And (w)here's the other one

I love you too. Now, go jump on your dad.

And here’s the other one

on August 22, 2012

I found out a few weeks ago that I was going to be having my first child. At the age of twenty eight, and having for some time now been feeling the adverse effects of those infamous ticks of my biological clock, I was pretty excited: even if it was a little unexpected. Dad (Andrew), however, was taking a little longer to come around to the idea. He was the quintessential man of the situation, looking at our little bundle of joy more like a new big bundle of bills and responsibilities that he wasn’t quite ready for. He wore a look of utter shock for about a week, but  ultimately though, he began to make since of the situation, and his excitement grew with each passing day. From the beginning, he waited on me hand and foot, never allowing me to do anything beyond getting up to go to the bathroom (which I did a lot. Mostly just to be able to leave the room). It was a little irritating due to the fact that I estimated I was no further along than about six weeks and, at this rate, would probably be treated like an invalid for months to come. But, he was at least taking to his new role actively and in good spirits. It was adorable. The idea that he would be an amazing father never failed my expectations. I know that he is a worrier and that he will more than likely be a bundle of nerves, not only as the pregnancy progresses, but forevermore: especially if it were a little girl.

After taking the first of two home pregnancy test (with the result having come back like a whisper-the little pink line may have been completely missed by someone less willing to see it), I was thoroughly convinced; however, Andrew was still on the fence about the entire thing. “We don’t know for sure,” he would say, but I knew. I had felt it for some time at that point, and the test was merely a confirmation to what I was already feeling happening inside of me. After reading the outside of the box a couple hundred times, I told him that even a faint line meant positive and that false positives were virtually myths, but he wasn’t convinced – at least not 100%. So, we took a second test the next day, with a result that was undeniable: “Yes.” He was still considering the possibility that it was all fluke. Andrew: the eternal optimist.

I made an appointment with my nurse practitioner, bought (or borrowed) a bunch of books (thank you Amazon Prime), read incessantly (something I became really good at having been a literature major at Fresno State), changed my eating and drinking habits with incredible ease – I never really drank alcohol (anymore :-)), but a caffeine junky I was – and all of this, oddly enough lead to one major change in my life: I stopped sleeping. I would wake up, always at exactly at 1:00am, thinking about things like possibly having and incompetent uterus, or if I had too much salt in my diet, or how much longer it would be before I needed to buy me some of those stretchy pregnant jeans? I feared the upcoming appointment would go something like this:

Me: So, I’m pregnant (smile)

NP: Ok, let’s take some blood to confirm. (blood test comes back within seconds) Are you an idiot? You’re not pregnant.

I felt like there was strong possibility that I was stupid and didn’t know how to accurately interpret the result of the pee stick. Maybe the two pink lines, the resounding “Yes”, and little smiley face meant, “congratulations! You’re not burdened with a child. Have a drink!”  I thought maybe I bought the test from the wrong section of pregnancy tests, like they were split up between tests for hopefuls and tests for the “let’s-hope-nots.” When I finally went to the appointment, my NP and I talked a bit. She asked if I had taken a home test. I told her I had taken two-both positive- and her response was: “Well, in that case, congratulations.” I then was alleviated for about 5 seconds.

After making a subsequent appointment with who would be my new ob/gyn, she sent me for some blood work to check hcg levels. Andrew and I then told he world of our impending family expansion. After the crying and the mom shrieks, my eleven year old brother wondering if the baby had already been born, and his brother finally believing that we weren’t lying, we both began to feel ready. The support from both families has been amazing, and we knew this baby – the first grandchild on both side and the the first great grandchild on three of the four – would be brought into a world ripe with unconditional love. And toys. And clothes. And learning tools. And anything and everything else the grandmas and aunties and godparents could get their hands on.

I continued to read and educate myself on what to expect from my first ob/gyn appointment, and three days later Andrew and I found ourselves in an exam room waiting for the first ultra sound to be performed. As Andrew sat in the corner holding my purse, obviously uncomfortable, I was laying on my back with my feet in those awkward stirrups thingies with a very gentle man moving a wand around inside of me looking to capture a picture of our developing baby. He then pulled back the curtain, telling Dad to come round and stand next to me so as to be able to see the monitor. He began pointing to a little black ball with a squiggly white blob inside of it. “This is your baby,” he said about the white blob. He then pointed to a fluttering blackish spot, stating “and this is the heart.” He them moved his hand pointing to another blob and said, “and here’s the other one.”

My initial reaction was one of hope. I thought maybe he was saying that my baby simply had two hearts. I though this could be good: we would have an extra in case of emergency. We could sale it for college money, donate it to a friend in need, or just have a spare in the event that our child’s heart inevitably gets broken. Then, a millisecond later, I came to my senses and realized there were two future babies growing inside of me. “What?” I eloquently asked, with no real reaction from the doctor as the nurse buzzed about in giddy splendor. The doctor began talking about how they were in separate sacks and about how they are around two days apart with a due date of about April 10th and the genetic benefits to having fraternal twins rather than identical and all I really got from everything he said at the time was the word “twins.” I’m having twins…

After the shock wore down – never off – I began to joke about how we were going to have to decide which one was cuter and keep that one. The nurse found that reluctantly funny. I told her that we could afford one, but not two, so we were going to have to “home school” them starting at the age of about 12 so that they could go out and get a job to support themselves. Luckily she knew I was joking and didn’t report me to the authorities.  Drew stood strong and silent, the look of sheer terror on his face mirrored that of the fear I felt inside but was managing to mask with inappropriate humor.

This was less than tree days ago, and I’m still in a little bit of shock. Drew too, but he has taken to the news of two much easier than the initial news of just one. Our biggest issue right now is where we are gong to put everything: like cribs. Can we get bunk cribs? Is there such a thing? Drew confided in me saying that if both babies need changing at the same time, he won’t know who to change first, because he wouldn’t want one to feel less loved  than the other. I smiled, laughed a little, and just hugged him. We have plenty of time for things like that to be worked out, but with everything to come, this is definitely going to be a journey.

There are two…

Expectantly,

Jeni

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3 responses to “And here’s the other one

  1. Ang says:

    Please keep blogging! I have heard all this before and still relished every word. I can’t wait for the babies to know what a gifted writer their mother is.

    Also, for the record, I’m with Drew about the changing predicament. A modest proposal: I think they should take turns being changed first. It’s just more organized that way. Once my sister and I were old enough to sit in the front seat of the car, whenever my mom would take us anywhere, one of us would get to sit in the front seat on the way up, and the other would get to sit there on the way back. Who would get the way up spot would also be taken in turns. Long car rides had more complicated seating schedules. We have upheld this arrangement to this day. An unspoken gentleman’s agreement.

  2. Staci says:

    very beautiful…

  3. jenilynnn says:

    This blog has been the greatest thing for me. I am having so much fun and an so happy that you are all enjoying it. Thank you so much.

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