So we're all good, all five of us.
Apart from sleeping through most of my days and nights the wonder drugs the hospital put me on have reduced vomiting to only the most inconvenient moments, such as when showering, or mid-conversation with someone. Other than that I'm free to eat and drink as before, minus the appetite I once owned.
I fly between giddy delight, excitement and utter terror at the drop of a hat.
The terror usually begins when I remember that I actually have to get these three babies out again, something I spend a great deal of my time trying not to dwell on.
I've managed to reconcile myself with having to close the business down 'temporarily' or at least for a year if not longer (it's probably going to be years) when I get too big, tired and run off my feet by little ones to dare multi-task two full-time roles.
The biggest reconciliation came when being told yet another frightening statistic for how the 3B's (much nicer than continually saying triplets, doncha think - the word 'triplets' starts to sound threatening after a while..) are likely to be in NICU or not make it if born too early. One ten minute crying jag at D about how our babies might die puts a heck of a lot into perspective I can tell you.
I still get scared, scared of trying to breastfeed three babies when I can't grow an extra boob, scared pregnancy is going to be uncomfortable to the point of pain as several triplet carriers have recounted and every now and then I want to put my hands up, book myself in at a clinic and make it go away because I'm almost certain I can't do this.
Then I inevitably remember that we're going to have three children and the happy gets in the way of all the throat-closing fear, at least temporarily.
No one in my town has had triplets for 10+ years, even the hospital is doing research into it, which doesn't fill me with the greatest feeling of security.
But I try remember it will all be okay, that I can deal with whatever comes my way and that any pain of discomfort is just a moment in time and will pass eventually.
D is a god among men, putting up with my orders that he completely guts the interior of the house, NOW, only to change my mind and decide that we need to move, to change it back when I don't want to leave our home.
I still catch him staring at me out of the corner of my eye, he murmurs how much he loves me in my ear all the time, tells me he's proud of what I'm doing, even when I fall asleep every time we try have movie or "alone time."
He is the embodiment of patience and is trying to both work full time, take care of me and the house, learn to cook and run parts of my business. Superman has nothing on him right now...well apart from the flying.