An Epic Birthday.

I'll bet when you read "epic", you thought of a few words. Wonderful, perhaps? Fabulous? Amazing? The best ever? Well, in this case, the context of epic, was epically bad. But more on that later.

First, a happy Thanksgiving to you all. We had a spectacular day around here. Both of my parents and stepparents, as well as Andy's mom and stepdad, descended on our house, feast in hand. We literally didn't have to lift a finger, including to hold babies, who were cuddled from start to finish. The only blemish on the day was that my awesome sister, The Bug, whose idea the whole celebration was, got sick and was unable to join us. Though the day was wonderful, her presence would have made it a little sweeter. That, and a Packers win. Don't even get me started on our beloved Packers season thus far.

The day after Thanksgiving, our Micah (SweetMicah) came down with a cold, followed quickly by Becker (Spaceman, Squeaks), Roland (The Gunslinger) and Marin Grace (Pork Pie, Baby Girl). Can you imagine having four sick two month olds? It's as bad as you've imagined. I'm pretty sure that Andy was excited to go back to work today.

On another topic, did you know that the 22nd was my due date? That these babies would be just a week old now had I held off until then? Amazing, when I reflect on all they have accomplished in just a couple months; breathing on their own, lifting their heads, trying to roll, smiling, cooing, Marin beating a PDA and a pneumothorax, perfecting a hundred different cries to signal their needs, following rattles with their eyes, taking nearly four ounces from their bottles at each feed, and so many other things that are too numerous to list here.

Here's a little glimpse at then and now.

I call Micah SweetMicah for exactly the reason you'd guess. He is amazingly sweet. If you were to pick him up you'd find that he just melts into you. He's not fussy, he doesn't cry much, he loves to look around, and he loves to make eye contact. He's just, well, sweet. The poor boy did run into a bit of bad luck though. A couple weeks ago he started losing his hair. On top. Only on top. He still has his nice dark side hair, but on top, nothing. With a hat on he looks like his same sweet self, but take off the hat, and you have Terry Bradshaw. Needless to say, it's hat on for now.

Sweet Baby.

Terry Bradshaw.

Little Becker is the comedian of the group. I wish I could tell you why. Is it the squeaks? The squawks? The funny faces? The hair sticking up? All of these? It's hard to say for sure, but whatever it is, he makes everyone laugh. Unfortunately for him, it's even hard to take him seriously when he's crying because that's funny too. He and Roland are tied for lightest baby now at just about seven pounds each, but Becker seems smaller because he's shorter that Roland. He may turn out to be our stocky guy. We'll see, but for now, he's the funny guy.

Roland is wide-eyed and curious. He adores looking around the room, and spends more and more time awake these days. He is crazy about his Sit Me Up Floor Seat. He is also not afraid to let us know when he is displeased. His cry is definitely attention-getting, complete with tears and lip-quiver. Andy thinks Roland is the momma's boy of the pack, and this momma is fine with that! Roland is still a little guy, but getting taller by the day. I'm guessing that he's working on becoming long and lean like dad.

And then there's our Baby Girl. Marin Grace is one of a kind. She's growing every day, and in the last few weeks since she's been able to take a bottle and kicked the feeding tube, her chubby cheeks are beginning to shrink. For a while, the lack of exercising her cheek muscles had her looking an awful lot like Quagmire on Family Guy. She is beginning to look facially proportionate at last! Our little Pork Pie is, however, not without her issues. First, she still goes cross eyed from time to time, though this is getting better every week. Next, I'll try to put this delicately, she struggles with occasional, er, frequent, gas. Last, when she cries, it's less like a baby crying and more like a sheep blatting, if that sheep were two hundred pounds and using a megaphone. Despite all this, we couldn't be crazier about her. I just melt when she looks at me, and when she smiles I'd probably give her chocolate if she asked. She's becoming quite the little charmer, despite her less ladylike moments.

Many people ask how we feed four babies. When Andy and I are both at home, we feed two at a time. When Andy is at the office, the old adage, "the squeaky wheel gets the grease" proves true. I feed whoever is grumpiest first, then the other two. The strongest feeder goes on the side and the weaker on our laps. My Aunt Jayne captured the feeding routine, as well as a lot of the other photos posted today, during her visit Saturday, when she dropped off about two thousand diapers for the crew. Two thousand, by the way, is not an exaggeration. The diapers, the visit, and the great photos were all much appreciated.

Burping Roland while feeding Micah.

The classic Double Burp.

Okay, on to the epic birthday. Is is Murphy's Law that says anything that can go wrong, will? Well, that's the kind of day we had Sunday, which happened to be The Hubs Birthday. I can spare you a lot of the details by simply reminding you that we were home with sick quadruplets, and that neither Andy nor I were feeling anywhere near 100% to boot.

The evening, fittingly, was just as bad as the rest of the day had been. Let me try to set the scene for you. I was upstairs with the babies, at least two of which were screaming at the top of their lungs at all times. The babies not screaming were busying themselves alternating between coughing and sneezing. Every four and a half seconds or so I was sucking snot out of one of them with the NoseFrida, a nifty tool which allows me to neatly suck gobs of snot using my own mouth and a flexible tube. Yes, gross.

Andy, in an attempt at a much needed escape, decided to head to the basement to start construction a base for the new, quad sized washer and dryer we have arriving tomorrow. (Note: When I say quad sized, I do not mean that we will be putting babies into the washer or dryer, but that the capacity will be large enough to allow us to keep up with the massive amount of laundry the quads generate. Please do not email me imploring me not to put babies in the appliances.) I suspect that the combined music of screaming, sawing and drilling would have quickly driven any visitors out the door that night!

As he worked, Andy, ever a keen observer, noted a change in his environment, namely the sudden appearance of a liquid. Dripping. On his head. A less than pleasant smelling liquid. When he came upstairs to learn the source of the liquid, it was discovered that our Beagle Dog, Lambeau had chosen that moment to pee on the wood floor. To give you a better sense of how incredible this is, let me clarify the following. I can count only a handful of times that Lambeau has ever gone to the bathroom in the house. It happens maybe once a year. Maybe less. Couple that with the fact that Andy spends probably less than ten minutes per year standing in that precise spot in the basement. Add to that the fact that his Birthday rolls around just once per year, and the fact that these three events came together on the same day at precisely the correct moment makes the whole thing pretty incredible. I think Andy will come to see the humor in it. Someday.

I leave you with a video of all the peanuts looking pretty darn cute, just being themselves. As the late, great Fred Rogers would say, "I like you just the way you are".

Until next time!

Jen and Andy
SweetMicah, Spaceman, The Gunslinger and Pork Pie