Also titled: "No Sleep! Til Brooklyn!" or "Why is my font so big?"
I have an announcement that y'all have been waiting for-
Les Babies are Home!!!! Weeee!!!!! They have been paroled from the NICU and I can't believe somebody actually thought I am capable enough to have left the hospital with them (I suspect the nurses were taking hits off Cassidy's oxygen tank). That's right- Cassidy's on oxygen (sucks a big one), but they still let her come home. Weeeee!!!
Let me give you a run-down of the past 24 hours:
We had the slowest....talking....nurse...ever....zzzzzzzzzz
B and I are pretty sure it took her about an hour and a half to review 4 topics, none of which involved rocket science. To me, this is an unforgivable offense. My time is precious, people. I sat there alternating between thoughts of,
"Shut up and let me take my babies home!",
"I haven't pumped in 4 hours and my boobs are going to explode!"
"I could really use a sandwich", and
"Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz. Oops. I think I just drooled myself."
B said it was pretty evident that my ADHD had kicked in. Oh well...
So since Nurse Slow Talker, had taken so.....long.... to get through our discharge, we had some pump timing and eat-timing issues. (For those of you who know me well, I tend to wind up on the floor if I don't eat regularly). So our homecoming was characterized by me dumping the babies in my parents' arms and running upstairs, banana in hand, for some sweet mammory relief.
Finn started screaming bloody murder about 2 minutes later and Noah the Dog was slobbering all over the babies' heads. I came downstairs to a whole new world- Baby Paraphenalia EVERYWHERE. Where did my house go? Me thinks it went the way of my bar-hopping, sleep-filled life...Ah, sweet chaos....
Speaking of, this brings us to-
THE FIRST NIGHT:
9pm- feeding & putting the babies down- We had 4 grandparents help with feeding, burping, and changing. We settled our precious nuggets of genetic legacy into a co-sleeper and kept visiting them to "ooh" and "aw" over how cute they looked. Confidence in this parenting gig abounded.
12am- B, Grandpa, and I changed the babies. B & Grandpa fed them while I hooked myself up to the milking machine. We put them back into the co-sleeper and climbed into bed. Babies were a little fussy but it seemed manageable.
3am- and 0 hours of slumber later...B & I stumbled downstairs to get bottles. Mr. Finn had been groaning, grunting, and crying for all 3 hours. Repeat 12am tasks but without any finesse. B kept tripping over Cassidy's oxygen tube and cursing. Noah kept trying to slobber over the baby's heads, and I tried (unsuccessfully) to help while attached to my effing machine.
5:30am- and 5 minutes of slumber later...Finn's grunts turned into full-on Upset Baby FEED ME NOW OR I WILL DIE! screaming. I brought him downstairs and tried to console him while heating up a bottle. My confidence- Gone. Somewhere between crying fits (mine and his), I finally got him fed and started to change him downstairs. And "OH MY GOD! I NEED MY DIAPER CHANGED NOW OR I WILL DIE! But wait- there's time to pee on my head while screaming bloody effing murder!" B woke up and I told him, "I think Finn might be an asshole." That's right people- I called my baby an asshole... And then I started to cry inconsolably.
7am- (still no sleep- I had to pump milk after all this drama people). My mother walked into our room and offered to take over- YES PLEASE!!! B and I finally got some sleep and woke up at about 11am when OH MY GOD! MY BOOBS MIGHT EXPLODE!
And I basically felt like death warmed over the rest of the day.... People weren't joking about this whole parenthood business.