[Special note: I just wanted to say thanks to all my people for the suggestions on my last post! I received great ideas and advice, and couldn’t be more grateful for your help. XO – Jodi]
Since I’m having twins, my pregnancy is automatically considered “High Risk”. Bullocks. I mean, all that’s meant to me thus far is that I’m treated to many many ultrasounds, which are essentially Pregnant Lady Gold. Pregnant women, the ones I’ve met anyway, (and the one that I am) we love to watch our babies kicking and punching, and trying to match up these creatures with the constant pummeling we are feeling. My doctor’s office is fancy pants enough to have 4D imaging (and I have no idea how that’s different from 3D but whatever). So when I get a look at these little weirdos I’m building, I get to see more than the customary black and white representation. It’s a sepia-toned freakfest, what with all the organs and liquid and imperfections of the technology which sometimes makes it look like a giant hole is opening up and then closing on my baby’s head.
But at yesterday’s appointment, Anson went with me. I have to say these doctors and ultrasound technicians really know what they’re doing when the father comes around. Typically, it’s all business – the head is this big, the heart rate is this many BPM’s, your cervix is AWESOME (thank you very much) blah blah blah. But when dad is in the room, things get very, very cute. The girl running images of our baby took 4D picture after picture of our baby (Baby A as he’s known – Baby B wasn’t having it and kept his head strategically placed towards my spine so we couldn’t see anything but his bum. But that was cute too. I’m his mom – whaddyawant?) The tech kept commenting on how “chubby” Baby A is, how cute he is, what a great nose he has – and Anson and I were eating it up like the hungry parents we are. We sat there and watched the baby sleep in real-time video, saw him swinging at my body in real-time, and marveled at his contortionists abilities. This is only the second time Anson’s been able to come around to an appointment, and the second time he’s been able to look at these kids.
And my husband, the hotshot? A total sap. Anyone who knows Anson well knows that he’s a little weepy – a sentimental kid with a heart so big that the smallest thing can trigger some teary eyes. But when his “Dad” button is triggered, forget it. No he didn’t wail and sob, but he was wide-eyed with the happiness of a kid who’s just been told he can stay up until midnight. In a candy shop. With no adult supervision.
I think I buzz-kill him just the slightest bit though because he cracks me up and I can’t exactly arrive at the same sentimental wonderland that he lives in. I love seeing him there, but there is a little mockery on my part – not cool, I know – but true! I have to admit, however that underneath my giggles and eye-rolls, I’m probably feeling the same things as he is. Afterall – here I am, gushing about it online. Totally goofy.
So the word, as of yesterday: all is well. These guys are big and fat, just like babies should be. I’m healthy and still able to (almost) keep up with Roan. All my vitals are what they should be, and this “High Risk” thingy is going just as normally as can be. I’m just wondering if it is actually possible for my belly to stretch further. I’m assured that it will, and that it is indeed possible. What a strange thing. Strange and fascinating and cool.