Nuchal Translucency Screening

Optional testing during pregnancy is something that wasn't offered when I was pregnant with Dylan in 2000 and Justin in 2002/3. Or, maybe it was, but since I was far from "Advanced Maternal Age" at that point, it probably wouldn't have been a consideration. But things are different now. Since my eggs were harvested when I was 36, an old lady by obstetric standards, our resulting embryos had a much higher chance of chromosomal abnormalities, such as Down Syndrome. At that point, PGD testing was offered to us to check the embryos for a variety of issues, including Down Syndrome, so we agreed without hesitation. It turned out that, out of the 16 embryos that resulted after fertilization with Jimmi's sperm, only two of them appeared to have too many chromosomes and weren't considered to be "normal." The remaining 14 were left to grow for five days before being stored in the lab for our future use, but only 12 presumably healthy babies made it to the freezing stage. And the PGD also told us one more secret: we were blessed with an even split of six boys and six girls. 

It's now two and a half years later and Lyndsay is 13 weeks pregnant with our baby. During our discussions with her doctors, optional first trimester screening involving an ultrasound and a blood test to check for Down Syndrome and other problems had been mentioned, but I didn't think we needed to worry about any of that since we had already ruled those abnormalities out immediately after fertilization. But my Skype call with Dr. C last week sent up a small red flag and I felt we needed further investigation. He mentioned a type of Down Syndrome called Mosaicism that happens in the 8-cell stage, which is after the PGD would've been performed. There's only a 1 in 50,000 chance of that actually happening, but we all know how well I do with small odds. Jimmi and I decided we needed to a deeper look into the health of our growing baby, and we needed to do it before the end of the fist trimester. Two issues immediately arose after the decision to test was made. First, I needed to ask Lyndsay to rearrange her schedule and rush in for an ultrasound before the end of next week. The second issue was the blood test. Because Lyndsay had initially been pregnant with triplets that had spontaneously reduced themselves to a singleton, the blood test was out of the question. Any residual matter from the perished twins could throw all the numbers off and cause unnecessary worry. So we were left with the specialized ultrasound, called a Nuchal Translucency Screening, as our only option. The Nuchal Translucency Screening is a test that measures the amount of fluid behind the baby's neck. Too much fluid can indicate a problem. During the scan they also check the presence of the baby's nasal bone. If the bone isn't there, the baby will most likely have Down Syndrome. Generally, if either or both of these checks are off, the blood test will give the doctors additional information to confirm abnormalities. We had to hope extra hard for a normal scan because the only other test we'd be able to do in our situation would be an amniocentesis, and I would not feel comfortable having a giant needle stuck into Lyndsay's abdomen to pull out fluid from the amniotic sac. 

So the schedule juggling began and Dr. C was able to squeeze Lyndsay in on Thursday morning. He made it clear that he may not be available to Skype Jimmi and me from the appointment because of a double-booking, and that was totally understandable, but we'd be online just in case. We only had two days to wait, but I was becoming very nervous. Then Lyndsay texted me a question that, surprisingly, I hadn't even thought about until I read her words: 

"So what's the plan if the results aren't what you hope they'll be?" 

Ummm...I have no idea. What is the plan? What if our baby has Down Syndrome? What will we do?

At that exact moment the cosmic forces of the Universe stepped in and a suggested video popped up on my computer screen. "This Guy Writes a Confession Letter to His Daughter with Down Syndrome That Will Break Your Heart in 100 Ways." I had to click it. Over the next 14 minutes or so, I watched as this self-proclaimed "perfect" man with a "perfect" life told his story. After marrying the love of his life and having a "perfect" daughter, they were expecting their second child. The man was horrified to find out that his unborn daughter would have Down Syndrome. How could his child not be perfect? He described his thoughts about having a "broken baby." He urged his wife to abort but she refused. He immediately thought that people would judge him and assume he was at fault for his daughter's problems and then they'd know he wasn't perfect either. When the baby was born he took care of her, just as he'd done with his first, but he just couldn't find a way to bond with an imperfect child. And then, when she was about 6 months old, something changed. The man was kissing his baby's belly and she started giggling and pushing his face away, just like a "normal" baby would. That was the moment he fell in love with his baby girl. From that day on he made it his mission to bring awareness to Down Syndrome and his amazing little girl. He started running marathons with her in a stroller, and continued that practice for five years until he'd reached his mileage goal, then decided he didn't to "push" her anymore because she was able to stand on her own. Ah, the symbolism! After realizing the mistakes he'd made in his initial thoughts about not even wanting his baby to be born, he wrote her a confession letter explaining how sorry he was. Obviously, she hasn't read it, but maybe one day she will.

I finished watching the video, wiped away a few tears and texted Lyndsay back. "The plan isn't to abort if something is wrong. It's to know as far in advance as possible so we can do whatever we might need to do to be prepared."

Finally, Thursday was here. Jimmi and I waited by the computer, hoping Dr. C would be able to sneak into the ultrasound room with his laptop to Skype us, but I wasn't hopeful. Then the ringing from my computer announced that I was wrong and I quickly accepted the call. "Hello!" I sang out as the picture on the screen showed a technician in front of an ultrasound monitor. "Can you see?" the doctor asked as he shifted his laptop around a bit. "Yes," I answered. We could see, but because we were watching a video of a video, it wasn't totally clear. "Here's your baby," said the technician. "He's moving around a lot!" I smiled and ignored her incorrect gender pronoun. After all, it was too early to see the baby's sex in an ultrasound and she had no idea we had only transferred female embryos. We saw our little girl waving her hands and kicking her legs. "Looks like you might have a thumb-sucker here," said the tech as our baby's hand went to her mouth. "She's measuring twelve weeks and six days," she said, which meant the baby was still two days larger than her actual age, which is totally fine. "Ok, so we're gonna look at the fluid behind the baby's neck now," the tech explained and she scanned back and forth over Lyndsay's growing abdomen. After a few tries she said, "This child of yours is not behaving! In order to do this he really needs to hold still for a minute so I can get a good profile shot." Yup. She's her father's daughter! "There it is," said the tech as the baby chilled out long enough for a photo op. A few clicks of the machine and we heard, "The measurement I'm getting looks perfect." My smile masked the tears in my eyes as I waited for the next result I was waiting for. "Now we're going to look at the baby's nose," she continued. "And there's a very obvious nasal bone right there." Did I hear that correctly? "So, she's ok?" I asked hoping I wasn't mistaken. "Everything looks great right now," she confirmed and I allowed myself to breathe again.

We're 1/3 of the way to the finish line now. Keep growing, Baby A!

The Difference Between Here and There

I live in New Jersey, a state with world-renowned medical practitioners and facilities that rival even the top hospitals in our neighboring metropolis, New York City. I've always trusted my doctors and I feel they are well-trained and brilliant physicians. But the one common theme I've noticed running through the majority of the office staff and, sometimes, even the doctors themselves, is a complete lack of regard for the patient's emotional needs and an abysmal bedside manner. But, being born and raised in this area, it would concern me more if anyone went out of his or her way to be polite. Especially while doing his or her job! Yes, there are the sparse few who will actually say hello to you when you enter the waiting room. One or two might even crack a smile. But, for the most part, I've only ever been greeted by seemingly overworked and angry staff members who would probably rather be doing anything else than copying my insurance card or taking my blood pressure and writing down my list of ailments for the day.

When Lyndsay came from Minnesota to New Jersey, before the embryo transfer, for her first visit with my fertility clinic, she commented on the attitude of the doctor who had examined her. He made her feel uncomfortable and she insisted that he should not be the one to perform the transfer. When she told me who it was I thought back almost three years to my egg harvest preparation and I remembered that doctor vividly. He was a man of few words. When he entered the room, he didn't speak and he didn't smile. I don't even think he introduced himself before invading my nether region with the ultrasound dildo. But I thought to myself, if he was good at his job, his personality really didn't matter too much since I only had to see him once or twice. I can't say I've had much of a problem with the rest of my doctors. Yes, they always seem like they're in a rush to get to the next patient and I generally have to wait at least 20 minutes after my scheduled appointment time to even get called into an exam room. But I'm sure it's like that anywhere, right? Doctors are busy people! 

The real issue I have is with the office staff!

Rude, unhelpful, sarcastic, nasty, lazy. Again, there are the select few who do not fall into these categories but, for the most part, it's impossible to schedule an appointment, leave a message for a doctor or ask a simple question without it turning into a major issue of misunderstandings and double-bookings and forgetting one of the five tests I needed to have that particular day. And forget ever getting a call back from the doctor himself. If I need to ask a question, I have to call the receptionist, explain my problem in detail then wait for her to e-mail the information to the doctor. After he has a chance to review it, whenever that may be, he'll generally have his nurse call me back to answer. God forbid the answer leads to a follow-up question, I'll have to wait for the nurse to ask the doctor, the doctor to answer the nurse and the nurse to call me back again. It's like the most drawn-out and annoying game of Telephone I've ever played.

Which is why my first experience at the clinic in Minnesota was so shocking.

From our first steps into the building we were greeted with friendly smiles and helpful faces. Our appointment actually happened at our scheduled appointment time, then the next one, which was supposed to be an hour later, was pushed up to be right after the first appointment to make it more convenient for US. It had to have been a fluke. After meeting with a super-sweet nurse, the doctor came in and sat with us for about an hour, without ever giving us the impression that he needed to hurry off to another room. The doctor gave us his card with his personal e-mail address and instructed us to contact him with any questions we might have. He also mentioned using Skype for appointments Jimmi and I could not actually attend. I felt like we were in The Twilight Zone. We were probably just there on a rare day, when all the stars were in alignment. But I soon found out, after three separate visits over the last month, that the people at the clinic in Minnesota really are THAT helpful, THAT friendly and THAT concerned about how WE are treated.

And the differences in care didn't stop there.

After scheduling our big anatomy ultrasound for December, we were encouraged by the surrogacy agency to meet with the hospital social worker to discuss our unique situation so Jimmi and I would be known as our baby's parents immediately. It was also recommended that we book a tour of the Labor & Delivery Ward. I mentioned those suggestions to Lyndsay's doctor and he said, "No problem. I'll set you up with the social worker now." He entered the orders into his computer so the scheduler could take care of it on our way out, then he handed me a card with the maternity tour information on it, "Just go to this website and you can book the tour right online." We left the building with the ultrasound scheduled for December 20th, followed by an appointment with the doctor and a meeting with the social working immediately after that. It's close to impossible to book multiple appointments on the same day at home, no matter how far in advance I do it! Was it really that easy? 

Once I returned to New Jersey I didn't waste any time in e-mailing Lyndsay's doctor to ask him if we could do a "test Skype" to make sure everything worked before the next appointment. I almost fell off my chair when I received a reply from the doctor - not his nurse - barely 15 minutes later. Through direct e-mail, we were able to schedule a test call for last night at 6:30 PM. Ok, now that I had that under control I figured I'd check out the hospital tour website. Shit! They only offer tours on December 3rd and 17th. We won't be there until the night of the 18th. I wonder if they'd give us a private tour? I shook my head as I sent off the e-mail explaining our situation and requesting a special tour for just Jimmi and me during our two-day window. A reply popped into my inbox a few minutes later and I was already imagining the laughter of the person who had to answer our request, "No way! What makes you so special that we should cater to your needs?" But that's not what the response was. Not at all. "Dear Suzanne, I would be happy to give you and your husband a tour when you are here for your anatomy ultrasound..." What?! Shut UP! Who does that?! Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore. I had to read the e-mail three times before I actually believed that this woman was willing to make an exception for us. The thought of moving to Minnesota to be amongst the friendly people flew through my head for a minute, but I'd never survive winter in the Midwest.

But let me go back to last night for a minute...

The test Skype call was set up for 6:30 PM. Jimmi and I were sitting in front of the computer at 6:25 when I asked with skepticism, "How late do you think he'll be? If he even remembers to call, that is." I knew I should've confirmed the appointment that day but I didn't want to be annoying. We only scheduled it a few days earlier, but there was a whole weekend in between. What if he didn't write it down? What if he forgot? What if he...

Beep! Beep! Beep!

The screen on my computer was lighting up and the clock in the corner read "6:32 PM." Ok, I will never doubt this guy again. "Hello!" smiled Dr. C when his face appeared in front of mine. After I introduced him to Jimmi, he said, "It looks like this will work well for appointments that you can't attend." We all agreed and the conversation developed from there. "I know this was briefly discussed at our last appointment, but can you tell us a little more about the first trimester screenings?" I asked. Dr. C explained, "Yes. There is a blood test used to rule out some chromosomal abnormalities, such as Down Syndrome and a few others. There's also an ultrasound that checks the nuchal translucency of the fetus. That's the amount of fluid around the baby's neck. Excess fluid could indicate a problem.  First, can you tell me where the embryos came from again?" I told the doctor that the embryos were genetically mine and Jimmi's so he asked my age. I understood his reasoning, as there's a much higher risk for Down Syndrome when the biological mother is over the age of 35. "I'm thirty-eight," I said. "But I was thirty-six when the eggs were harvested and fertilized. We did PGD on the embryos so do we really need to do extra testing?" I was referring to the the procedure performed on the embryos where a cell is removed to check for issues before they're even transferred or frozen. "Well," he answered, "that's a good start. Of course there is something called mosaic Down Syndrome, which actually occurs at the eight-cell stage. That would be after the PGD was performed. I mean, the chances of that are like one in fifty-thousand, but it does happen." Oh, please don't give me slim chances again! "Ok. I think Dr. R mentioned that the blood test might not be accurate for us because of the twins that didn't make it," I reminded him. "Yes," he agreed. "That could definitely throw off the results. But I think the nuchal translucency screening might be a good idea. It needs to be done sometime between eleven and fourteen weeks, before the baby gets too big." I could see him looking at his computer and calculating Lyndsay's current week. I decided to help him out, "She was twelve weeks yesterday," I said. "Yes," he said, "and the baby was measuring a few days over last time, so we really need to get her in here by the end of next week." Ugh. I immediately felt guilty knowing this last minute change would cause Lyndsay extra stress trying to rearrange working and childcare. "Will Lyndsay still need to come in on the twenty-fifth if she comes in next week?" I questioned. "No. If all is well, there's no reason to come back so soon." 

We finished up our call and I texted Lyndsay to let her know about the change. After a few exchanges we realized getting in this week would be slightly easier for her than next week. Based on my experiences at home, I wasn't hopeful that they'd be able to fit her in so quickly. I mean, Hell, my oncologist made me wait a month to remove my rare and aggressive cancer because he couldn't manage to squeeze me into his schedule before then. But tonight, an e-mail from Dr. C proved me wrong, once again. "We've scheduled Lyndsay for this Thursday at 8:15 AM (CST). I will do my best to be in there with the computer and Skype you, but because of the short notice, I am now double booked." Ok, that's understandable. The important thing is that he got her an appointment. The e-mail continued, "Because of the demised twins, we will not be able to do the blood work that normally goes with the screen. Thus, all we will be able to tell is whether the nuchal translucency measurement is within normal limits, but won't get a revised risk of Down Syndrome for the baby." I guess we'll just have to hope the measurement is normal so we won't need the blood test, then, right?

So, once again, here I am asking for positive vibes, good thoughts, prayers, crossed fingers or whatever it is you do when you need something to be ok. Little Baby A has come through so much already. Let's help her jump this next hurdle on move on easily to the finish line.

12 Weeks

Buzz! Buzz!

The vibrations startled me out of deep thought and I reached around my desk to find my phone. It was a text from Lyndsay.

Click!

A side profile of a surprisingly protruding, pregnant belly greeted my eyes, accompanied by, "12 wks." I stared at the photo for a second then responded happily, "Wow! There's a baby in there!" But it isn't just a baby.

It's MY baby!

I knew today would mark a huge milestone in Lyndsay's pregnancy with our baby. Hell, I'd circled the date in my calendar months ago after scouring the Internet for a week-by-week schedule of our pregnancy, based on our due date. Today, November 3rd, was a big one. 

"Congratulations!" read the words on the online tracker, "You have completed your first trimester!"

And that's what everyone thinks about 12 weeks of pregnancy, right? The first trimester is done. The riskiest part is over and it's basically safe to announce the impending birth to the world now. Well, I guess that last part is true for those who haven't been broadcasting every detail about it in a blog since before conception. But here's the thing. While endlessly over-searching pregnancy online, I stumbled upon an interesting inconsistency in trimester calculations. According to more recent data, the first trimester of pregnancy comes to an end at 13 weeks, not 12, and the second trimester officially starts at week 14. 

What?!

Yes, that's correct. Everyone assumes that, since the human gestation period is estimated at 9 months, each trimester would naturally last three months. Wrong! A full-term pregnancy is technically 40 weeks. I've never been great at math but even I can figure out that 40 divided by 3 is roughly 13 1/2, not 12. 

Shit!

So, it looks like we're still in the first trimester. Honestly, this IVF stuff makes being pregnant feel like an eternity! Knowing everything as it develops, from conception to transfer to implantation, makes the time drag on and on. At least at the beginning Lyndsay was going for blood tests and ultrasounds every few days then every week or two, so I always had something to look forward in the immediate future. But now that the pregnancy is moving along "normally" it feels like everything is at a standstill. For me, at least. Lyndsay's last appointment was on October 24th and her next one won't be until November 25th! In the meantime there's nothing that actually makes me feel like I'm having a baby other than just talking about it or looking at the ultrasound photo. And even that doesn't make it feel real yet. 

It's strange being pregnant when you're not pregnant.

With so much downtime between appointments and the fact that my own belly isn't growing (from anything other than french fries and ice cream) it's almost as if it's not really happening. Yes, my mom and I went to look at cribs and crib bedding last week. That was exciting but, after the owner of the store checked out my perfectly flat mid-section and suspiciously asked how I was feeling, I felt obligated to explain to him that I'm not the one who is carrying my baby. Don't get me wrong. The man was still very happy for me and didn't act like my situation was any different than the bulbous-bellied woman's in the glider across the store. But I still couldn't help feeling inferior as I watched her rub her distended abdomen lovingly while testing the rockers.

But I guess all I can do now is wait and live vicariously through Lyndsay. I won't be in Minnesota for her next visit with the doctor, but they'll Skype me from the appointment, which is pretty cool. The next time I'll actually see her and her baby bump in person will be for the big anatomy ultrasound in December, just a few days before Christmas.

And now this impatient, control freak has nothing left to do but to be patient and relinquish control. 

A Baby, or Not a Baby: That is the Question.

My hands were shaking as I finished packing my overnight bag yesterday. I closed the zipper, kissed Jimmi goodbye and gave the dogs a quick pat on the head then I took the car along the same path I'd taveled to Newark Airport, just two weeks earlier. I'm not gonna lie. I contemplated changing my flights, which were scheduled for the exact same times as the last trip, in the hopes the switch would change the bad luck we'd had when we found out two of our triplets had passed away.

But I didn't.

I arrived at the airport with only an hour to spare before flight-time and checked my email in the parking lot, just as I'd done previously. Nothing from United Airlines about a flight delay. Ok, that's a good sign. I breezed through the security line and chilled out in the United Club for a half an hour until 1:33, just one minute before I was supposed to board the plane. Not like they ever start on time anyway. I lazily walked over to the gate and found a small line and a United representative checking boarding passes and sending passengers down the gangway. No way! They're actually boarding? "Excuse me?" I said to one of the line-standers. "Do you know what boarding group they're on now?" He nodded, "Group two," he replied. That was my group! Wow. Perfect timing! I strolled right past the line, handed my pass to the gate agent and shot down the long, narrow path leading to the tiny Express Jet headed for Minneapolis.

This was going way too easily.

I checked my seat assignment and the "4B" brought back memories of the beginning of my last trip. The trip from Hell. It was the same row. The row I'd purposely booked because it was close to the front of the plane, but for who knows what reason, was bumped to 9B as soon as I got on. Fingers crossed for this time. I slowly stepped onto the miniature aircraft, careful not to hit my head on the ceiling, and I immediately noticed the stench wafting through the aisle. Oh my GOD! Someone stinks! Not cool. If you know you're gonna be trapped in a cramped tube with a bunch of strangers, wouldn't you think deodorant might be appropriate? Ugh! I continued the few steps to Row 4, where I saw the empty aisle seat that was assigned to me. Yes! I tossed my bag above and happily plopped down into my seat and "fastened my seatbelt low and tight across my waist." But the green cloud of doom was looming around my nose so I around, trying to locate the culprit. I sniffed the seat in front of me. No, not him. Then I turned and sniffed behind me. Nope. I leaned into the aisle and casually sniffed 4A. Axe fresh! Oh no. No, it can't be. I slowly turned to my right and got a clear whiff of 4C which sent my gag reflex into turmoil. That smell was coming from right next to me! And, in case there was any doubt, 4C lifted his arm to adjust his vent just as my face angled at nose level. 

Oh, shit!

Let me try to explain the size of the seats on this airplane for a minute. Small would be an understatement. My right leg and 4C's right leg were basically dating at this point and my elbow was playing a game of "Whose Arm Rest is it Anyway?" with his elbow. I leaned into the aisle and noticed the flight attendant sniffing around and making a face of disgust. I leaned over a little more and nonchalantly covered my nose with my hand. I couldn't even look in 4C's stinky direction! 4A noticed my obvious dilemma and let out a giggle, "I'm so sorry for you." He said with sarcastic sympathy. I shrugged and leaned over even further. "Don't be," I quipped. "because I'm gonna be in your lap in a minute!" Just then the flight attendant came down the aisle and I stopped her and quietly asked with pleading eyes, "Are there any empty seats in the back?" Yes, I would rather sit in the back than next to Sir-Stinks-A-Lot! She understood exactly why I needed to move, "We're still boarding, but if anything is left when we're done, you're welcome to it." She continued down the aisle and 4A said, "I'm sorry, you can't move." I was confused. "I need you here as a buffer!" he laughed. As the seats filled, my situation was looking hopeless. And then I saw the flight attendant nod in my direction and I jumped up so quickly I banged my head on the ceiling above. Without looking at my offensive neighbor, I grabbed my coat, wished 4A good luck and dashed back to the empty seat in Row 10. I breathed in the fresh air and happily opened up my Sudoku book. 

And that's when the coughing started.

9A, directly in front of me, decided it would be a super idea to get on a plane where everyone is breathing recycled air when he was clearly dying of tuberculosis. The painful hacking began as the flight took off and didn't let up for the entire two and a half hours. I wanted to spray him with Lysol and  bathe myself in Purell or something. But I was trapped! Each time he coughed I cringed, but there was nothing I could do but sit there and breathe in the germs he was so generously sharing with me. Oh well. At least he smelled nice.

When we were finally on the ground I made my way thought the airport to get my rental car. I was experiencing a major déjà vu, liked I'd just been there. Oh, right. Because I had. The same socially awkward rental agent greeted me and I one-worded him in the hopes of avoiding uncomfortable small-talk. But it didn't work. After asking me three times if Kane was spelled with a K, he inquired, "Are you here with the circus?" Ummmm...What? My face told him I had no idea what he was talking about so he made things a little more weird for both of us, "Have you ever had a desire to be in the circus?" he queried. I shook my head while asking myself if this conversation was really happening. Then he closed with, "Neither have I. I'm scared of heights." 

Ok then.

I was finally released from Crazy Town and sent off to my Mazda 3 with my, hopefully working, GPS. The doors opened and the bitter cold Minnesota air stung my face. Damn! I quickly found the car, entered Lyndsay's address into the navigation system and off I went. Surprisingly, I made it to her house without an issue and was able to spend some time with her, Josh and the kids before everyone went to bed.

But sleeping was another story.

I was too nervous to sleep. The intense fear I was feeling can only be compared to the night

before I get my CT scan results. I always wonder if it'll be my last healthy night. If the next day will change my whole life again. If I'll die soon. But this time I wasn't worried about me. I was worried about my baby. The only baby left of my triplets. Baby A. It was such a shock to know I was having three babies then to see two of them on the screen, lifeless and on top of each other. The only thing that saved me from a real breakdown was the hope of Baby A's beating heart. She was still holding on for us. She was still alive. But that was two weeks ago. The doctor scheduled us for the upcoming ultrasound to check on her one more time before the first trimester is over. Yes, she seemed ok last time, but we've all seen how quickly these things can change. And, to top it off, another issue was rattling around in my paranoid mind. You see, right before the start of the freezing week, Lyndsay and Josh's furnace stopped working. That's always the way those things happen, isn't it? The new furnace was expected the day I arrived but, of course, someone messed up and it never got there. Luckily, the gas fireplace in the basement was working hard to keep the entire house warm, so the situation wasn't as bad as it could've been. Lyndsay also mentioned something at dinnertime about the carbon monoxide detector needing new batteries and I didn't think anything of it until I was nice and cozy on the inflatable mattress, in the finished basement, by the fireplace. That's when the anxiety kicked in. As Lyndsay has told me many times, I Google too much, which makes me worry too much. I'd read stories about people falling asleep with gas fireplaces going and being asphyxiated in their slumber. But that's only when the ventilation system isn't working, right? I could hear the hum of the fan and it was clear that the fireplace was fairly new and in perfect working condition. Nothing to worry about.

But I still couldn't sleep.

Finally, after fighting sleep for fear of not waking up, I gave into my ridiculous thoughts and turned off the fireplace. It was pretty toasty down there anyway, so I figured it would be ok. I quickly passed out a few minutes later. But that was short-lived. I woke up shivering at 2:30 AM, and realized if I was cold Lyndsay, Josh and the kids must be freezing! That was not ok. I hopped up, turned the fireplace back on and fell back to sleep.

My alarm woke me at 7:00 AM. Yes! I'm alive! I got dressed and headed upstairs. We needed to leave at 7:30 to drop Hunter off at school then Lyndsay, Hallie and I were off to the the clinic for an ultrasound and a follow-up appointment with the non high-risk OB. I tried so hard not to worry about what we may or may not see during the ultrasound but visions of the twins I will never meet kept overriding the positive thoughts. I just needed it to be 9:30 already. Finally, Lyndsay's appointment pager buzzed and we jumped up to follow the tech into the ultrasound room. My heart was pounding so loudly I figured they could probably hear it. Lyndsay got up onto the table and I situated myself in the chair. It was a different technician than last time so I introduced myself, "Hi. I'm Suzanne. I'm the baby's mom." She gave me a twisted stare and Lyndsay clarified, "I'm just the carrier." The tech's face showed understanding as Lyndsay threw in, "We're not a lesbian couple!" The tech laughed and assured us she didn't think we were "together" as she squirted blue gel onto Lyndsay's growing belly. My knee was bouncing up and down uncontrollably and I felt like I was about to vomit. Please, let there be a heartbeat. Please. As she moved the machine back and forth and up and down, I could see the two gestational sacs come into focus. Yes, both sacs were still there. I caught a quick glimpse of Baby A as the tech zoomed over her and moved on to measure the sac holding what was left of Babies B and C.

But I didn't see a flutter.

She seemed bigger than last time but I didn't see a beating heart. The tech started to measure Sac 2 and I interrupted her, "Can you please show me a heartbeat on Baby A? I need to see a heartbeat and then you can do whatever you need to do with everything else." She understood why I was asking and she apologized and quickly moved over to Sac 1. I saw my little Baby A, who actually looked like a baby now, but still nothing was beating. "I don't see anything," I squeaked. The tech was calm as she said, "It's moving all around, so I'm sure I'll find it!" I couldn't see the baby moving at all. Maybe she was just trying to postpone the bad news. And then she hit the zoom button and the most beautiful and amazing movement of a beating heart greeted our eyes. "There it is!" said the technician and I burst into uncontrollable sobbing. "One-hundred and sixty-three beats per minute. Perfect!" she told us after clocking the rhythm. I started to text Jimmi but decided a phone call would be more appropriate. "Hello?" he answered anxiously. "She has a heartbeat," I bawled into the phone. "Really?" I could hear my husband's combination of relief and excitement when he heard that his baby was alive and growing. "I just wanted to tell you that," I said. "I'll call you back." I watched as the technician continued looking at the tiny little princess on the screen. It was too soon to tell the sex but since Lyndsay and I kept referring to the baby as "she" the tech was curious, "You know it's a girl?" I explained, "We only put girls in!" She nodded and said, "Well, she's measuring at ten weeks and six days." I responded, "That's two days more than she actually is. That's good, right?" She smiled, "Yup. And here are her two legs," then she moved some more, "and one arm...and another arm." Wow. "You can see both arms and legs already?" She nodded again and turned the wand a bit to find the best angle for a photo op. "Oh my God! Is that her nose?" I asked when I clearly saw my daughter's profile for the very first time. "It sure is!" the tech confirmed as she printed a picture. "I wish I could see her moving like last time," I sighed. As if on cue, Baby A uncurled her body and gave us a little show, "Is she stretching?" I asked in disbelief. "She sure is!" said the tech, who obviously loved to see the excitement of her patients. When the ultrasound was over I was handed a two-foot long sheet of about ten photos of my baby and Lyndsay and I went off to her appointment with the doctor.

I know it was real before but, for some reason, today the pregnancy became official for me. As the doctor told us during our appointment, "There are no guarantees in this field, but so far, everything looks great."

A Favor

I've always stood by my two rules of blogging.

1. Always be completely open and honest.
2. Don't write if there's nothing important to say.

Tonight's post will be short, as I don't want to break rule #2.

It's taken some time to adjust my brain from thoughts of three babies to thoughts of just one. My feelings go back and forth between the agony of losing two of my children to the relief of the decreased risk, expense and stress of caring for just one. I haven't had much more to say than what was written in my last post, but I felt I needed to check in with all of you to let you know Jimmi and I are ok. We've had a week to digest the shock and we're moving forward. I'm not gonna lie to you, though. I'm flying out to Minnesota on Wednesday for Lyndsay's 10 week 4 day ultrasound on Thursday, and I'm absolutely terrified of what I may or may not see. What if Baby A doesn't have a heartbeat anymore? What if she, like her sisters, has just stopped progressing? What if I'm standing there, again without Jimmi by my side, staring at another lifeless child on the screen? I really don't think I'd be able to handle losing them all. Everyone keeps telling me to think positively, but these are the real thoughts that have been circling my brain for the last week. I wish I could be more confident, but after all that's happened, I'm having a really hard time seeing the cup as half full.

Anyway, there's not much more to tell you at this point other than thank you. Thank you so much for all of your thoughts, prayers, well-wishes, sympathy and friendship. Thank you for your support and kind words. And thank you for continuing to read about our crazy, bumpy ride. The hits on my blog this week have been out-of-control and I'm so touched when I see the numbers jumping. However, I'd like to ask you all a huge favor. Please look to the right side of this page where it says, "Followers." Right above that it'll say, "Join this site." Would you all please take a minute to click to join and officially follow me? I can tell by the number of page views that I have a lot more readers than the 26 listed there and I'd love to see you all represented. You can even follow anonymously if it's more comfortable for you. If you're on a mobile device, scroll down to the bottom of the page and click, "View web version," then follow the same steps as above. It would mean so much to me to see how many loyal readers I actually have!

Again, thank you all and I'll catch up with you at the end of the week...hopefully with good news.

3...2...1...

I should've known.

I should've know what was going to happen by the way the entire trip started. I arrived at Newark Airport with plenty of time to spare before my 2:00 PM flight to Minnesota. I found a parking spot pretty quickly and turned off the engine. I sent a text to Jimmi, who had to stay home due to a drumming gig this weekend, to let him know I'd made it safely and then I checked my e-mail. Shit! My flight's been delayed an hour! Guess there's no need to rush now. I mosied into the airport, stopped to buy a Hello Kitty doll for Lyndsay's daighter and a pack of NYFD vehicles for Lyndsay's son then made my way to the United Club, where I stayed for the next two and a half hours.

Finally it was time to board the tiny Express Jet, which has a row of two seats on one side of the plane and a row of single seats on the other. If I've never mentioned it before, I'm not a fan of flying. But, since having cancer, I've taken a whole new approach to the situation. I'd much rather die in a quick plane crash than a long, drawn-out battle with cancer. That being said, I'm still not thrilled with the smaller planes. To make these flights slightly more bearable, I try to book myself as close to the front of the aircraft as possible. This cuts down on some of the bumpiness and allows me to haul ass out the door more quickly once we're on the ground. Anyway, when it was time to leave I walked over to the gate where I instantly started feeling queasy and lightheaded. I actually needed to squat down during the line-up process to avoid falling over. Awesome! When my boarding group was called, I stood up cautiously and headed down the gangway to the awaiting airplane. The flight attendant greeted me with a frazzled smile as I passed by her and set my sights on row 4. 

Row 4 was occupied.

I looked up at the number and letter above the seats and double checked my boarding pass. "Excuse me," I said to the elderly man. "I think you're in my seat." He stared at me blankly and I looked to the flight attendant for help. "There's someone in my seat," I explained as I handed her my boarding pass. Without looking, she replied, "Are you in row four?" I nodded. "We moved you to the same seat in row nine." I didn't ask questions as I assumed the older gentleman needed assistance entering and exiting the plane, therefore required a seat closer to the door. I continued down to row 9.

Row 9 was occupied.

Seriously? I looked at the man in my seat, "Excuse me, I think you're in my seat." He spoke with authority, "You can sit in row eleven." Yeah, not happening. "I'm sorry, I was just told to come to row nine so I'm following instructions." The woman standing behind me in the aisle asked, "Were you in row four? They sent me here as well." The man in my seat still hadn't moved and the line was building behind me. An announcement came over the speaker from the front, "If you were originally seated in row four, please proceed to row nine and sit down so we can keep the line moving." That pissed me off. "I'm trying," I called to deaf ears, "but there's someone in my seat." The man across the way in row ten decided to chime in, "You can just sit in row eleven." Did I ask you, Dude? I was trying to keep my composure, "I purposely booked a seat in the front of the plane but was bumped to row nine. I refuse to go back any farther." He shrugged, "It's only one more row." Who WAS this ass? "Actually, it's two more rows. Nine plus two equals eleven." Another announcement from the front, "Once again, if you were originally seated in row four, please sit in row nine. We can't leave until everyone is seated and this is holding up traffic." I wasn't budging so Seat Stealer and his partner stood up and moved to row eleven. 

I quickly put my bag down on the single seat on the opposite side so I could take off my jacket before throwing my stuff in the overhead bin when the woman behind me, who had also been moved, said, "I need to get to my seat." I looked at her with confusion since the seat next to mine was empty, but she rudely pointed, "I'm in that one. The one your bag is sitting on." Jeez, lady, you witnessed the drama that just played out. Give me a second. I tossed my bag above so Pushy could sit down then I plopped into my aisle seat across from her. My butt had barely hit the chair when the next man in line pointed to the window seat, "I'm in there." I was about to remove my seatbelt and stand up to let him through the tightly spaced seats when he decided it would be best to just climb over me instead. "Wait! I'm getting up!" I attempted to say, but it was too late. This random man's junk was about an inch from my face when I turned my head and said, "Or just walk over me. That works, too."

Luckily, the rest of the flight was uneventful and I made it to Minneapolis at about 5:15 PM, a little over an hour later than expected. I grabbed my bag and shot up to get my rental car. An annoyingly long line greeted me and I waited impatiently for my turn. As I approached the counter I was all business, but the Midwestern politeness forced the rental agent to make small talk with me and he decided to ask what brought me to town. "I'm going to see my babies. They're growing inside someone else. Triplets, actually. She has an ultrasound tomorrow." I was well aware of the fact that I wasn't making much sense at all and the agent's jaw dropped enough for me to know he managed to figure it out anyway. "Well, that's one I haven't heard before!" He exclaimed. Just then a frantic woman ran through the doors and barged in front of me. She held up a portable GPS system in her hand and shrieked, "This isn't working! I need to go right now and this isn't working!" The flustered agent took the machine, excused himself and went to the back. I twiddled my thumbs for about 5 minutes until he returned with a presumably different device and the woman grabbed it and ran out. "Sorry about that," he said. Another ten minutes went by before I had secured my Ford Focus and had my own GPS in my hand, but I was finally on my way to the lot to get on the road.

I approached the small, silver car and immediately noticed the many dings, dents and scratches all over the driver's side and trunk. Really? I threw my stuff inside, locked the door and went to the booth in the parking lot to complain. "Excuse me?" I said with my patience wearing very thin. "This car is in pretty bad shape. I really don't care what it looks like but I want you to make a note of it so I don't get charged for the damage." He followed me over to the beat up vehicle and wrote down everything I pointed out to him. "Thank you!" I said and jumped into the car. I plugged in the GPS so I could enter Lyndsay's address into it. The screen lit up, blinked twice and turned black. You're kidding. I checked the power switch and the connection to the car. All on. I tapped the screen. I unplugged it and plugged it in again. "He fucking gave me the broken one!" I screamed at no one. I grabbed the machine, got out of the car and slammed the door. I stormed into the rental area, ignoring the entire line, and shoved the device into the agent's face. I was done being nice. "Did you give me the other lady's broken one?" I accused as the man stared at me in fear. "I...ah...no! Of course not!" I wasn't convinced but I allowed him to live, "Then this one's broken, too." He seemed legitimately sorry as he hurried to the back and instantly reappeared with a new GPS, which was switched on to prove it was in working condition. I grabbed it and ran out. Back in the car, I texted Lyndsay with a status update, "I don't want to interrupt the bedtime routine for the kids. Don't worry about saving me food. I'll grab a sandwich on my way." I punched her address into the new GPS and finally left the airport.

According to the electronic map, I'd arrive at my destination at 7:26 PM, about an hour and a half from the current time. But five minutes into the trip I saw a Subway sandwich shop and pulled off to grab a quick dinner. Ten minutes later I was back in the car and on my way. That's odd, I thought as I looked at the GPS. It still says I'll arrive at Lyndsay's at 7:26. Weird. I pulled out of the parking lot and knew I needed to make a U-turn to get back onto the highway. I was heading in the wrong direction but the electronic car on the screen still showed that I was on track. Maybe it has to readjust itself, I thought. I got back on the correct road and continued on. It's a pretty straight run to Lyndsay's, so I wasn't too concerned that the little car on the screen hadn't told me to turn at all, but an hour into the trip, the pleasant voice instructed me to make a right onto 5th Street. That's strange. I'm on a highway and the only exit coming up on the right said "60", which I assumed was a small country road. The voice kept insisting I should turn so I figured "60" was probably one of those roads with more than one name. I got off the highway and immediately found myself in the beginning of a slasher film. It was pitch black and there were no streetlights. Not a car in sight and no houses around. I continued driving, passing old farms on either side without any cows or horses or life to be seen. I don't think this is right. GPS Woman instructed me to turn left onto a road that wasn't there, and when I didn't listen - because it was impossible to make a turn anywhere - the little car on the screen made the imaginary turn for me and let me know I was heading in the correct direction on 10th Street. Ok, something is very wrong. There weren't any signs, there weren't any stores. There was no one to ask.

There was just a bunch of nothing.

I collected myself and called Lyndsay, "Hey! My nav had me get off on some random road and I have no idea where I am! The stupid thing still thinks I'm going the right way but I'm totally not." The electronic voice directed me to make another turn that wasn't there and, once again, the little car on the screen showed that I was turning when I wasn't. "Where are you?" she asked. "I honestly have no idea. I think route sixty. Does that sound right?" There was a short pause, "Let me get Josh." After I'd repeated the dilemma to Lyndsay's husband without any clue where I could possibly be, I eventually passed a sign that said, "Mazeppa! I'm in Mazeppa! I'm crossing the Zumbro River!" Josh instantly knew where I was, "Ok, you're on sixty. I grew up there so I can give you directions. Can you write this down?" I pulled into the first gas station I'd seen in like 45 minutes, which just happened to show up at exactly the right time. I took down the directions and started out again. Honestly, I can't remember the last time I tried to read directions written on paper in a dark car at night. Not the simplest task! But I was able to make it the 30 minutes to the center of their town without needing help again. Not bad.

I pulled up to the house at about 7:45 PM and was greeted by a very handsome 5 year-old who was freshly bathed and wearing pajamas. His 3 year-old sister, who I plan on stealing at some point, came out behind him, followed by his now obviously pregnant mother. "Hi!" I exclaimed, relieved to finally be there. I spent the next 45 minutes hanging out with the kids until their bedtime and then Lyndsay, Josh and I stayed up watching TV and talking a bit longer before we all crashed. The trip was finally starting to get better.

So I thought.

My alarm woke me at 6:00 AM, way too early for this morning grump. But today I jumped out of bed, ready to start my day. After all, I was going to see my babies! The ultrasound was scheduled for 7:15 AM and Lyndsay and I needed about a half an hour to get there. We made great time and checked in exactly on time for the appointment. Barely 10 minutes later the tech came to get us and led us into a different ultrasound room than last time. This one didn't have the extra monitor high up on the wall, just the one the tech would be looking at. "Ok, Lyndsay, why don't you hop up onto the table," she said. "You're scheduled for a transvaginal ultrasound..." Lyndsay let out a disappointed moan and the tech continued, "but we might be able to try it from the outside and see what we can see." A satisfied smile spread across Lyndsay's face and, having had a very intimate relationship with the ultrasound dildo myself, I understood completely. The tech squirted blue goo all over Lyndsay's belly and moved the handheld device all around until the two gestational sacs appeared on the screen. They were a bit less clear than last time, but definitely there. She took a quick picture and handed it to me, "I hear you have three of them in here, huh?" she grinned. "I'm gonna take a look at Baby A first," She pushed and turned and pushed and turned on Lyndsay's abdomen as I watched the monitor. The blob inside the sac got bigger and smaller and changed shape each time the tech moved her hand and I just wanted her stop long enough to see if my little girl's heart was beating. And then she did. And there it was. A beautiful little flutter was counted at a whopping 175 beats per minute. As we stared at Baby A she gave us a little show, waving and bouncing around like a jumping bean. She measured perfectly at 8 weeks and 5 days gestation, exactly where she should be. "Ok, let's take a look at the other ones," said the tech and she moved the machine over a bit. The blob in the second sac came in and out of focus just as the first one had, but this time it took her a little longer to hone in on what she was looking for. Back and forth, up and down, side to side. I started to sense that something wasn't right, "Is everything ok?" I asked. The tech didn't seem alarmed, "Well, they're just really close together so it's hard for me to see them." She tried a few more angles, "They're right on top of each other." I could see how hard it was to distinguish Baby B from Baby C, but that wasn't my concern. What was worrying me was the fact that I didn't see any fluttering in the double-baby blob at all. "I'm sorry Lyndsay," said the tech. "I'm gonna have to do this transvaginally so I can see better."

Lyndsay left the room to put on a gown and I didn't speak to the tech at all. Once we see a couple more heartbeats I'll stop holding my breath and I'll speak. When Lyndsay was back on the table the wand was inserted and we all stared anxiously at the screen. "Let me just go back and look at A again," said the tech as we watched Baby A bopping around all over the place. Then she moved over to B and C. "It's not much better this way, is it?" she stated as she thrusted the ultrasound phallus up so far it was almost in Lyndsay's throat. She started taking measurements but wasn't saying anything. Then finally, "They're each measuring at seven weeks and five days." Ok, so twins are usually smaller. That's ok, right? "Are they ok?" I asked without actually wanting to hear the answer I already knew. "I'm not seeing a flutter in the chest." Is she talking about B or C? "In which one?" I questioned. She was somber, "In either of them. I'm sorry." We were all silent. I don't think any of us knew what to say at that point, but, without explaining what she was going to do next, Lyndsay and I both watched her push the button to count the heartbeats per minute, and we both watched the flatline move across the screen. Then she typed in the abbreviation "no fhb." No fetal heartbeat.

Twice.

"Can I please have a picture of Baby A without the other two in it?" I asked. She nodded and printed the updated photo. When Lyndsay got up to change I allowed a few tears to escape then quickly soaked them up with a tissue. "Does this happen a lot?" I asked the tech, who nodded, "Yes it does. Especially with multiples." For the millionth time in this whole journey I didn't know how to feel. Was I sad that we just lost TWO of our babies? Was I relieved that we'd only have one? Was I scared that something would happen to the third one now? Was I mad at God for allowing this to happen? Yes. Yes, that last one. Why does God keep screwing with me? For the last three years I've had nothing but curveballs thrown at me. I finally get Jimmi to settle down and propose and I'm diagnosed with cancer four months before the wedding. I do some research and find out cervical cancer is 100% treatable, then I discover I have a super-rare, highly-aggressive, 85% fatal kind of cervical cancer. I'm told I'll probably only need to remove my cervix and can still carry a baby, then I end up with a full radical hysterectomy, including ovary removal, 4 cycles of chemotherapy and 28 cycles of pelvic radiation. We finally find someone to carry our baby for us, put two embryos in, and she miraculously gets pregnant with triplets. We freak out at the overwhelming thought of having three babies and agonize over what we should do about it, then, we finally come to terms with the thought and start getting excited over it and now they're taken away. I feel like a pawn in a cruel game.

When Lyndsay was ready we walked down the hall, back to the waiting room to check in for her appointment with the doctor. "Are you ok?" she asked me. I shrugged, "I dunno," I said. "I guess it's a little bit of a relief because it's not high risk anymore, but I'm still sad." She agreed, "Did you tell Jimmi yet?" I shook my head, "I'll wait until we talk to the doctor, then I'll call him." The nurse called us in pretty quickly and she was all smiles. Did she know? She took Lyndsay's weight then brought us to an exam room, "Who did you bring with you?" she asked Lyndsay, referring to me. "This is the mom. I'm just the carrier," she said. The nurse was surprised then so impressed by our situation. She congratulated us both then sat at the computer to get started, "How did the ultrasound go?" she asked innocently. "Not great," I said. "There was only one heartbeat." The look on her face told us she had no idea what we'd just seen and she was legitimately concerned for us. The knock at the door interrupted us and Dr. R came right in. He sat up on the side of the exam table as Lyndsay and I sat on the bench and he asked, "So do you know what we saw in the ultrasound?" We both nodded. "I know it's hard when something like this happens and we really have no explanation for it, but sometimes it means there was a problem with one or both of the babies." We nodded again, "Will this affect the other one?" I asked. "It shouldn't," Dr. R explained, "Sometimes if there are identical twins and one doesn't make it, the other one will end up with neurological problems. But that little one is completely independent of the others. They were sharing a womb, but in completely different sacs. And just to let you know, it does look as if the twins were sharing both a placenta and a sac, so that means if they had continued to grow, Lyndsay probably would've ended up in the hospital between twenty and twenty-four weeks until she delivered." Of course they were sharing a placenta and a sac! I should've known since the chances of that were like 1 in 100,000. I really should play the lottery more often.

Dr. R explained that Lyndsay's plan would now change since she's only carrying a singleton and is no longer high risk. She can stay with him or go back to her regular OB, but he wanted to order one more ultrasound in two weeks to make sure Baby A gets through the highest spontaneous miscarriage period.  When he announced that he wanted to examine Lyndsay, I took that as my cue to step out and call Jimmi. It was still very early and I knew I'd be waking him up but I didn't really care. "Hello," his groggy voice answered. What do I say? How should I put it? "There's only one baby," I announced. He was obviously confused and probably still half asleep, "What?" he asked. "There's only one. The twins stopped growing sometime last week. They were still there but their hearts aren't beating." Truth be told, Jimmi had taken a long time to accept the fact that we were having three babies, but now that he had, the shock of two of them passing was clearly upsetting to him, "What happened? Did the doctor say why? Is the other one ok?" All questions I had asked myself, and all questions without good answers. "They just stopped. It happens. The other one seems ok for now, but she's not out of the general first trimester danger zone yet." He didn't know what to say, "Wow. I didn't expect that."

None of us did.

I suppose I could go on to write about my flight home being canceled, because that was just the perfect ending to the mishaps of my 24-hour trip, but I'm choosing to stop now and let the news sink in. We're having ONE baby. Please send out positive vibes that she continues to grow and thrive and is born happy and healthy.

RIP Angel Baby B and Angel Baby C. Mommy and Daddy love you.

Stuff

When you find out you're having a baby, you obviously know you're going to need new stuff. Everything from a crib to a bouncy seat to bottles to diapers and everything in between. One tiny baby can fill a fairly large house with stuff pretty quickly.

Now multiply that by three.

The overwhelming thoughts of everything we're going to need to raise triplets started clogging my mind as I searched the web for the top rated baby products on the market today. First on my list was a stroller. I prefer one that will hold the infant car seats so I won't have to wake all three babies each time I take them in and out of the car; not something I imagine us doing very often, mind you, but one must always be prepared! I quickly Googled my beloved Snap n Go, my favorite product from Dylan and Justin's infancies. Instead of a big, clunky travel system stroller, a Snap n Go is literally just the bars of the stroller where the car seat snaps in, with a large storage basket underneath. Ok, they have a double. Shit! No triple? C'mon! They have to have a triple! I can't be the only person in the world who's expecting triplets! I scrolled to the bottom of the website, clicked the "contact us" tab and proceeded to write a very complimentary e-mail about my product loyalty and the possibility of commissioning the company to make a triple Snap n Go just for me. I mean, really, how hard could it be? I'll fast forward the 24 hours it took to receive a reply and let you know that, apparently, it's very hard. "I do apologize for any troubles in finding a stroller that would fit your every day needs. Unfortunately we would not be able to place any special orders for a stroller, as out strollers are mass produced overseas."

Bummer.

And the search continued. I found out rather quickly that the market for triple strollers is very small; even smaller when you're looking for one that will hold three infant carriers! I narrowed it down to two choices. Actually, I didn't really narrow it down; I could only find two choices! One option is called a Triple Decker, which has two models, one that holds EvenFlo car seats and one that holds Graco car seats. The other option is made by the heavily priced, Italian company, Peg Perego, and, of course, it only holds Peg Perego car seats. To save a huge blow to the pocketbook, the Triple Decker seemed like the better way to go until I read a horrible safety review from a nanny of triplets that forced the purse strings to loosen on their own. Sticker shock aside, the Peg really seemed more practical, upon further investigation. Of course, it's very large, but I'm pretty sure there's no way around that issue if I want three babies to fit in one stroller. The positive points are that it comes with three removable seats that leave just the bars to attach car seats, similar to the Snap n Go, for when they're infants then, when they get older, we can put the actual seats back in and continue using the same stroller. Sounds practical, right? Ask me again next year and I'll let you know.

To continue my stroller dilemma, it was suggested to me by a triplet mom that we buy a double and single stroller for times when I'm not alone with all three babies. Honestly, the thought of being alone with three babies pretty much sends me over the edge right into Crazy Town, so this idea seemed like a great one. So now, not only will I need a triple stroller, but a double and single one too.

Awesome!

And then we'll need car seats. Since we've pretty much decided on the Peg Perego stroller, we have no choice but to purchase Peg Perego infant seats to go with it. Luckily it's a highly rated brand, but like the stroller, the car seat carries the hefty price tag with it...times three. Oh well. At least it comes in hot pink!

With the largest items basically chosen, the one purchase I'd managed to avoid since I ventured into motherhood almost 13 years ago seemed inevitable. "I'm gonna need to get a minivan," I whined to Jimmi. "No! No minivan!" he balked. "I don't have a choice," I insisted. "We'll have five kids!" He tried to convince me that my barely two year-old SUV would fit us all but I was quick to prove him wrong. "We won't be able to fit three car seats across the second row so one will have to go in the third row. There's no way to get back there without taking one of the car seat bases completely out and flipping the seat forward to get to the third row every time we get in and out of the car." Reluctantly, Jimmi agreed that, although we have a few months before we'll actually need it, we should probably take a look at our minivan options. We made it to the Honda dealership about 30 minutes before closing time and were immediately attacked by the nearest salesman to the entrance. His accent was thick when he introduced himself, "I'm Jesus (Hey-soos, not Gee-zus), what can I help you with today?" I held my head in shame as I requested a gander at a fully loaded Odyssey. "Right this way," Jesus pointed as he directed us outside into the chilly night air and around the side of the building. Interesting that the top-rated minivan wasn't readily available for viewing INSIDE the dealership. As we walked, I explained to Jesus that I currently have two preteen sons and now we're expecting triplets. I just need to mention how much fun it is to see the looks I get from everyone I tell about the girls. Generally, after they're able to close their mouths, they'll give me a once-over and ask some form of when I'm due. Normally I'll play with them a little and confuse them with my answers, but at that moment, while in the process of looking at a minivan, I was in no mood to play. I gave Jesus the short version of our story until our walk came to an end in front of a cranberry mom-mobile. There's gotta be another option! "Go ahead and sit in the driver's seat," Jesus instructed as I cautiously opened the door, hoping my hand wouldn't fall off with the first touch. I forced myself to get into the car and sit down, all the while "oohing" and "ahhing" at the sheer practicality and convenience of the machine. Until I turned around to look behind me. "It's too small," I announced, stifling my excitement. Jesus stopped his mechanical sales pitch and instantly attempted to tell me that every minivan will be the same size, but THIS one has a built in vacuum! "That's cool," I agreed, "though a wet-vac would probably be a better idea." The poor guy looked defeated so I changed my argument back to the size of the vehicle. "Yes, there are technically enough seats," I explained, "but there are only two chairs in the middle row and a bench seat in the third row. I'll have to put two car seats in the middle, then walk the third one through the center aisle to the back row. It's doable, but not really convenient. Plus, the older boys will be very cramped back there with the baby carrier between them." Jesus was grasping at straws, "You can have one sit in the front seat, right?" You're not gonna win this argument, Dude. I have an answer for anything you're gonna throw at me. "Yes," I started, "as long as my husband isn't with us." Shot down! But I continued, "And let's say, for argument's sake, we all fit inside. What will we do with the giant stroller?" Jesus was out of ideas. But that didn't stop him from asking, "So, if I come up with the right number for you, can you put a deposit down tonight?" Seriously? What part of "there's no way in Hell I am driving this car" did he not understand? "I really don't think we can do that now, but we'll take your card and call you if we change our minds."

Jimmi and I got back into my beautiful SUV and started driving up the road. "What else can we get?" I asked him as I looked around, remembering all the other dealerships in the area. "Maybe a Navigator?" Jimmi suggested just as a Lincoln dealership magically appeared on our right. I slammed on the brake and turned the wheel quickly into the parking lot. We had about just about 15 minutes to peruse the options inside. The showroom was split; Ford on the right and Lincoln on the left. We made a left and a cocky, young manager showing way too many teeth shoved his hand out to us, "Hi, I'm Rob. What can I do for you today?" There wasn't time for smalltalk, "Well, we're having triplets and I already have two kids so..." He cut me off, "Let me show you the Navigator." He headed over to the suggested car and I was thrilled that I wasn't having the same feeling of panic as I had at Honda. Rob opened the doors and let us look inside. It was much bigger than the minivan and way more acceptable for my style. But then he opened the back. "I still don't think I can fit a triple stroller in here," I said with disappointment and a little bit of fear that I might end up with a cargo trailer attached to any vehicle I decide to buy. Just then, a salesman walked by, "You want the extended Navigator," he said, almost in a whisper, as if he was giving away a huge secret. The manager nodded and exclaimed, "That's why he's the salesman and I'm on the management team!" Cocky Rob left us with the nerdy, awkward salesman, who immediately asked for my license so I could test drive the giant car. "Aren't you closing in a few minutes?" I asked as he somehow managed to pull my phone number and e-mail address out of me. "Don't worry! It's my job to make sure you're happy!" Ok. Can you just GIVE me the car? That would make me happy! We followed Sales Nerd out to the lot and he pulled a large, white Navigator of of the last space in the back. The thing was enormous. It had two bucket seats in the second row, which could be ordered as a bench instead, and a bench in the third row. The storage area was a perfect size as well. I hopped into the driver's side and adjusted everything I needed to adjust, put the car in drive and headed out onto the main road. "It drives like a car," I said as I followed Nerdy McNerdson's directions around the block. Fifteen minutes later we were back at the dealership following the leader to the showroom. Knowing we're nowhere near ready to buy anything, I really just wanted to leave, but the sales pitch was coming! "I think you need to buy this car right now," the manager tried to joke when we returned, "because I don't think I'll be able to get it back into that spot again!" He was so proud of himself for that one and Jimmi and I faked some giggles. Sales Nerd excused himself to find a brochure and left Rob the Dick to chat with us in his absence. "Wow, triplets," he said. "You must be freaking out!" That's helpful, Dick, I mean Rob, thanks. "Yeah, it's crazy," Jimmi said trying not to egg him on. "It's amazing," Dick Rob went on, "you don't look pregnant at all!" The chance I'd passed up at the last dealership presented itself again and this time, I took it, "I'm not," I smiled. Rob's shit-eating grin straightened across his face and his dumbass remarks were silenced, "I...ah...you...but...Aren't you having triplets?" I kept the fun going, "Yes," I said, "but I'm not pregnant. He knocked up a woman in Minnesota and I've agreed to take the babies on as my own." Rob's face turned white and, while I was thoroughly enjoying myself, I decided to put him out of his misery and tell him the truth. "Wow! You scared me for a minute there!" he laughed. Nerd Boy returned with a brochure and asked if we'd like to make a deal tonight. We declined and he promised to call in a few days to see if we'd changed our minds. Oh, goody! And, finally, we were allowed to leave. "That was a nice car," I said to Jimmi as we drove home. And then a thought popped into his head, "Why don't you go see Lelica about an Escalade?" He was referring to one of our friends whose family owns a Cadillac dealership, among others. I quickly sent her a message on Facebook, "Tell me about the Escalade." Within minutes we had a plan to meet at her dealership the next afternoon.

It was a beautiful day for a drive as we traveled just a few miles to Lelica's dealership the following day. She greeted us in the showroom and introduced us to her husband, Jay, and we all went outside to look at the star of the day, the Escalade. It was very similar to The Navigator in most ways, but it seemed a bit more luxurious. Within minutes, the keys were in my hand and I was adjusting mirrors and seats. "Can we take it back to our house to see if it fits in the garage?" I asked, half seriously. "Sure," Lelica said. "Take it wherever you want, just be back before we close!" Since we live very close, and having a car that fits in our garage is actually a real concern, I headed in the direction of home. "For such a big car, it's really easy to drive," I told Jimmi as I moved from the main road to the backroads, into our development, and finally pulled into our driveway. "Can you get out and direct me?" I asked Jimmi. I normally don't have a problem getting into my garage, but this tank dwarfed my Lexus and I didn't want anything to happen to it. You break it you buy it! echoed through my head as I followed Jimmi's hand signals and moved slowly into the spot. "Wait!" I stopped right before the side mirrors reached the door and quickly looked around and finally found the button to retract them. That was close. Little by little, inch by inch, I pulled the Escalade into my garage. When Jimmi held up his hand signaling me to stop, I turned off the engine and got out of the car. It fit! Yes, we'd probably need to take the shelving on the front wall of the garage down, but that's easy enough. The important thing is that the car we might need to buy to fit our family of seven, plus all of our stuff, fit in our garage! When we were done admiring how the giant, white beast looked at our house, we headed back to the dealership to report the news to Lelica and Jay. This time, we actually wanted to sit down and talk about trade-ins and order time and numbers, just to get an idea. Since they're friends and they know our situation, there was absolutely no pressure and we could relax while discussing all the options. Jimmi and I left the dealership feeling like another choice could be crossed off our growing list of baby needs.

Strollers, car seats, a new car...these things don't even scratch the surface of all the stuff we're gonna need to buy, steal, borrow or inherit in the next few months! But I'm gonna stop thinking about that now and concentrate on the next few days. I'm going to Minnesota tomorrow! Lyndsay's next ultrasound is scheduled for Friday, just a few days shy of the 9-week mark. I can't wait to see our little munchkins again! Maybe we'll have some answers about the twins and their sacs and placentas. Don't forget, we're hoping for separate placentas and separate amniotic sacs so we can breathe a tiny bit easier knowing that a small amount of risk would be avoided in these cases. But, if they're sharing either or both, we'll have to take it day by day and hope for the best. Come to think of it, that's been a running theme in my life for the last two years or so. Maybe I should finally learn to live by that rule!