in Jason's capable hands. About this time, I glanced down the hall to see Linda framed in the bedroom door shouting something I couldn't quite make out. She then bolted back toward the master bath. Jason dropped the spoon and sprinted after her. I briefly lost my train of thought, but decided they could handle whatever crisis without me, and finished discussing thickened formula and Zantac with Dr. Hamm.

After I hung up with him, I realized I had no clue if the formula was finished or if I still needed to add more powder, and so I wandered into the bedroom to ask Jason. The carnage was obvious...Linda was on her hands and knees scrubbing the bathtub while muttering unintelligibly under her breath. Jason stood looking stern yet faintly nauseated while intoning as menacingly as possible, "This is not funny, young man. This is very bad." There was a certain scent in the air, was it...poop?! Jack stood naked, unaffected by Jason's lecturing, pointing at his reflection in the mirror. "Jack!" he shouted, and laughed out loud. The triplets wailed hopefully for their bottles.

You can guess the rest. The tub was sterilized. Jack was re-bathed and put to bed. And in the aftermath, we analyzed the incident. Apparently, a boyish love of farting in the bathtub -- something his daddy swears he strongly discouraged -- resulted in the inevitable. We grimaced and shivered. We decided we didn't want the chinese food Jason brought home for dinner. Instead we all washed our hands several more times, and finished off the chocolate cake. We fed the trips once more, although we had to slice the nipples to make the thickened formula go through. We may have been overzealous, as the boys came close to funneling their bottles. But the task was finished, and we all went to bed to recharge and prepare for the next "typical" day at the Burrus Zoo.

What's Next...Locusts?

I hate how long it's been since my last blog entry. I've been working on one over the course of the last week, but haven't finished it given that in roughly that period of time we've had the following incidences:

Day 1-Jack caught a cold at mother's day out
Day3-Sam, Tom and Will caught Jack's cold due to excessive affection from their older brother (including, but not limited to sneezing on their pacifiers, coughing in their face, and wiping snot on their heads while hugging them and saying, "Ahh, buddies. You awite?)
Day 3 to present-Sam, Tom and WIll stop sleeping due to cold symptoms.
Day 4 to present-Mom and Dad become zombies due to Sam, Tom and WIll not sleeping
Day 6-Sam has to go to the ER with a fever (where a spinal tap was discussed but not done, due in part to my flipping out over the idea)
Day 8-Jack spiked a fever just yesterday, and is now on antibiotics. On the upside, he also got cough syrup with codeine so he wouldn't wake himself up coughing at night. When we give it to him, he likes to turn around in a circle and say, "Whoa!" as it takes effect.
Day 9-I get my gall bladder removed. That's right, I have to get freakin' surgery. Granted, it was outpatient, and I made it home by 4:30 p.m. But honestly...isn't this getting just a little ridiculous?

At least I lost most of my baby weight because of it. Isn't there always a bright side? Anyhow, please don't give up on us. I've got some great new pictures of Jack at Halloween and the trips just chillin' that I have to show off. There's the chance my next blog entry will be on the new Mac site. If I can swing it, I'll be sure to post the new web address here.

Incidentally, today is Jason's birthday. So wish him all the best when you next see him. He was joking about his less than happy birthday as he sat with me in the recovery room. When I reminded him that we had to put our cat to sleep on my birthday back in June, he decided it's lucky we only have one birthday per year. After all, I've only got a finite number of non-essential organs. Should I get an urgent message from my appendix sometime soon, I'll be sure to let you know.

Left to right: Will, Sam & Tom

Top Ten Things Motherhood Has Taught Me

10. No toy, no matter its price or popularity, is as much fun as the box it came in.
9. Males think farts are funny from the cradle to the grave.
8. Despite the noxious cloud wafting from your toddler's diaper, wait at least 3 minutes from the moment of discovery before changing him/her. You'll save yourself a diaper and only activate your gag reflex once.
7. "Faking it" means pretending to be asleep long enough for your spouse to give in and get out of bed when your child cries in the night.
6. After parenthood, "Sex, Drugs and Rock & Roll" translates to "Sleep, Chocolate and Raffi". There's nothing like dropping some Godiva, kicking back to Wheels on the Bus and just watching the walls drip.
5. Moisturize. The boobs are transient, but the stretch marks last forever.
4. A real friend asks how you're doing, then acts as if your hour long soliloquy on sleep deprivation, leaking breasts and sagging skin is completely normal -- Then she goes the extra mile by assuring you she was even more disgusting after her last pregnancy.
3. Call your own mother more than you think is really necessary. Someday you'll be the one waiting for the phone to ring.
2. Take lots of pictures and write down everything your kids say. It all goes so fast, and every reminder of these incredible days is precious.
1. Treat your spouse with love and respect. Your children are younger, smarter and faster; therefore, you need each other to survive. And growing old with someone who still sees you as the sexy, young thing they fell in love with is one of the greatest treasures you'll ever find.

Jack's first day of school

A Milestone

Jack started "school" today. Three days a week, he visits the Early Childhood Center of a local church and spends a few hours playing with other kids his age. He looked so big in his overalls and backpack, and even seemed anxious to return to the classroom we had visited with his dad a few days earlier.

He hesitated a moment at the door, not from fear, but only to choose which direction to take first. Upon noticing a playhouse in the corner, the decision was made. And he stepped in and began to play without a backward glance.

Recognizing my window, I slipped away and out to my van. I was nothing but proud of his behavior, and began to run a few errands while our sitter, Tessa, watched the triplets at home. The chores didn't take as much time as I had anticipated, and I realized I would need to return home and wait for about an hour until it was time to pick Jack up from school.

I was almost surprised to realize I had chosen a route home that took me by his school. Driving by, I had to fight to keep the wheel from turning and taking me to retrieve him. A glance at the clock reminded me he would be in the middle of his lunch, and with my resolve strengthened, I continued home.

It was only then that I realized I'd been driving around all day with a hole in my chest where part of my heart had been left behind. I had a silly moment of identifying with all the overprotective mothers of the world. Even though the church had done us a huge favor by finding Jack a space, I wanted to march in and tell them we would no longer be needing their services. I resisted the urge with difficulty, and wondered if I was a bad mom. After all, he obviously enjoyed playing with children his own age. And with all my additional responsibilities, he would often find himself parked in front of the television if he were with me 24 hours a day. Maybe I would have preferred a tearful meltdown upon my departure? One of those that leaves everyone around shaken and disturbed. Only a selfish person would choose either of those alternatives.

So I pulled it together, made it home and waited the full hour until pick-up time. I can't say I didn't check my watch more than was necessary. When I arrived, I was told Jack ate some of his snack and all of his lunch, played well with the other children, and only cried briefly during his stay. I sincerely wish he hadn't shed one tear, and hope those will be his last. Maybe I'm not such a bad mom after all.

Jack is caught in the act.

Jack confesses his sins.

Jack mulls over his actions.

Jack expresses sincere, heartfelt remorse.

Tom says, "He who smelt it, dealt it."

Will, fresh from his first tub bath, impersonates a middle aged bald man at a toga party.

Sam shows how he feels about baths.

My boys are growing every day. Tom is 5 lbs. 7 oz. Will is 5 lbs. 4 oz. and Sam is 5 lbs. 9 oz. Don't their cheeks look fatter?

My very big boy, Jack, had an outing with his grandparents. He got to ride a real live pony last Saturday.

Pale: The New Tan

You know how fitness experts claim a good cardio workout is one that gets your heart rate up for a sustained period of time? Currently, I'm able to do that by sitting very still and blinking slowly. Ahhh...the wonderful world of anemia -- it's not just for vampires any more.

I suppose after a triplet pregnancy, winding up short a few red blood cells was inevitable. However, my new workout regime of staring fixedly at a spot on the floor is starting to get old. I do count trips to the restroom as cross-training, but even I know that's stretching the meaning of the term a bit far.

I had every intention of continuing to take my prenatal vitamins for at least a couple of months after the boys came to head off just such a problem. But it's amazing the sort of things you can forget when in a sleep-deprived state. The first thing to fall by the wayside was make-up and hair care. Next on this slippery slope was allowing more than 24 hours to pass before showering. I've now progressed to a place I'd only heard of in rumors -- forgetting to eat. I have actually said out loud in years past that you had to be a special kind of stupid to forget to eat. Mama was right -- I really am special.

Up until now, eating had always been right up there with breathing -- one of those things you did without thinking about it too hard before, during or after the fact. I have even been guilty of eating something I didn't really like, then munching on yet another food item just to get the taste of the first one out of my mouth. These days, the world has turned upside down. The biggest bummer about the whole thing is that I'm not even losing weight. Apparently, there's some physiologic trick your body can pull on you when you consume below a certain caloric minimum. Essentially, you can eat so little that your body thinks you're starving. Therefore, anything that does make it past my lips is immediately stored on my already enormous hips. It's a cruel, cruel world we live in.

So now I'm actually scheduling time to eat -- just like those really skinny people that have such fast metabolisms that they accidentally lose weight all the time. Only I'm not skinny, couldn't lose a pound if my life depended on it, and am pretty sure my metabolism is roughly equivalent to that of a hibernating bear. Otherwise, almost exactly like those poor, pathetic skinny people.

Whew! All this typing has really gotten my blood pumping. I better go start my "cool down" routine of staring into space, followed by a quick nap. Happy hemoglobin, everybody!

Only Tom responded to "Say Cheese!"

Their Teddy Bears were waiting when they got home

Three little Burrus Boys all in a row

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety Jog!

A successful prison break was achieved yesterday evening at roughly 6 p.m. CST. The convicted felons were smuggled out of Brookwood Medical Center's Neonatal Intensive Care Unit in newly purchased Evenflo pumpkin seats (prized by Respiratory Therapists everywhere for their adjustable crotch strap). The getaway vehicle -- a 2006 Odyssey -- has previously been described as "spacious" and "sexy". Three car seat bases and one front facing car seat later, neither term is as applicable.

O.k., I'm abandoning the newspaper theme, as I'm just too tired to keep it going. I sit here in my mismatched p.j.'s, accessorized with regurgitated formula and just a hint of baby poop -- anxiously anticipating my chance at the shower. I have long prided myself on never missing a single day's ablutions while raising Jack. Only 12 days into triplet mommyhood, and it's already been WELL over 24 hours since my last encounter with soap and water. Sorry world.

The babies are all doing marvelously. Feeding well and pooping well for the most part. One of the trio may have a date with a Q-tip and some vaseline later today, but I will allow him to remain nameless to protect his dignity. They are all absolutely beautiful, and look nothing alike. This doesn't mean they don't get called the wrong name at 4 o'clock in the morning, but certain failures of mom and dad can surely be overlooked in these early, weary days.

Daddy has been terrific about helping with feeds since we've been home. The only trouble is, it took only a couple of tandem feedings to have everyone waking at exactly the same time wailing for their formula with just a tincture of breast milk. ("Pumping is going just marvelously," she typed, as sarcasm dripped from her fingertips onto the laptop keys.) Since both Sam and Tom think pacifiers are a complete waste of time, and spit them out immediately in favor of crying for the real deal, I sense a challenge ahead of me.

For those who complain I haven't mentioned myself much in these updates, the facts of the matter simply are not pretty. Nursing pads are NOT fashionable no matter how you accessorize them. Although my belly button is making a comeback, it is now nestled among a road map of stretch marks, the likes of which I've only seen in TLC documentaries on multiple birth. So I guess it's normal. Although I've never EVER been brave enough to wear a bikini, I did allow myself 15 seconds of mourning over the fact that I will UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES ever be able to now. Obviously, a small price to pay for my beautiful brood. Add to that ankles that are still the size of softballs, and an inadvertent granola look owing to the fact that I don't have the energy to blow dry my hair or put on makeup, and I think the picture is pretty complete.

I generally try to wrap up with something catchy, but I'm only a few blips away from a vegetative state at the moment. I started this blog in the AM and we are now far into the PM with another feeding drawing near (by the way, the Q-tip proved unsuccessful, but at the next feeding Daddy drew the lucky diaper of the day, so everyone is now resting comfortably). Suffice it to say, we are all well and truly happy. And looking forward to years of chaos. I've snapped some new pictures, and think the boys are already starting to fill out. Hopefully, I'll get those on sometime tomorrow afternoon -- after taking a shower, feeding the boys, interviewing a potential nanny, driving myself to the doctor, coming home to feed the boys, having a nap, THEN I'll post the pictures. So be on the lookout!

Thanks so much for the well wishes from all our family, friends and other fans --even from those of you we've never actually met -- your e-mails of support and encouragement have meant so much. Love to you all!

Latest news

As you can see from the pictures, all the boys are in a crib together now. As long as they maintain their temperatures, we should be able to take them home as early as Saturday afternoon! We are so excited, we're almost sick.
Cross your fingers!!

Sam pretends he has his own room

Tom wonders if he's always going to be stuck in the middle

Will with Tom in background

Will with "bear" feet

Three peas back in one pod

All three together -- Will, Sam and Tom

Hello, World!

And hello Friends and Family!! Thanks so much for all the e-mails, phone calls, goodies, etc. You guys have made us all feel VERY loved, and we truly appreciate every bit.

The boys are making terrific progress!! You'll find below pictures of Sam and Will. They are being placed in a crib together this very day. No more CPAPS, and both are eating well (Will began bottle feeds yesterday). Tom is still going through his Marlene Dietrich phase, and "Vants to be alone." The good news is, he is also off CPAP and may be able to try an OG feed tomorrow. We're going to play paparazzi tonight and try to snap a good picture of Tom when his guard is down.

All in all -- just unbelievable progress. We have been so incredibly blessed with such healthy, beautiful boys that we are almost beside ourselves. Again, we want to thank everyone for their unfailing support in this long journey. And I'm going to just have to leave it at that before I mist up too much to type.

I have given Jason the title of Superdad, as he has juggled about a million different responsibilities and still manages to be incredibly thoughtful of the babies' needs as well as Jack's feelings as we work on a chaotic schedule of home vs. NICU time. And as I contemplate whether it's actually possible to get stretch marks on grossly swollen ankles, he somehow makes me feel beautiful. Again with the misting -- must be hormones.

I'll be posting new pictures as we get them, and will update you on everyone's progress as well. Much love!!!

Sam 9/24

Will 9/24

The Boys Arrive!

Hi, guys!

Just wanted to give you a quick update. First of all, thanks so much for your concern and support these many weeks. We made it to within 12 hours of 34 weeks!

The night before and day of September 19, I was in so much pain. It didn't seem like contractions but felt like waist down muscle cramps. I called the MD on call and was encouraged to come in, but was stubborn thinking I could get through this episode and it would all be o.k. My o.b. called me twice that morning urging me to just have the babies that day, but I really wanted my extra 6 days! Finally, I realized I couldn't make it any further, and went in to L&D. They started my c-section at 5:25, and the babies came at 5:26, 27 and 28. They actually came out in the same order they were in my belly -- we were able to tell because each was in a different position -- so I got to put the names with the baby I'd already attached them to.

As of today, Sam is a complete rock star. He is in an open crib and doing great at maintiaining his own temp. We have been practicing nursing for the past 3 days, and he is getting 30 ccs of formula every three hours. He is very laid back and doesn't stress over tests or heel sticks.

Will is still on a c-pap, but is really showing signs of wanting to come off. Until then, he can't be held, nursed or bottle fed. He weighs the least but is actually the longest of the three.

Tom is the hardest to work with of the three. He does not tolerate being messed with in any way, and pitches such awful temper tantrums that he has to be moved up on oxygen levels until he calms down. He would not tolerate either kind of c-pap, so is under a hood that they are flooding with oxygen. This seems to agree with him, and we're hoping he will become more tolerant in the next few days.

They plan to feed small amounts of expressed breast milk through Will and Tom's OG tubes. Sam is able to go about eating the usual way. Hopefully, I'll be able to feed all three soon.

Again, your expressions of support have been invaluable, and we want to stress that none of our boys are sick, just getting used to the world. We have your prayers to thank for that. Please continue to pray for all of them and to hope that we will be able to bring all three home in the next couple of weeks.

Yes, Virginia...There is a Santa Claus

His real name is MasterCard, and he lives in your wallet 364 days out of the year. Consider this post a tribute to those tiny little bouts of retail therapy that keep the wheels of capitalism -- and lots of other industries -- rolling smoothly along. I might never have realized their importance were it not for these many weeks of forced exile.

I started off strong. I read books with at least some literary merit. I did complicated word puzzles to improve my vocabulary. Despite a vicious allergy to all things numerical, I even gave Sudoku a try (hated it). Finally, I sank to blindly flipping through television channels and poring over celebrity gossip rags, which I'm not ashamed to say I loved. But at this point, I don't have the attention span for a short story or a television program...have reached the end of my endurance for puzzle games...and couldn't care less what's going on with Tom and Katie (unless she's FINALLY gotten wise and left his crazy ass -- if so, please e-mail me details ASAP). That leaves web surfing as my only outlet.

I'm a regular poster on a chat board for those of us expecting triplets. Also, you can see I love to keep up my blog with at least one new thing each week. But there's another use for the web...you can buy anything you want and have it shipped directly to your home. Let me explain why this is the equivalent of crack cocaine to those of us on bedrest.

First, there's the sheer delight of picking your purchases. Gymboree's website is particularly alluring when you have an absolutely BEAUTIFUL toddler who looks good in everything he wears. I picked a couple of cute outfits for fall and a Davy Crockett fur cap -- because what boy wouldn't love a hat with a raccoon tail on it?

Second, there's the anticipation of arrival. Ed McMahon has very little on UPS at this point in my confinement. I religiously visit the tracking websites each day and award points for those retailers whose packages arrive promptly on the allocated day. They get bonus points if the delivery occurs before lunch. Sephora, the makeup warehouse, is to be commended in this regard.

Finally, there's the joy of opening my prize. Forget that I ordered it myself. That was roughly 4 days ago, and I can't even remember what I had for breakfast. The good part about losing your mind is that it makes it a lot easier to surprise yourself.

After this point, it can go either way. Here, we find the inherent peril of online shopping. All Jack's clothes were too big, as Gymboree seems to run a smidge bigger than I remembered. Oddly, his Davy Crockett hat was too small. The tag said it went up to 5T, but apparently only for pin-headed kids. No loss, Maw Maw Linda took it all back and let him pick out what he liked instead. Enter the world's ugliest sweater -- the evil manufacturer put a dump truck on the front, so he wouldn't leave the store without it (constant repetition of TRUCK! TRUCK! at the top of his lungs pretty much sealed the deal for Linda).

On the other side of the spectrum, my Sephora order was a rousing success. Not only did they deliver before lunch, but before I'd even had my shower today. MAJOR bonus points. While I've only allowed myself a few other forays into the world of on-line consumerism -- a set of matching outfits for the triplets, and some books from Barnes & Noble for me -- I get a surge of adrenaline just thinking about how much fun it was to open my little mini-Christmas boxes.

Now I'm not pretending there's any deep meaning to be had here. In fact, I freely acknowledge that this is a shallow source of amusement. But that's why they call it "guilty pleasure", isn't it? Sometimes making the world a better place just means keeping a smile on your own face. Whether it got there through your noble good works for the betterment of mankind or through this really great firming cream I just got can be our little secret. Deal?

Not So Random Acts of Kindness

Unlike Blanche Dubois from A Streetcar Named Desire, I have never been one to rely on the kindness of strangers. Always a type A, do-it-myself sort of girl -- I liked being there for my friends, yet never felt all that comfortable when asking for help myself. However, since I've been bed-bound by the triplets, I have come to rely on my neighbors, good friends and family for support, encouragement and -- of course -- food!! I'm honestly overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all.

In the food department, we've had frozen casseroles from the Golden Girls, weekly meals from the Bunco Babes, and our own private pizza and ice cream sundae party a la Matt and Staci (who happen to be on their way to wedded bliss in December, and are such a sweet couple it makes your teeth hurt). Jack made certain to sample each and every item, and has delivered an across the board thumbs up.

Then there's the nursery decorating. Two of my friends from way back, Monica & Andi, spent a Saturday morning completely repainting the room we're moving Jack into, and swear they're coming back to paint the nursery once we get all his stuff moved out. I'm convinced they've missed their calling, as they obviously deserve their own show on DIY Network. On top of that, my fabulous sister, Amy, kindly volunteered her equally wonderful husband, Larry, to install the nursery carpet. If you've ever seen how carpet is stretched, you know what a sacrifice he's making. My knees hurt just thinking about it. And finally, my sainted mother has hand made each baby his own quilt so they'll be able to have comfy tummy time when they get here.

Finally, there's the countless phone calls, e-mails and personal visits delivering care packages of magazines and puzzle books to keep me sane. Neighbors who have STILL not caught a glimpse of me have reached out in friendship. And there was even an in-home manicure/pedicure courtesy of the gals at UAB (Jayne, Sherry and Katherine). I can't tell you what that did for my morale.

Sometime when I have a few hours, I'll have to devote an entire entry to my in-laws who have essentially given up their own lives to keep mine going while I'm out of commission. My precious Jack couldn't be happier, and you couldn't get more loving care than I've received in these past three (almost four) months. The only drawback? Jason has now become accustomed to having his scrubs ironed, and it's going to be really difficult to bring him crashing down to reality when I'm in charge of laundry again -- i.e. If I remember to get it out of the dryer before it cools, it doesn't need ironing.

I just want to thank everyone for taking time out of their lives to make mine a little brighter. It's because of the wonderful support I've received that this pregnancy seems to have gone by so quickly, despite the constant confinement. You've left me humbled and very, very grateful.

A Baby Shower!

I had the most unexpected surprise today. My mother-in-law Linda's best friends, The Golden Girls, threw me an incredible baby shower. Linda had mentioned they were coming by for a little while this afternoon, but everything about this pregnancy has been so low-key, I was expecting just an informal visit. Instead, I got a full-blown baby shower with cake and punch and tons of good things to go with it. Thanks so much to Bobbie, Dian, Judy, Deb and Cathy for a beautiful afternooon. Now if I can just get the recipe for Deb's Blondies, I'm reasonably sure I'll be able to keep all this weight on after I have the babies.

Two Weeks to Go!

I've had several requests from out of town friends for an updated tummy picture, so here it is. My husband swears there's been a change in the last week. I have to agree that either my arms are getting shorter or my tummy is sticking out farther.

Pictures of the cutest 19 month old EVER!!!

So Jack got a backpack/harness shaped like a doggie. We were hoping he wouldn't fight it too much since he's becoming increasingly faster than either his grandma or me, and some kind of restraint was necessary for public outings. What we weren't prepared for was his insistence on wearing it all afternoon and almost to bed. It took a lot of negotiating to get him into pajamas that night.

Things look swell...Things look great!!!

Today we had our 32 week visit and everything is fantastic. The boys are constantly moving despite their cramped quarters, making it a bit difficult to get measurements. However, Paula - our ultrasound tech, is gifted and has determined them all to have reached at least 4 lbs. Specifically...Baby A is 4 lbs. even, Baby B is 4 lbs. 8 oz., and Baby C is 4 lbs. 3 oz. They are all just above or just below the 50th percentile for singletons. This is wonderful for triplets. We now have only 20 days to go until September 25th, and even factoring in the inaccuracy of the ultrasounds at this stage, we feel confident they'll all be near 4.5 lbs.

They have been so rowdy this evening, that I've barely managed even these few lines. Just another way that they are exactly like their older brother. Jack is blissfully unaware of how his world is about to change -- staying busy winning the hearts of all he encounters. Currently he's working his Great Aunt Marie (Ree Ree) pretty hard while she's visiting from Ft. Lauderdale. As she was putting on her make-up earlier this week, he leaned in almost nose to nose and said, "Ree Ree pret-ty." He followed that up the next day with "Wuv you, Ree Ree." I tried telling him that she's already put him in her will, so he could dial it down a notch, but there's just no reasoning with some people.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, he managed to wrap all the men in the immediate family around his finger when he passed gas loudly and announced to everyone in the room, "Oh! You hear dat?" His Daddy, Paw Paw, and Uncle Josh are all claiming credit for that little episode.

I'll try to keep things updated over the next 3 weeks. We're moving to twice weekly OB visits, including non-stress tests. But the finish line is in sight!!! Thanks for keeping up with us through our blog. We really appreciate all the expressions of support and concern.

Day by Day by Day

I'm actually going to be brief on this one, which I know is incredibly shocking. But, truly the main thing is, we've made it another week. Since today is Friday, that means I'm now 31 weeks, 2 days -- leaving me only 3 weeks, 3 days until the scheduled c-section. It seems like such a small amount of time when you think about how much it will mean to the babies developmentally, but the minutes are beginning to drag much more slowly as the level of discomfort rises.

And yes, it is getting tougher, but don't think I'm suffering awfully. I may have two really horrible days and nights followed by a whole week that is relatively pleasant. What is most daunting is that I'm slowly losing my peers. That is, other triplet mommies near me in gestation have already had their babies -- one at 29 weeks, one at 30, while another at 30 hangs on by her fingernails. We'll be very thankful to pass the 32 week mark, but I'm sure I will immediately begin coveting 34.

I admit I'm very nervous about delivering prior to 36 weeks, but the risk of possible complications to the incubator (me) seems to weigh heavily with my OB. I've reached an uneasy peace with the idea, but ask that you all hope and pray for the best for our little boys.

Our next appointment is on Tuesday when we should get the latest measurements. I'll try to update ASAP afterward. Thanks for checking in on us.

Aaah....Sugar, Sugar

If you've read the previous post by my dear husband (and if you haven't, do so immediately), you know that he can make any situation funny. Too bad he wasn't with me for my 30 week appointment. The whole fiasco actually began at home 45 minutes before my appointment time when, after fasting since midnight, I got to drink an entire bottle of Sunkist-flavored glucose. Then I got to hop in the car and be driven down Overton Road to 280 then to Brookwood Hospital. In case you've never taken this route, please be advised that it presents the ideal conditions for severe motion sickness -- a constant serpentine route punctuated with hairpin curves and unexpected stop and go traffic -- I'm convinced the Army Corps of Engineers laid it out for just this purpose. Now try to imagine it from the passenger seat with your previously empty stomach constantly threatening to expel the huge amount of syrupy sweet orange gunk you just chugged in under a minute. And the day has just begun.

Immediately upon arrival, I informed them I was loaded up on glucose and ready for my finger stick. In the mean-time blood pressure (normal), weight (5 more pounds, just rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic at this point). Finally, glucose level *dun, dun, DUN* 209. Instinctually, I know that isn't good, I'm not sure what it should be, but 209 just has an ominous look about it. Sure enough, it's supposed to be under 140. So I haven't failed the test in an "oops, missed it by that much" kind of way, but in more of a "shot down in a blaze of glory" style. I carry this little black cloud of information with me to the ultrasound room.

The ultrasound goes well in that all the babies' heartbeats look good, but they are now packed as tightly as sardines, and don't provide much of a show. From the looks of them, they are as ready for September 25 as I am. In case I failed to mention it before, this is the almost drop-dead, probably definite date of my c-section.

On to my consult with Dr. Robinette. In addition to confirming that I failed my 1-hour test "real good", he informs me that I have to come back for the three hour fasting glucose test. I opt to do it next day, just to get it over with. He then adds insult to injury by letting me know that I can now stop gaining weight. Not that I don't appreciate his permission to stop my uphill climb to morbid obesity, but what I would really like to know is HOW exactly I'm supposed to keep the pounds at bay. After all, I am on bedrest and burn approximately 3 calories per day. Maybe I'm supposed to start waving my arms around a lot, or aggressively kicking off the blankets three or four times a day. Points to ponder on my way home.

I arrive bright and shiny next day to complete my 3-hour ordeal. First they take a baseline blood sample from my arm -- no sweat, Miss Lida hits it first stick. Then I get to drink another truckload of syrupy-sweet, flat Sunkist drink. Mmmm...Mmmm. And so the wait begins. Some skinny girl has the only love seat staked out already. I immediately decide to hate her. I've brought a book, and attempt to read away the first hour. It's a little hard to concentrate because I'm so thirsty I can't think straight. I ask about some water, and am told I can't have it yet. Apparently water can throw off a glucose test. I'm really unclear on how this works, since I thought there was nothing in water but...well, water. They're all for the stuff on Weight Watchers. Maybe someone should tell them about this? At last, one hour down and the real fun begins.

I go for my second stick. One in my arm, much twisting in search of the vein -- no go. I point out a big vein on the inside of my wrist. This time she breaks out the butterfly -- this is a really thin needle attached to a tube which I now know represents real desperation on the part of most phlebotomists. Much sticking and twisting, and still not a drop. Apparently, I'm too dehydrated because of the aforementioned water embargo. Long story short, they track down a Dr. to place a hep-lock from which to do the remaining three draws. In the process, I bleed all over the cuff of my pants, and almost make some poor girl faint with dread over being next in line. Take a number, sister. If anybody's earned that kind of drama, it's me. At least they feel guilty enough to give me some ice chips and tell me I'm a real sweetheart. Good thing they haven't heard a word I've been thinking for the last hour.

Somewhere after hour two, skinny girl disappears, and I take over her loveseat. Only a hugely pregnant woman can accomplish the ugly sprawl in which I finished my final hour. Thankfully there was a really nice lady who is pregnant with twins sitting next to me. I give up pretending to read. I'm so hungry, none of the words make sense anyway. So we just talk about being pregnant, what we're naming our babies, and whether she's going to get a regular or a jumbo sized Frosty from Wendy's once she leaves. Finally, it's all over, and I leave looking like a poorly wrapped mummy from all the needle sticks. I resign myself to a diabetic diet and try to catalog all the low-carb food in the house. It's a short list.

Today, I received a call from Nurse Debbie telling me that the results of the 3-hour test were completely normal. I can't explain it, but am glad to hear it. I decide to celebrate with a bowl of ice cream. I always was a blaze of glory kind of girl.

The Daddy's Perspective

It is well known that I am not as creative as my lovely wife, but I thought it was about time that the father's voice was heard in all of this.

I'd like to answer some of the most common questions I get asked:

Q) "Do triplets run in you family?"
A) No...but short, bald people do.

Q) "Were you surprised when you found out?"
A) Yes...somewhere between "Happy Birthday!" and "Oh no, ninjas!"

Q) "Were fertility meds involved?"
A) Despite the suggestion from some of my friends that I should take this opportunity to boast about my potency, I have to be truthful and say, of course not.

Q) "How's your wife feeling?"
A) This question must be answered carefully. I usually respond with, "she's coming along day by day" or "hangin' in there." I do not say "imagine three angry squirrels or small badgers have taken up residence in your innards...something like that."

Q) "How's the nursery coming along?"
A) You did not just ask me that.

Q) "Are you getting a minivan?"
A) I will admit that I was one of those people who swore I would never drive a minivan. Since I have purchased an Odyssey, it dawns on me that minivans are SEXY! The only problem is, I think we may still have trouble fitting four car seats in it...I probably should have gone with the church van(NOT sexy).

Q) "Names?"
A) ME: Huey, Dooey, and Louie
Jodi: No, be serious Jason!
ME: Trip, Trey, and #3
Jodi: (frown)
ME: Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego
Jodi: Shutup.
ME: (Shutting up) Unknown to most people, Jodi packs a mean right cross and I have a glass jaw.

I look forward to putting some pics of the new ones on the site in a few weeks. I don't think you can be fully prepared for the chaos that this change will bring but, it certainly will be the adventure of a lifetime.

Ode to My Coccyx

It has been brought to my attention that I have failed to make a new blog entry in about a week. For this gross oversight, I place the blame squarely on my coccyx. That's right, the trusty tailbone. The one part of the human body you are guaranteed to pay no attention to whatsoever, until it hurts. And once that occurs, my friends, there's really no room in the average brain for creative thought or for any other thought really besides, "Ow! Ow! @#$%!@ Ow!" Let's call it Heightened Coccyx Awareness -- I'm sure there's a chapter devoted to it in some orthopedic text somewhere.

At times like this, I really wish I'd paid more attention during human anatomy in high school. Maybe then I'd have some clue as to how three babies jutting a foot and a half in front of me can possibly be causing that much discomfort in the opposite direction. But since I was raised by a mother who hid her medical encyclopedia to guard against the possibility of impure thoughts, and whose idea of sex ed. involved simply observing the mating habits of the feral cats in our back yard, I think I spent the whole time waffling from slightly embarrassed to outright mortified. I certainly wasn't learning anything that might help me understand my current dilemma.

I have to admit, my present state of "coccyx awareness" is not an entirely new experience. Remember the 90's when absolutely everyone knew that the greatest form of outdoor exercise known to man was rollerblading? I put aside any bad memories of elementary school visits to Skate Galaxy in Jasper, and convinced myself that with age came coordination. This was a painfully incorrect assumption. Mainly because a) I weighed more, and b) had at lot further to fall. Also, I chose to make my first attempt in an ill-kept, abandoned parking lot. Not that there's ever a good place for falling, but landing butt-first on concrete would be pretty high on my list of really bad places to fall. But I was young and healed quickly. I also was smart enough to sell the rollerblades and take up yoga. Has anyone ever heard of a yoga related emergency room visit? I thought not.

I've had time to contemplate my current tailbone problem, and have developed my own theory based on...well nothing really. Nevertheless, here's what I think. I've heard multiples will work together to create mischief, so why wait until after birth? All three babies are head up and roughly back to back to back -- just like the heroes always wind up in spaghetti westerns or old kung fu movies -- and seem to have devised a plan of escape. A and C are facing front and will simultaneously push to the right and left sides of my stomach (creating a really bizarre ditch down the middle). At the same time, B, who is facing backward, is pushing out against my spine. Here we find the root of my coccyx pain -- officially making baby B a pain in the butt and strengthening my resolve to name him after my dad.

It's a flawed tactic, in that none of them are going to get out that way. However, it is also brilliant, in that I no longer have any intention of arguing with my Doctor's deadline of 34 weeks. By making me so miserable I can't eat or sleep, they've guaranteed themselves early release.

When you think about it, they identified a problem, created a plan and are working together to carry it out. So what if I can't sit upright or walk without holding on to furniture, *sniff* I'm just proud to be their mom. I wonder how early Harvard will take an application?

28 Weeks!!! Our Biggest Milestone Reached!

We've done it!!! Our little boys have been incredible troopers, and we've made it to the 28 week mark. This means their likelihood of survival outside the womb is very, very good. Of course, we would like at least 6 more weeks before we actually let them out in the "real" world, but this does take a lot of pressure off.

A quick synopsis of today's visit:

A is 2 lbs. 10 oz./57th percentile
B is 2 lbs. 13 oz./64th percentile
C is 2 lbs. 10 oz./57th percentile

Although everything is looking great, my Dr. still feels a delivery at 34 weeks will reduce the risk of a uterine rupture. And at the rate these boys are growing, he feels confident they will be over 4 lbs. at that point. That would put our target date for delivery on or around September 18. Hopefully, they will only be in the NICU a week or two, as I have already received steroids to help their lungs develop a bit more quickly. Also, triplets tend to develop faster than singletons, so that's another mark in their favor.

I've been measuring 34 weeks at the last 3 visits; however, I'm told not to worry as the babies have found a way to stretch out sideways rather than straight up and down. Dr. Robinette tells me this is a very good thing, as it gives them plenty of room to grow over the next 6 weeks. And all this time I've thought having the rib cage of a professional linebacker was a BAD thing.

Six more weeks, six more weeks. Six more weeks!!! I just have to keep repeating it, because it seems like such a short period of time. The most unexpected thing about this pregnancy (other than the triplet aspect, of course) is how incredibly quickly the time has gone by. And there's still no nursery!! Jason is convinced he can get the whole thing together AFTER they arrive, but BEFORE they actually need it. I suppose since I'm not preecclampsic this time, he's looking for other ways to raise my blood pressure.

Thanks to everyone for your prayers and concern. It means more than you can know. Check back soon, as I hope to have the ultrasound pictures scanned in this week. We finally got a good look at baby B, and I'm pretty sure the Burrus genes have made a clean sweep of my offspring. Not a problem, as you can see from the picture of Jack in the upper right corner, Burrus genes make a really pretty baby.

Jabba the Hutt -- Post-Atkins Diet

We had a fun visit today from our friends Ashley and Mel. I haven't seen their son Jay in a while, and received a shocking reminder of how fast kids grow as he entered the room wearing a pair of big yellow crocs and an even bigger smile. Despite his incredible growth spurt, it was reassuring to know he hadn't outgrown his sweet temperment, and we were gifted with many more smiles before his visit ended.

Speaking of unexpected growth -- or lack of -- upon entering the room, Ashley blurted, "Oh my gosh! You don't look nearly as uncomfortable as I thought!" This struck me as funny simply because it's what I've heard from everyone including my own mother. Apparently, friends and family alike are picturing an unrecognizable lump of flesh encasing three squirming babies. I have to admit, it's a huge ego boost when they find it's not quite as bad as their imagination led them to believe.

With this in mind, I've decided it's time for a belly pic. I generally avoid this kind of thing, because 40 extra lbs. does nothing for my supermodel status -- as is evidenced by my chipmunk cheeks. Cheeks that are mine to keep in both feast and famine, but are definitely more impressive in the feast phases of my life. I hope you all enjoy marveling at the size of my tummy. Not even chipmunk cheeks can make my head look quite big enough to balance out a belly this size. And where are the enormous boobs I asked for??? But all in all, it could be a lot worse.

Virtual Grocery Shopping

I simply cannot keep the unexpected joy of virtual grocery shopping to myself any longer. It all began with a phone call from one of my best girlfriends, Chrissie, who hails from Tulsa, Oklahoma. She's one of those tried and true friends who understands that sometimes the best medicine for the bedbound blues is sharing e-mail pictures of our adorable offspring and dishing about a mutual acquaintance who is eyeballs deep in a Jerry Springer-type escapade. It is difficult to find words for this sort of spiritual uplift. But everyone out there blessed with one or more terrific girlfriends knows what I mean.

Our conversation covered a lot of ground -- both topically and geographically -- from one errand to the next with car trips in between, winding up in Chrissie's local grocery store. She asked my opinion on a fruit and cheese tray she was putting together. My comments included saying no to Brie (as it's much better hot than cold) and going with a nice white cheese for the kids (cheap mozzarella is always a good choice because the little buggers care a lot more about about quantity than quality). Chrissie interrupted her shopping to rearrange some strawberries that seemed to be on the verge of falling in the floor -- only to realize too late that *oops* it was actually the handiwork of some overachieving Kroger employee. What seemed like a landslide waiting to happen was actually an "artful arrangement" designed to make you yearn to purchase strawberries. Oh, the pitfalls of produce.

Now, all of this may sound like small potatoes (Hah! produce humor) to those of you free to roam through the grocery whenever you like. But I must remind everyone that I have been confined to my house for the last 7+ weeks. This brief narrative of the world outside was worth more to me than gold. It brought back the smell of fresh fruit -- admit it, our noses are every bit as involved as our tastebuds in making us buy all those peaches and strawberries at this time of year. Ooh, and summer tomatoes. You can't describe it, but you know the smell of a vine ripened summer tomato. They make those mealy, tasteless, hothouse things we settle for in winter seem almost sacrilegious. Best of all is that wonderful chill you get when you leave the oppressive outside heat and mosey toward the refrigerated section. I am willing to bet that there are statistically more people lingering over the lunchmeat section in summer months than any other time of year -- and it has nothing to do with the allure of bologna.

I have to admit that this imaginary shopping trip I took with Chrissie was far better than any real grocery buying I've ever done. No fighting with the plastic produce bags. No detouring up and down an entire aisle because some moron, entranced by the salad dressing samples, has blocked all traffic both ways. No dealing with other people's screaming kids. No hateful glances because your kid is the one screaming. Just the good stuff -- the parts I didn't realize I appreciated about a mundane task to be accomplished weekly...or every other week...or sometime before we starved.

Maybe this is the start of a trend. When I'm free to move about again, I'll appreciate being able to go to the post office and buy the cartoon stamps -- not the boring ones that some nice errand runner picked up for me. Instead of heading straight for diapers at Target, I'll browse the accessories on my way. And at Home Depot, in addition to ant killer, I might just pick up a flat flowers for my border. Who knows? With my newfound awareness, the possibilities are endless. Let's hope I don't lose sight of this epiphany once I'm overrun by bouncing baby boys. In fact, I'm designating you to remind me.

A Room with a View (right)

I could use lots of obscure adjectives to describe the view out the patio doors to my right -- verdant-as it is very green, sylvan-in honor of all the trees -- or I could just label it wooded, but that's a bit dull considering the way I feel about it. I think I'll choose beatific. I was pretty sure it fit, but looked it up just to be on the safe side. Sure enough, it means producing exalted joy or blessedness. There's just something special about sunshine falling on a patch of green -- especially when it's your very own patch of green -- that tends to be uplifting.

Because our lot is sloping, this side of the room looks into the treetops that cover the distance from the house to the river. Only when the water is muddy from fresh rain can I distinguish it through the thick leaves. I'm told the winter landscape is quite different. Once the leaves are gone, I suppose I'll need new adjectives, but I admit I'm looking forward to it with some anticipation.

Since I'm flat on my back most of the day, I look out on the balcony and amuse myself by imagining what I might see below. Chipmunks for certain, since I hear they've burrowed holes throughout the flowerbeds. I mentioned to Jason that there were certain things that would deter the little striped rats from taking up residence in our yard, but he's not interested. After more than a decade trapped in city dwellings, I think he enjoys all the little lives that teem outside -- the obligatory chipmunks, rabbits and frogs as well as a huge raccoon that politely uses the walkway to travel through our front yard rather than treading on the grass. Jason's even grown fond of a giant skink that has taken up residence in our garage. After rescuing the jumbo creepy crawly from a sticky mouse trap put out by the pest control man, he washed off the sticky goop, released the critter (which quickly skittered behind a cabinet in the garage), and immediately threw away all the remaining traps citing the fact that they hadn't caught any mice anyway. I chose not to mention that the traps had only been placed a few hours earlier. It suddenly seemed like a harsh way for anything, even unpleasant looking things, to meet their end. So now there is an occasional skink sighting heralded by a blood-curdling scream from my mother-in-law. I feel bad for her, but it does add a bit of excitement to the day.

It isn't all imaginary, as there is a quite healthy looking vine growing over one side of my balcony. Since the day we moved in, I've convinced myself it was on the verge of blooming. I could almost smell the heady scent of jasmine blossoms as I waited. More than 2 months have passed now, and I'm convinced that one of the following must be a true statement:

1) It is an early blooming jasmine, and I missed this season's blossoms.
2) It is a very late blooming jasmine, and I just need to be patient.
3) It is a weed.

While I believe choice number three is the most likely candidate, I still hold out hope for choices 1 or 2. And I'm not the only one. At least three days out of every week, I am visited by either a sorely misguided or deeply optimistic hummingbird. At first he was primarily interested in examining the same vine I've been fixated on these past few weeks. Gradually, he began to spare a glance my way. Today, the whole of his visit was devoted to peeking through the glass doors at me. I knew I had a room with a view, but up to now believed I was the one doing the viewing. If the skink shows up with a squirrel in tow, you will not hear about it from me. A padded room wouldn't suit me nearly so well as this one.

A Room with a View (left)

Apparently, from the instant we saw our new house (on a Friday) to the time we found out our contract had been accepted (the following Monday), the lot next door was snatched up by an enterprising builder with the intent of building a "spec" home. Spec is short for speculative which in this case alludes to the fact that some guy has borrowed a ton of money to build a lovely home in hopes it will be immediately bought by a family willing to pay a ton more money than it actually cost to construct. I wish him the best of luck, because if he does sell it at a shameful profit, I'm pretty sure my home's value automatically goes up. And if it benefits me, generally I'm all for it.

If I look out the windows across the room on my left, I can just see the tip of the cleared lot, some piles of supplies, and the occasional construction worker coming to wash his hands at the makeshift faucet they have on site. My 18 month-old, Jack, takes time every morning to wave and say "Hello, men!" and again every evening pauses his play to wave once more and say "Bye, men!" Both obvious signs of a genuine affection for his fellow man as well as pure genius when it comes to vocabulary. My mother-in-law glances out almost as often to try and anticipate what job will be accomplished that day (today they're working on the walls for the second floor), and to wonder aloud about the possibility of stretching a 200 foot hose from their faucet to our pool under cover of night, thus reducing the ungodly water bill we've been footing lately. Also genius, but of a slightly darker nature.

The fact that this builder's success means more equity for me should make this nothing but a win-win situation. All that changed with a visit from the very nice lady who runs the homeowners association. (For a mere $35 per year, we are enrolled in the River Run Homeowner's association. However, there is no community pool, tennis court or walking trail -- so while membership undoubtedly has its privileges, I'm really not at all sure what those might be.) She needed our vital statistics for inclusion in the neighborhood phone list, which really is a helpful little document. A quick examination of the last phone list let me know the names of all my neighbors, whose kids baby-sit, pet-sit, house-sit or mow lawns, and let me know that former Governor Don Siegelman lives in my neighborhood. All things that are helpful and/or good to know. Since I'm completely confined to my room, her visit was with my mother-in-law. Long story short, she confided that her husband sold the lot to the builder. And both she and my mother-in-law spent the better part of the conversation lamenting the fact that we hadn't bought our house sooner, because we could have bought their lot as well and had a nice play area for the kids.

This is a real downer for me, because it's absolutely true. Now every time I look left, instead of seeing dollar signs, I see the incredibly cool swingset/jungle gym that will never be. I see enough area for our pitifully bored dog to burn off some energy. Instead of a lovely 2-story house, I see a blocked view of the woods. My only hope for regaining some good feeling about the house next door lies in the hope that a really nice couple with kids in the birth to 2 yrs. age range will pay a horribly inflated sum to move in next door. If you or someone you know fits this description, please head for River Run immediately.

That pretty much sums up the left side of my room. If I'm still this bored tomorrow, look for a complete summation of the view from the right side of my room. I'm sure the anticipation is maddening.

26 Week Visit -- July 25

We had been looking forward to this visit for weeks on end because of the promise of getting baby measurements. Lo and behold, I make it into the ultrasound room, and the incredibly nice tech, Paula, informs me that Dr. Robinette has decided we only need heartbeats -- no measurements. Not that I'm terribly tactful on a good day -- as we used to say during performance reviews, it's an area where I have an "opportunity for growth" -- but this visit was truly a low point. "You go tell him that he promised me measurements today, and I've been looking forward to it for six weeks." Paula, obviously recognizing a pregnant woman at the end of her rope, dutifully did just that and returned saying, "Dr. Robinette says if you want measurements -- you'll get measurements." Mission accomplished, but I did ask Paula to please pretend I'd asked really nicely. I hope she has a good imagination.

The results of the ensuing scan could not be any better, plenty of fluid for each baby, A & C head up, B head down. Let's not forget the all important measurements. A & C both weigh 2 lbs. 1 oz., putting them in the high 50th/low 60th percentile when compared to singletons at the same gestation. B is super-chunky at 2 lbs. 4 oz., putting him in the upper 60th percentile. I am assured that all three are huge for triplets. This stands to reason since I am huge for a pregnant lady. I'm measuring 34 weeks -- a full two months ahead of my actual gestation. I have no intention of revealing what size t-shirt is now required to actually cover my belly, just believe me when I say I'll be donating my pregnancy clothes to charity at the earliest possible moment -- anonymously!!

Just as soon as I can figure out how to get our ultrasound pictures scanned and included on this blog, I will be sure to do so. Once again, there is no doubt as to the identity of "my baby daddy" since you can already see a distinct Burrus profile in even the fuzziest ultrasound photo. Only Baby B has remained camera shy, so I still hold out hope -- o.k. faint hope -- that some of my genetic material will show up in at least one of my offspring.

We go for our 28 week visit on August 8, so keep us in your thoughts and prayers. Making it to that point is our most critical milestone and we're anxious to have it behind us. Check back soon, as we're trying to keep things updated weekly.

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