So, been a little while since my last blog, I have been a bit busy, and a lot lazy. There has been some activivity on the baby front, and not all of it was positive. Pookie had an ultrasound last week, and the ultrasound tech pointed out that there seemed to be a low amount of fluid around baby B. Baby B is our little girl Stella, the poor thing caught between the boys. Mr. I-Cause-Unnecessary-Concern ultrasound tech raised a flag that there may be an issue, and scheduled a meeting with our kick-ass doctor. It turned out that the fluid was low, but still within the normal range, and really everything was pretty positive.
The problem was that the meeting with our doctor was five days after the ultrasound, and Pookie and I had five days to worry about what was going on. In my mind, Stella was floating around on burlap drier than a popcorn fart, but really there was no need for concern. Papa Jeff lost the first of what I know are many hours of sleep worrying about his little girl, but all is well, and she is still bigger than the boys.
The definition of stress is the feeling of being responsible for things that are beyond your control. Having absolutely no control over things like your babies' health is very unpleasant. Communication with the experts you rely on is extremely important, and the events this week really highlighted this. The ultrasound guy's job is to spot issues, so that's what the guy does, and I get that, but shit man, don't sound the fire alarm unless you see some god damn flames.
The Pooklings are still growing, each baby is still in the 75th percentile for singleton babies their age. Every time Pookie sees the skulls on my dad and brother she thanks the man in the sky she is having a C-section. If these babies get to 34 or 35 weeks they are going to have to open her up like an envelope to get these big-headed babies out. The joys of multiples.
Big "whaddup" to the new people that have been writing in, welcome aboard.
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