Believing

We have assorted ultrasound photos tacked to the fridge, along with the most recent referral form, which says at the bottom, “twin gestation”.  So most of the time that I do something in the kitchen, my eyes fall on one or some of these items, and whoa.

Pregnant.

Twins.

I’m four and a half months through this thing–halfway, considering that full term for twins is 37 weeks instead of 40–and it still hits me occasionally. The magnitude of the whole thing. The alienness of having new life bumbling around inside, and that there are two of them! TWO. OF. THEM.

We are very lucky in that we get to see at least a quick sonogram at every OB visit. (We go to an office/hospital a couple blocks away, and since Andy also works nearby, he can and does come to all the appointments with me.) With a singleton, the OB can use an instrument to just hear the heartbeat to make sure everything is still kicking. But with more than one, you can’t pick out discrete beats audibly, so she does a quick sonogram to check visually.

We had an appointment last week, and we saw one of the aliens swallow, and the other alien was having a full-on party, dancing or playing the drums or something. I could see not just the bones, but the lighter gray tissue of its actual limbs all moving around.

GOOD LORD THERE ARE TWO ACTUAL MINIATURE PEOPLE IN THERE.

It is just so weird. So weird!

And that makes me feel odd. It seems like most pregnancy things I read (and I’ve definitely been doing my share of reading) talk about their delight and love and feeling all beautiful Mother Earth Goddessy.

This whole thing has been such a surprise that I often feel like it just hasn’t sunk in, still. Maybe it’s partly because I still occasionally have trouble believing that I’m a grown-up. Maybe it’s partly because it hasn’t been so physical on the outside (YET), so it’s less real because I can’t see it. (That is beginning to change–the seeing part, I mean.) Or maybe it’s because I was never one of those people who always knew she wanted to be a mother from the age of whatever. (Remember that I helped care for my two much younger siblings, so babies are not exactly mysterious beautiful things for me.)  I’m not sure what it says about me and my future parenting potential if I’m not beaming beatifically all the time at my belly and at the world. Does it mean that since it’s so hard to believe this is actually happening, I won’t be good at it?

I already worry about these aliens, insomuch as what I am or am not doing for them. Am I cooking them appropriately? Since I don’t eat meat or eggs or fish am I doing something bad for their development? Are the vitamins really enough of a substitute? Will they come out okay? (For the record, the first round of chromosomal testing came through all clear. Second round results in a couple weeks.)

I’m a little protective too. I already hate, loathe, abhor cigarette smoke and I wish it would be banned from any kind of public open space. And now that I’m carrying some innocent life that’s still building itself, I find that I hate having to walk by smokers even more for polluting the air, my air, the aliens’ air.

So at least I’m already looking out for what’s best for them. That’s good, right?

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