Quick and Dirty

If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear I was going through menopause. Annoying hot flashes and general crabbiness attack me. I sure as hell hope they find out some solution for these damn things by the time I do reach that age.

Abby teased us yesterday by insisting on using the potty 8 times. I thought we had turned a corner and she had finally decided to follow through with the whole potty training thing. Today, she used the potty twice. Better than none, I suppose, but the thought of having 4 kids in diapers scares the crap out of me and my wallet.

Being on bed rest you’d think I would have all the time in the world to tell you stories about what I see out my bedroom windows. Sadly, I think Crazy Lady went back to Ohio after that second snow storm and Hippy Dippy Dude has been acting very normal, you know, the sort of normal that includes taking your outdoor cats for walks. Abby squeals with delight every time she sees one of his cats outside drinking from a puddle. Meanwhile, our cats are secretly telling them to be thankful they have that muddy puddle instead of a toddler who loves to give them suffocating hugs. I think they secretly love them.

What I have been doing lately is scaring the hell out of myself with the whole BPA mess. Bisphenol-A or BPA is key molecule in the makings of polycarbonate plastic. The, rather expensive to this thrifty mama, bottles that we bought when Abby was a baby (she had to be supplemented for the first month or so and then later on she would get pumped bottles or formula after I had weened her at 10 months) are made from polycarbonate plastic. When you look at polycarbonate plastic it looks awesome, it’s clear as glass and shatter-proof. It would be great if it didn’t cause all that damn cancer and fertility issues. Yeah, an extreme statement, but I am pumped up full of hormones dammit.

So, I have been looking into getting glass bottles online instead. There are some BPA free bottles out there, but why risk it? As it stands now, these babies are going to have a lot against them, why bother putting more bullets in the gun. Of course I say this while I know I am going to feed them all formula once they come home from the hospital. *cough*

I was planning on pumping while they are in the hospital and the continue while I can while they are home. I am a realist and know that I will be caring for them by myself once they come home. My mom has taken off a lot of time off from work (unpaid) to just get us as far along in the pregnancy as we can get. Right now we’re looking at her going back to work the second week of June. That week would also be the week the babies will come home - hopefully if I make it to 35 weeks.

James has used up half of his 2 weeks of vacation already just bringing me to Minneapolis for doctor’s appointments. To allow him to have some time with the babies once they get here in the hospital he will no longer be able to take me to my appointments in Minneapolis since they are increasing to weekly appointments starting next week. This scares the crap out of me because I know at some point, during one of those appointments, they are going to tell me that I have to stay. My mom is planning on coming with me to the appointments (and I lied, James will come with to one of the appointments so he can take the tour of the NICU with me) and James has informed his boss that he might have to drop everything at work and go if I should get put in the hospital down there.

I show my stress physically by the reappearance of my psoriasis. James is showing his by daydreaming about motorcycles and how much he’d really love to own one, you know, because they’re FUN and you can’t take the triplets out on them. Yes, I am being dramatic again - hormones, people, hormones! All of that makes the psoriasis flare up even  more.

I am trying to decrease the amount of stress, especially as we get close to the 30 week mark. Thirty weeks is very stressful. I stressed out big time when I hit 30 weeks with Abby (I’d include a link to a post I might have written when I was 30 weeks along with Abby, but I never restored my archives an they’re downstairs and I am not.) and I prepared myself to panic a little this time around as well. You see, Ethan was born at 30 weeks. Normally, babies born at 30 weeks survive and go on to live great lives. Ethan was sickly. The triplets are healthy but I still worry.

My, this entry ended up being more dirty than quick. I still have aspirations of replying to the wonderful comments from my past posts - even if I did scare the crap out of some of you with the belly pictures. Right now I am sort of consumed in my own little head drama and window shopping for bottles online while wishing I had a baby shower.

That’s a pathetic whine I’ll keep to myself since I am not a huge fan of cheese, but I could totally go for some wine. Dammit.