Alright, gametime. Let's do this.

Leeeeeeeeeeeeeerooooooooooy. Jenkins!

Glitter is the Trojan Horse of the Holidays

Admittedly, this is entirely unrelated to babies; but I need to get it off my chest.

Glitter. No, seriously, there's glitter on my chest and I don't know where it came from. It's under my fingernails, in my hair and there's a single speck of it on my cheek.

You can't wash it off, you can't pick it off, and you can't avoid it.

Me: Oh, look a delightful card from my [insert relative].

Card: Open me. Do it, do it now.

Me: *tear open the envelope in a way that abby says is "weird"*

Card: Muahahah! I have you now!

Me: huh. it's spine-up, and if I want that precious gift card guilt free, I have to handle the card, open and read it, and then act like the gift card is a secondary bonus to the love and affection scrawled on the card's inner folds.

Card: You will notice that my face is made of one gigantic snowflake, made of blue and white glitter.

Me: *Gasp*

I'm as guilty of giving glitter as anyone. It makes a card look classy and unique, like the pearlescent ice crystal it pictures. The problem is that once glitter passes through your door, it's harder to get rid of than some sort of lice-bedbug hybrid. It's easier to burn the carpet and bathe in turpentine.

The worst part is that it never occurs to me that I'm accepting that nice wooden horse until hours later when I find a few shiny things in a bowl of malt-o-meal.

Hearts, Stars, and Horseshoes; Clovers and Oh-my-god-another-damn-sparkle!

Sadly, at some point someone told the entire holiday based industry that 'tis the season to bedazzle. So everything is a logjam of twinkle and cheer, used interchangably. Ornaments, cards, Puff Paints, cookies, baby powder, wrapping paper, toilet paper, kitsch; if it's holiday themed, it will leave an unremovable legacy.

I think I like that I'm going to be reminded of the holidays in a few months when I find glitter at the bottom of an infrequently used glass.

Merry Christmas

I was going to try to write a big holiday post and rhyme thematic words such as stocking, nutcracker, and Organized Crime. However, as I started writing I realized that I'm n vacation, and that sounded like a lot of friggin work. Instead, I'm going to list off a few of the things that have developed, as we're getting close to the "Yank Day." By the way, I'm totally going to put that on the birthday cakes until the girls learn how to read. "Happy First Yank Day!" Actually, that could backfire...

Anyhow, the scheduled C-section is on the 28th, and we're plunging right into the face of it. If we make it without the celebrations triggering a bad case of nature, we'll have beat the twins average by almost 4 weeks.

Our parents are worked into a fine lather about these babies. It's understandable, as they're the first grandkids on either side. It's delightful, and endearing. If we play our cards right we may be able to swing 5 "date nights" a week.

The tree is up, and it looks lovely. As we were buying it, the teen working for the tree farm helped us fine a beautiful, and he claimed, long lasting tree. He then loaded it to the car and tied it down. Only as he awkwardly put his hand out and said, "Merry Christmas" did I realize we were probably supposed to tip him. Neither of us carry cash very often though, and I panicked. It flitted through my head to offer him the Safeway coupons I had clipped and stashed in my pocket for dinner makings. I quickly decided that would be bad form. My mind went blank, and I could come up with was, "Uh... Yeah... Go Jesus." shook his empty, pine tar covered, hand and got in the car. We debated getting cash at the grocery store and going back to tip him the accustomed couple bucks, but decided he probably had already written us off as ungenerous jerks and moved on with his life.

Abby has started swelling more often now. When she's up and moving it's the legs. When she's laying down or napping it's the hands. Most of her day is spend delicately balancing the fluids in her extremities. I imagine it as a teeter-totter with overstuffed bags of ground beef on either end.

We're both very ready to not have pregnancy as the defining characteristic of our lives. I suppose it with be replaced very shortly by parenthood, but that supposedly is "emotionally rewarding" and "biologically imperative." Also, it's not like watching an A&E prime time special on battered women with terminal diseases.

Regardless, we're doing well, and there's no babies yet. If we don't talk to anyone this holiday season it's not because we're trying to insult your honor, it's because we don't think you're important enough to talk to. Not really, it's probably because we're elbow deep in mustard colored poo.

Toil And Trouble

Abby has realized that as she's getting close to delivering, she's getting puffier. Puffy isn't the same thing as big, fat, or rotund. I want to make that very clear; she's a svelte and shapely person, that just happens to have a pair of stowaways.

As a result, she decided to finally take off the wedding ring. She did it to avoid all sorts of things that could happen if she swelled up and couldn't get the ring of with the normal combination of spit and pulling. Some gruesome examples include, but are not limited to:

-Finger amputation

-Gangren

e

-unsightly sausage fingers

-having to cut the ring off

-Loss of ability to play the piano

-Loss of

ability to give a proper high five

Anyhow, she decided that it was time to finally put it away. I have to give her credit, she ditched her other rings a couple months ago, but "Valued our bond" (groan) so much that she was reluctant to take it off. Plus, the guys at the Applebee's bar wouldn't hit on her as much without the wedding ring.

Pictured: Proof I'm a good Husband... oh hey, can I buy you a drink?

So she globs some slobber on her ring finger and gives a gentle tug to get it to slide free. No dice. It's worn out a delightful rut, and begun to integrate into the matrix of her hand-flesh.

Ok, no problem, we'll just throw som

e hand soap on there to help it slide up the proverbial hill. Sadly, being an engineer I know that thinks don't tend to slide up hills. I do not mention this though, as I don't think she's in the mood for a newtonian physics lesson.

Soap is unsuccessful, and now her finger is swollen from being rubbed, abraded and squeezed. Cue the anxiety attack.

A: "It won't come off."

M: "Don't pick at it, and calm down, it's ok."

A: "I can't calm down. My finger is goign to pop, there's too much blood in it!"

M: "I doubt that's true."

A: "Shut up. Look at my finger."

M: "Holy smokes, there's too much finger on the end of your finger. You could pick your nose while you pick your nose."

This is a joke about this.

After some research (By research I mean googling "How the crap do I get my wedding ring off?") Abby was sitting with her hand in the air holding an icepack for a few minutes. Then, she went all Lady Macbeth on that ring and she got out that damn spot.

End of story: her ring finger is bruised and scratched, the ring is safely stored, and the Gestation continues.

Cocked Pistol

Ok, I'm not sure how long we're going to be able to handle the "imminent" thing.

I feel like I'm watching a little kid playing with a jack in the box. He's turning the crank really slow though, so it's not a tune, just the occasional "ping" of a tang slipping free, signaling progress is being made. It's going slow enough that you can't readily tell where you are in the song, but you know a big smiling joker face is going to come flying out at you soon.

The main difference is that ours has two little jokers slammed in there. A womb full of surprise. Waiting to pop. And the suprise we're waiting for is going to be covered in blood and slime.


I guess that's not that out of the ordinary for clowns.

Alternate jokes (I couldn't decide):
-"I think the birthday planner misheard my desire for a juggling clown"
-"C-Sections! How do they work?"
-"Ladies and gentlemen, I present Violent Julia and Harper 2 Dope."
-"Congratulations ma'am it's a social deviant."
-"They certainly seem interested in breast feeding."



In addition to playing chicken with Abby's biochemistry, we've spent a lot of time updating people on the lack of activity. Quite a few of our friends and relatives seem to be at DEFCON 1 and are just waiting for the call from the president. Abby gets at least three calls and 2 emails, and a handful of Facebook messages asking if we have babies, how she's doing, or making sure we'll let them know when it happens.

We're working on figuring out the logistics of getting people in to see us , without overwhelming the room's heating/cooling systems, the post-op patient or the frazzled new father. We'll try to let everyone important know when we have babes in hand. (There's got to be a joke about two in the bush here, but I can't pull it together.) As things develop, we'll try to put the information out through reasonable channels.

Holy Crap.

At our last appointment, the doctor told Abby she's likely to deliver, "Within the next two weeks."

Then, today, he said she could pop any moment. My first response was:

Holy crap, holy crap, oh shit, oh F*#k.
Wait... No... yes, holy crap.
Ok, calm down, breath.
Ok, I'm doing better now, wait ... nope, oh crap, oh shit, holy crap.

But then I though about it, and we're pretty ready. She's very tired of being pregnant, and I'm ready to play nurse for a post-op patient, getting better everyday; instead of taking care of someone slowly declining and constantly finding new depths of discomfort.

At the appointment she had put on 4 pounds since last week. Then today, she had put on another 4 pounds. As far as we can tell, it's all gone to the babies. However, her rate of growth is amazing, it feels like I can see a difference just after being at work all day.





"Oh my goodness, You're radiant!"






But, she's holding on like a champ. A prize fighter, coming up from the lowly welterweights to fight for the heavyweight belt. (I'm not sure where boxing weight classes cut off, so I hopefully didn't say she started off fat.)

Should we name them Audrey?

Let the Day of One Million Calories Commence!

the girls are growing like crazy. We went to the doctor yesterday for the weekly ultrasound and pee-check. When they tested her golden sample, they found ketones in it. No huge call for concern, it's the same thing that happens to people on the Atkins diet. Basically, she can't eat carbs fast enough to keep the parasites fed. As a result, her body is scouring the pantry to find some goodies it stored away for winter. Her body has already used all the Progresso Thick N' Hearty soups, and polished off the Kudos chocolate covered granola Bars. Cup O' Noodle, dollar store chili, honey-lime almonds; all gone. All that's left is a block of Velveeta and a tub of butter flavored Crisco.

I believe it too, I'm sent away to fetch foodstuffs at least once an hour. She finished dinner last night, then had a Burrito, followed with a bowl of ice cream, chased by an ice cream sandwich. Then, a grilled cheese sandwich, which went well with the bowl of oatmeal. And nothing cleanses the palate like another bowl of ice cream. 20 minutes later, she rolled over and gave me a pleading look.

Me: What can I do for you my lady?

Her: Feed me!

Me: Where is it all going?

Her: I don't know!

Twins: MORE BLOOD!

Hopefully today's combination of food, rest, more food, a nap, leftovers, a sandwich, pie, another nap and boardgames will be amicable to my little ladies.

Duchesses of Hazard

To all my adoring fans: I am sorry that I have taken 2 weeks to write nothing. I was busy, then I wasn't busy and just forgot about it, then I was tired, then a bit hungry, then busy again.

Anyhow, we're in the clutch period now. 32 weeks pregnant, and the pull-by date is 37 weeks. Abby is really pregnant and it's affecting the way she goes about pretty much everything. Originally I had though that the state of being pregnant was a true/false condition. Where you were pregnant or not pregnant. You couldn't have a "minor case" of baby-in-you. I am now coming to understand that it's a very different spectrum.

For instance, if you are in a car and are stopped, then you can't be moving just a little and still be stopped. However, once the wheels start turning, you're moving. You may be moving just a little, or you could be going all "Thelma and Louise." You're moving. So, there are two states: Stopped and moving, but there's a whole bunch of stuff that falls under the state of moving.
-Getting T-boned or blindsided and sliding down an embankment
-Driving along at a leisurely pace and gradually shifting through the gears
-Or, as we found out ending up in a pre-recall Toyota, hurtling along with these guys:

1: "I sure hope that guy with a gun and sword doesn't do something awesome."

2: "It's not a gun, it's an epidural; and it's not a sword, it's a scalpel."

1: "Whatever."
(Quote: Matrix Reloaded)

So, yes, technically we are still just "moving"but we are REALLY moving now.

So far, I've had to help her put her shoes on, sit up and assist in bodily upkeep at one point or another. Lets hope I don't have to do anything degrading. I mean, washing her feet in scented oils while feeding her peeled grapes I'll do, but folding her laundry... no way. I already have a 7 page brochure just on how to fold the guest hand towels.

We also had an appointment to measure the babies yesterday. There's an estimated almost 9 pounds of baby inside my wife. I was trying to sympathize with that, and realized that nine is a lot of pounds. If I ate a nine pound ham and turkey provalone sandwich, I would be unhappy for a while. From Jerry Maguire, I learned that the human head weights eight pounds. Thusly; we can assume Abby has about 113% of an average human head in her abdomen. Imagine the size of your head, plus 13% and jam it into your beer gut. It would suck even before the head started yelling about Money Showing.

According to this Butterball Calculator a nine pound turkey would feed 4 adults and 1 child, and would have to thaw for 2 days and 6 hours. Admittedly, you would allegedly have leftovers, but a baby/turkey is really silly to make if you don't plan on making sandwiches or soup.





Pictured (Top To Bottom): Baby Sandwich, Baby Soup

Wave of Calm

As we were sitting in bed last night, as we are apt to do, Abby let me know that the righty was moving and I could feel if I wanted. After I explained that girls had cooties, and that she was technically 3 girls right now; I impressed upon her that she was a walking talking ticking cootie time-bomb. Then, I remembered that I love her and girls have soft skin as well as smell good. End result: I felt the babies moving. They're less like distinct punches anymore, and more like the feeling of a garbage bag filled with Kielbasa lengths and a really hungry Slavic little person. There's things being pressed against the walls. Do you know what it is? No. Are you Curious? Of course. Is it adorable? Debatable, depending on the facial hair of the little person.

Anyhow, we're realizing that the girls react and wake up to certain stimuli.
-Pretty much anything the dogs do.
The dogs will bark, squeal, squeek toys, growl, or pass gas. Whatever it is, the babies start freaking out.

-Abby gets angry at me
Whenever I do something to get her ire up, the little ones start try go all "Berlin Wall" on her cervix. I like to think of her womb as East Berlin.





"Hey, Mommy, leave my dad alone"






Admittedly, there's a very good chance I did something wrong, and I'm sorry. But, I can tell when She's gettign grumpy, because she starts to ripple around the edges.

-She lays on her side
Whoever's on the bottom protests the way you should react at the bottom of a pig pile. You laugh, then you say, "Ok, that's enough." Then you get tired of being crushed and start flailing around like an epileptic baboon.





Or a college student.






-Mommy is hungry
Those kids bang their fists on the table harder and more incessantly than the whiny kids from Newsies. Or Little Orphan Annie. I can't remember, but when they're hungry, they go ballistic. Stomping on bladders, poking lungs, breaking ribs; if you had these kids over for dinner, your fine china would be gone becasue they ate right through it and started in on your fiberboard Ikean dinner table, Ėngo.

As the weeks skim by, Abby inches ever closer to the self-imposed exile of bed-ridden-inity. The days are getting tougher, and her tummy is getting larger. The little ones are growing and stretching at the flesh pouch walls. To the touch it doesn't feel like a soft, supple pillow anymore. It's more like a water balloon, filled to the point just before popping.

You know, like when you have your little sister fill the water balloons to go throw at people, but she's not very good at it. Each balloon looks great and ready to soak an unwitting parent. But then you go to pick it up and find she's filled them with hot water, "Because the cold water was making my fingers hurt." Wuss. Anyhow, the hot water makes all the balloons stick together. So when you try to pick one of the overfilled,piping hot projectiles... they break. All of them, and the hot, balloon-soup sloshes out of the shallow baking dish (who uses a baking dish to carry water balloons? Seriously.) and down the front of your shirt. Wait, maybe that was the plot the whole time.

But I'm off topic. There are two babies in there, and they're running out of space. I have this mental image of the two coming out with flat sides from being pressed together for so long.





"Which one's yours?"
"The girls in Row 2 Column C and D"





All told, things are progressing very well. The pre-baby routine is well in place and ready to be shattered by the unexpected, yet also predicted, foibles of parenthood.

You can see the kicks and punches through her shirt now, and it's really trippy.

Resources

Having twins entails a lot of information gathering and preparation in order to raise a pair of healthy, well adjusted human young.

Fortunately I found this:

Science!

[Title]

I have been drawing a blank on what to put here, so I decided to add a few limericks.

As parents to be we've stayed out of trouble
We've kept the bearer home safe in her bubble
But that means we've been boring
Anchored safe at our Mooring
So with dinner/dessert I pour out a double

Abby frequently woke up to pee
On the hour every hour plus three
she would toss and turn
While the squished bladder churn
Instead, rubber sheets set her free

Through her shirt I now see them move
As they dance and punch to the groove
Mozart, Beethoven and Bach
Jazz flute, piano and rock
Yet it's of Bieber that they disapprove

It may be that I'm her loving spouse
but she looks awfully good in that blouse
She elegant, charming and cute
A tiny smile can leave me mute
Despite that she's about the size of a house

I am the glue.

I left town for the weekend to go to the college homecoming football game. And then hell broke loose at home. It would seem that my very pressence prevents the hell-mouth under our house from opening at any given moment. While it's a bit unsettling to know that an ancient Native American burial ground resides under our hot tub slab, I feel pretty good about being a universe calming force. I'm like Keanu Reeves.

As I left the house Friday, Abby had the pleasure of meeting our reasonably benign poltergeist, Ralph. He explained how he had been a logger/prospector from when Kenmore was a thriving strip-mining/gold rush town, then he sprinkled the cats with fleas. The dogs were riled up by the zombie corpse of the bird that had flown into our living room window, after it was reanimated by the dark nexus swirling beneath the floorboards. It could only fly in circles, so every three minutes the dogs could smell and see it's delightfully decaying body soar past the window.

Saturday morning the flea-hosting cats had decided that they would finally brave the trek upstairs to give their parasitic guests the grand tour. They made stops at the couch, the other couch, all over the floor, in the crib and on the window sill. All told, the kitties spread their hair sufficiently to send the pregnant lady into a justified, yet overexerting, cleaning binge. Meanwhile, the dogs smelled cat everywhere, and found paper towels to eat. I think an evil curse was placed on the paper towels at the paper towel factory to make them irresistible and un-poop-able.

This lead to the overexerted, under slept, back-achey, sore stomached, pregnant lady wrestling a disgusting party favor from a possessed dog's back end. That's when she let me know how bad things were going. Then she went all Exorcist on her water bottle while trying to swallow some vitamins.

Of course, as I walked in the front door, things returned to normal. The gates of Hades creaked shut. The dogs stopped getting along with the cats. The blood stopped oozing from the walls.

So, the new rule of the house is this: I can't leave for extended periods of time. At least without finding her some ancient artifact or talisman.

A Many-Splendored Thing

No one told me how gross pregnant women are.

There's all sorts of fun things that start happening, and not all of them are magical and existential. Abrasions from things rubbing that have never rubbed before. Thicker, fuller, longer hair on her head, legs, and lip. The pre-natal vitamins and strange diet have put keratin production into overdrive. The Selleck 'stache is going to be epic.





"We should Decorate the nursery tonight."
"You're more beautiful than the day I married you."





Her belly is growing and preventing her from trimming her leg hair, but it has moved past the prickly stage into a soft velvety otter's pelt.

There are strange smells that no one expected. The front end, the back end, new orifices that are just as gross and horrifying as you would expect; all producing distinct and nasty smells. the production of new smells is kind of a cruel joke for nature to pull on a lady that already had a heightened sense. She can pick out garlic at 30 paces, yet the belly button saw fit to set up a
kefir factory.

A simple ingrown hair, growing at light-speed though it may be, has transformed from a minor inconvenience into a Indiana Jone worthy expedition. I think it has more of a Temple of Doom feel, as opposed to Lost Ark. A least in the portrayed female leads.

Left Field

I have decided that Mondays will, from here on out, be scheduled and dependable non-sequitur days. Today's topic - putting together the nursery.

On Clothes:
Abby: "I find a skirt made out of a blanket to be more comfortable than pants."

On Food:
Des: "Where should I put these leftovers?"
Abby: "I Don't think so."

On Philosophy:
"Can you make me some toast, with peanut butter, and a napkin, on a plate, and fill my water bottle with ice?"

On Home improvement:
Des: "I'd prefer not to put any nails in right now."
Abby: "Ok, but you can hang a picture first."

On healthy eating:
The difference between a fancy appetizer and a cheese sandwich is the name of the cheese and the staleness of the bread.

On Decor:
What should we put on the shelf?
we can put anything, as long as it's mounted to the wall.

Yay Food!

I'm allowed to cook again, provided I follow some pretty strict guidelines. No sauteing, no fresh onion cutting, meat cooking must be done under a hood fan, and don't mix things that don't traditionally go together. They might be delightful when paired, but a pregnant palatte is not a thing to surprise. e.g. apricots and chocolate, black beans and baked potatoes, a creamy chevre based mac and cheese. However, as we're reintroducing food that has a flavor other than "cheesy" she's actually upping the voluntary intake to levels where we don't have to force it.

The downside to this is that I get to cook food that sounds good to me, so I'm gaining weight as well. Oh pad thai, how I missed you. And pizza my lamented friend, exiled for your garlicky ways; you have found your way home at last. And you brought a friend? Creme brulee, you say? I suppose he can come on in. Enchiladas, and all the meat, cheese, and tortilla based gang is back!

in fact, I wrote a haiku about the experience:

banished foe returns
the belly growls for you
hunger, you both slain

One Room's Worth of Baby, Please

They're not even here, and they're leaving their crap all over the place. Don't get me wrong, it's nice crap, clean and expensive. But we now have a solid roomful of stuff of various colors, fabrics and childishness. A closet slammed with onesies, a crib full of diapers (which will still be insufficient for the refuse catching), and a pile of toys I'm just waiting for the dogs to swallow and then vomit on the stairs.

However, the shear volume of stuff is starting to really drive home the concept of twins. We have two vibrating seats resting next to each other on the floor. I've never seen anything themed like a little white lamb emit such a sense of foreboding. There's little ears surrounding the spots where little heads will rest and, god willing, sleep. It probably doesn't help that the chime one of the toys gives off sounds like a clown laughing. Not a cute clown, like Krusty, one that you'd have to fight your way past in a zombie game. It's as if I was watching Wringle in Time and those creepy twins were replaced with Porkchop and they really want to play, or start singing a song without an end. They just started singing it not knowing what it was; and they'll continue signing it forever... or at least until they turn 18, get a tattoo, and move in with their boyfriend, Ricky. And It's not like I'll really have any grounds to dislike Ricky, he's a nice bright kid, but he'll remind me too much of myself at 19. I remember what I was like at 19, and I don't trust him.

I still haven't decided what to call the double stroller. I'm torn between the Nimitz, the Bismark, the Nautilus, the Siren's Call, the MDS Valdez, Revenge, A Stroller Named Desire, and The Behemoth.

Plus, I can already tell the car seats and I aren't going to get along. I was the proud recipients of a paper cut opening the box. There's an engineering part of my brain that's in awe of the child protective stuff though. So many latches, and triggers, and interlocking straps, and layers of adjustment all interlinked and woven into a chair nicer than any I've sat in. Plus, the whole thing is made like a motorcycle helmet, sleek comfortable and made of space age foams designed to turn an "Oh F**k!" into a "Whoa! Wait, wha?"

You're so Tiny...for twins

No one seems to believe we're having twins yet. I think they expect her to look the Octomom; swollen and filled with self hate. Yet, she looks like a pregnant lady. Just an ordinary, healthy pregnant lady. At 6 months, there's still some room in there for them to move around. They may not be doing back flips anymore, but they can still squirm around. One of them seems to have settled for staying right on top of the bladder, but the other keeps changing her mind whether to kick Abby's ribs from the side or from the bottom.

A Tale of Two Activities

Two important things happened yesterday. One was a life changing event that I'll carry with me forever, and the other was still pretty cool, and I'm going to recommend it to my friends and family.

The Events:
1. I watch Prince of Persia, starring Jake Gyllenhaal
2. I felt one of the babies moving.

Now, I'm not going to tell you which one was which; but I'll give some hints.

The life changer:
-I had to stay pretty still and quiet to really get the most out of it.
-It's a direct outcome of one of my favorite activities in the world.
-It started off pretty slow, but there was a very satisfying end to it.

The Pretty Cool one:
-I got to snuggle with Abby while it was happening.
-Maynard (the dog) made enjoying it tougher by deciding that 5 minutes in was the perfect time for a potty run.
-The raw emotional power of it made me weep openly.

Ok, so it's not just me.

We went to a multiples class this morning. It was lead by a nurse and tailored more to the specific experience of having a multiple pregnancy than a normal birthing class. I got the impression that it was a bit more focused on C-sections and the hospital experience.

There were 5 couples in the class, including us; but in the next room was a class for the singleton parents to be. That class had around 30 couples, I would estimate. Somehow, looking longingly into that classroom, I noticed that all those parents to be seemed to fit more of the typical stereotypes than our class. they had the 25 year old yoga instructor that's going to run a half marathon four days after giving birth. They had the lady that could be on "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant." They had the husband who looks clumsy and wildly inept. The mother who came with her daughter, because the "dirt-bag who did this to my little baby wasn't man enough to own up to it." I even saw a wealthy gentleman/trophy wife pair.

Our class had two archetypes:
Men- "Of course I'm excited to have 2 kids, this is going to be the greatest thing in the world, but I'm a little overwhelmed and how fast this is happening."
Women- "I'm tired, hungry, a little crazy, and have read way too much WebMD."

We only did one icebreaker, the men went to one side of the room, and the ladies to the other. I guess the ladies talked about how they're having lots of similar experiences, and the ins and outs of their daily routines. The men had to answer two questions: 1. What's your favorite thing about her being pregnant? and 2. What's the worst thing so far?

Number 1 went like this:
Guy 1: So, the best this so far is.... uh... well, she spends more time..... no....
Rest of Guys: *chuckle*
Guy 1: I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm happy we're having kids...
Guy 2: Of course.
Guy 3: Totally, me too.
Guy 1: I guess the best part is that she feels guilty that she can't help out more around the house. So when I play xbox she feels like I've earned it and leaves me alone.
Rest of Guys: *Laugh*

Number 2 went roughly like this:
Guy 1: The worst part is.... Well, I can't do anything right.
Guy 2: I tried to cook an onion and she asked if I was boiling vomit.
Guy 3: I asked if she wanted quilted toilet paper, and somehow that was translated as "Have I told you that your mother is a whore?"
Guy 4: I was instructed to make the washing machine spin the other way, because I guess our towels are getting parallelogram shaped.
Guy 5: Somehow, I was reading too loud. Not reading out loud, just reading.

Then, the group took a little break so the APC's could disembark on the porcelain beaches of the lavatory. Then when we came back we watched some videos of what a c-section birth looks like. It's gross. Like, a normal birth is pretty icky, but those were an intriguing blend of Nip/Tuck and Aliens Versus Predator. However, it explained a scar I've seen on more than one exotic dancer. God bless single mothers.

Get yourself prepared

Went into the doctor yesterday, and everything is still looking as it should. We're well on our way to parenthood. One of them is nestled across Abby's left side, and the other is using her rib cage as some sort of inverse Papasan Chair. That's the chair that looks like a bowl, where you can never find a comfortable way to sit. That's my word of the day, I had to Google "Bowl shaped chair" to figure it out.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Papasan_chair

Now, picture that chair is made of organs instead of pillows, bones instead of wicker, it's suspended from the ceiling, your twin sister is forcing you up into it by stepping on a relatively massive bladder. Ok, then, imagine you're using it as your design inspiration for your studio apartment in my wife's torso. You have to share the space with your identical twin (the one pushing you up into the uncomfortable haggis-based chair), but there's not enough room for either of you.

Is it just me, or is it likely that there's an epic sitcom playing out in there? I'm imagining mork and mindy, or the one with Balki. I'm not sure which of the girls is the foreign one, or Robin Williams, but there has to be epic failures at communication going on. I suppose it could be like three's company, if jack left town, and Abby is the confused landlord.

She works hard for the money.

Abby started work again yesterday. All told the day seemed to go well, and my impression was that it was better than expected. She came home tired, and sore, but several steps short of the expected exhaustion. She did pass out for several hours upon returning home though. It's likely to be tougher once the kids come back and she more pregnant. I suppose you can't be "more pregnant;" it's kind of an all or nothing status. What would you call it? Further Along, Swollen, less-able-to-tie-your-own-shoes, higher percent baby by weight.

Moving on, I've identified several games that will have to be removed from the teaching curriculum, in her current state:
-Punch me in the stomach as hard as you can
-Beer Pong
-Rugby
-Stand up and Sit Down repeatedly
-Survivor style food challenges
-Does this milk smell bad?
-Sorry!(c) (that game just promotes the values I don't want my kids around)
-Put your grubby fingers in my nose

Driving Miss Lazy

Supposedly my car is too difficult to get into and out of. At least for a lazy person. And by lazy, I mean pregnant. And by difficult, I mean requiring much moaning and sighing. However, when I say pregnant, I mean to say carrying my children. And it may not be so much unnecessary moaning and sighing, as it really is lower and more bucket-like than a bucket sitting on the ground. And it may not really be "carrying my children" so much as gracefully and elegantly bearing the magical burden of the fairer sex. Then, when I make the ground-bucket comparison, I have to specify that it would be an incredibly comfortable bucket with ample leg room. When I say the fairer sex, I mean women, and by incredible burden, I mean creating and bearing life.

Anyhow... as she gets bigger, we'll probably take her car more.

Looking good in there!

Had another appointment yesterday, and it sounds like they're having a grand old time in there and aren't teaming up with battering ram at the gates. A nice long cervix and a pair of fetusi training to be gymnasts.

Nothing very out of the ordinary has happened this week, so I started about things where having two sidekicks is going to be better than one:
-Robbery: one on the front door, one on the back, and I get the goods
-Parent-trapping: They can switch out and trick Abby and I into dating
-Dressing up as pairs of things: e.g. R2D2 and C3PO, Cagney and Lacy, Turner and Hooch, Thunder and Lightning, Frodo and Sauron
-Party Hosts: one with drinks, the other with snacks
-Booger production
-Wearing the kids as boots
-Asking, "Are we there yet"

Wasting Away Again In a Suburb of Margaritaville

Here is the breakdown of what I did this weekend, and what I assume Abby did this weekend:

Friday-
(Afternoon)
Des: Finished work, came home, packed and met up with Mark to go camping out in central Washington
Abby: Ate. Ate some more. Watched bad TV. Waited for Des to get home. Ate again. Told Des she'll starving to death.
(Night)
Des: Arrived in a small town close to Othello, consumed fermented malt beverages, debated the validity of the DH rule, the best type of ketchup, threw rocks at other rocks, peed outdoors, explored a field, saw a waterfall, peed at the waterfall to prove it's inadequacy.
Abby: Got comfortable, fed the dogs, ate again, sleep

Saturday-
(Early morning)
Des: Finish sitting around the fire, sleep
Abby: Wake up to pee. Inhale a powerbar and a handful of trail mix.
(Regular morning)
Des: Wake up, fail to light the stove, agree that contracting out coffee and breakfast production is probably for the best. Then, make an entire rural diner awkwardly avoid eye contact with the rowdy table of twenty-something, stinky, men.
Abby: Continue sleeping. Ignore the dog's pleas to be let out or fed. Feel no remorse for it.
(Afternoon)
Des: Extreme Bocce. Loser rolls the cooler.
Abby: Eat. Nap. Head to Bellingham for fair food, family, festivities, and alliteration.
(Evening)
Des: Enjoy a calm, un-sunburned, entirely sober, non-dude-tacular, intellectually stimulating, spiritually fulfilling, dust-free night in eastern Washington.
Abby: Arrive home, eat, watch more TV, eat again, and settle in for a night of Des-free slumber.
(Late night)
Des: Make good decisions.
Abby: Sleep, pee, eat, sleep.

Sunday-
(Most of the Day)
Des: re-assimilate into the civilized work. Try to unlearn the Lord of the Flies like lessons. Enjoy the wonder that is the KFC Doubledown. Regret the Horrible grotesque that is the KFC Doubledown. Get stuck in traffic.
Abby: Finish off all edible food within reach of the couch. Wait for the return of her personal chef, butler, and assistant. Begin to waste away from hunger.
Babies: Claw at her insides, whisper disention directly to her brain. Begin to convince Abby it is Des' fault she is hungry and has not returned.
(Rest of the Day)
Des: Arrive home, cook, feed the dogs, feed the wife, shower, give a massage, solve world hunger(hint, it involves kelp based frozen foods), begin to realize how much a 26 year old body dislikes a weekend of camping, sleep.
Abby: Welcome home Des with a hungry scowl, scowl less after eating, feel neutral after husband de-stinks, smile after a back rub, sleep.
Babies: Somersaults, rib kicking, and clawing at the walls of the meat prison.

Potatoes. Again?

Potato Casserole.

I've made about 6 batches in the last week. It's pretty simple, add 5 ingredients, stir and bake. It tastes pretty good too. Like something a 6 yearold would be all about. Cheese, potatoes, sour cream and processed versions of each. Yet, it's the food du jour. On the upside, it's got MSG, which makes me gassy, so I don't tend to eat it; i.e. I don't get fat from her belly growing diet.

I guess things are really starting to stretch now, instead of just shifting around. As a result, when she thinks I'm not looking I catch her making weird faces. It looks liek she's trying to work out a belch after shotgunning a beer. Kind of a mix of meditation and quizzical displeasure. Eyes unfocused, mild sneer... it's classy.

Looking Good

Ok, I think I'm allowed to say it:

She officially looks pregnant.

Before, it could have been a long vacation, or bad gas, or freshman year, or an awkward breakup followed by pint upon pint of Ben and Jerry's. But now, I think people are allowed to comment on the belly. To be honest, we haven't been out in public together much recently; but she went and hung out with friends and they seemed astounded by the changes. I don't see the incremental change you do if you only see her occasionally, but there are benchmarks that I'm noticing.

-She's now a member of the boobie-doo club (tummy stick out further than her boobie-do0).
-Her gait is changing.
-Her 40 yard speed is down. We'll know she's really pregnant when she goes above 5.2 sec.
-We've had to cut back her power lifting. The dead lifts and power cleans are tougher with a baby bump in the way. She's still putting up mid 300's though.
-Her vestigial tail is coming in nicely, and eating is going to be easier once the second row of teeth break through.
-Daily pot sticker ration is up.
-Melodramatic sighs have been traded for appropriately-dramatic sighs.
-We've got the illicit drug use pretty much under control. Next we move on to the alcohol addiction.

Feed the Babies!

Abby's on a strict "Eat crap until you're fat" diet.

Seriously, 3500+ calories a day. I think this is going to be fun. I get to cook with real cream, real butter, and all the fixings. Sadly, I could stand to lose about 15 pounds. So, I guess I will be playing the role of "Feeder" and she will be the "Feedee." It may be more of a Gainer/Encourager relationship, I'm not sure. More info can be found at:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fat_fetishism
...weird

Last night, she looked up from her protein shake and trail mix, to smile, belch, groan, and demurely say "I'm really full."

Trying to fight back a smirk, I replied, "I know, well done. You're going to be the best eater ever. It takes training; and lots of eating."

Her face brightened as she recalled, "Plus, when I wake up to go pee, I'm supposed to eat before I go back to sleep!"

Takin it Easy

Vacation is nice. It's slower, calmer and there's less dogs.

I get to eat all sort of things that are bad for me, but it doesn't count on vacation. Bacon, Pancakes, ice cream, cocktails, real butter.

Plus, Abby has been eating pretty well. I think it's the fact that the way my family vacations is a non-stop assault of culinary gluttony.

"Are you hungry?"

"No. thank you, dinner was very filling."

"Are you sure, I can make a milkshake?"

"What? We haven't cleared the table yet... How can you think about eating already?"

"It's what vacation is."

As a result, normal people stuff their faces and roll back to the real world. Pregnant ladies just consume reasonable amounts of food.

One of my favorite things about this is that when I actually get to cook for abby I'm allowed to do it Paula Dean Style: 2 sticks of butter, 4 eggs and whole milk. "Because she needs the protein," Not because I like cooking really fatty yummy food...

QOTD

Almost forgot had a good quote of the day while we were finding out the sex:

Abby's looking at the printout of one of the girls:
"They do. They look like something from Aliens versus Predator. Like... If they bred, they'd have this."

Little Women

Three of them.

I'm going to be behind enemy lines, with no backup.

I'm really excited, because I get to dress the little girls up in pretty dresses and pig-tails, but I still don't understand fully grown women. How am I supposed to comprehend the complex emotions, desires and needs of immature ones?

I mean, just imagine: 2 girls bringing over prom dates. Am I supposed to wait for both of them to show before I do the shotgun cleaning bit, "Do you know what justifiable homicide is?" Do I have to do it twice? How do I make it perfectly clear to them that I was once a high school male; and I know what he's hoping will happen, but it won't, oh god I hope it won't. I wouldn't be mad, just disappointed.

Do I handle upset little girls the same way I pacify all of Abby's complaints: "Yes. I'm sorry. I love you."

Am I responsible for trying to convey how utterly clueless, stupid and irresponsible young men are? I'm married to a woman, and I still don't think she fully grasps the depths of my dumbness.

How the hell are we supposed to pay for 2 weddings when the time comes?

There are a few upsides:
1. If they look anything like their mother, they'll be beautiful
2. They'll be surrounded with unconditional love, which tends to raise better people
3. They'll have a built in best girlfriend support system
4. I get to buy them cute dresses and make them into daddies girls
5. I won't have to try to teach little boys how completely silly and irrational girls are

Cooler Heads

We spent the weekend being pretty darn productive. I worked a lot over the weekend, and Abby took the chance to relax in the cool house. Saturday was the second of the weddings. Abby's dress was a purple and gray poofy dress that was just a little too short and apparently made of wrinkle-magnets.

It was an outdoor wedding and we were sitting on the patio for dinner. Tables 5 and 6 were the "Young, Married, Rowdy Tables" and as such, we were banished to outdoors while the old fogies spent the night inside. Wine flowed and the food was delicious. Sadly, Abby still isn't eating much more than Red Robin kids' grilled cheese sandwiches and ice cream. She did eat all of my mashed potatoes though.

Midway through dinner I realized I was a bit tipsy and was informed of such by a stiff elbow to the ribs. Message received: "Remove foot, close mouth."

Sunday we picked up a new computer and a video camera to document babies and dogs and other things Des finds amusing. ooh, I wonder if it has capabilities for stop motion... if so, I totally have a new hobby.

One wedding down

The Hurley wedding was beautiful, there was a party barn, a hummer limo and meat cooked using stick-based cooking methods. That's pretty tough to beat.

I may be biased, but I though Abby was absolutely radiant. She had an elegant black dress that fit well and showed just enough pregnant side-boob to peak the interest, but modest enough to avoid showing up the bride. As expected, we had to answer some of the same questions a few times, and re-tell a couple stories to different groups of friends' parents.

How did you get pregnant?
-The usual way.
Are they boys or Girls?
-if you asked Schrodinger, it's both right now.
What was that term you used?
-"We pulled the goalie."
Oh, a Christmas baby!
-You bet, we'll gladly accept help as a gift.

It was a good introduction to wedding season, as we have a few more this summer, and she's going to keep getting more pregnant.

Wedding Bound

The second of my group of friends is about to tie the knot. Abby and I are heading over for the cerremony and the reception. It's going to be interesting, I think this is the first big social event Abby's packing midgets for.

As a result:
Des = Drinker
Abby = Designated Driver

I've also been informed that if I want it to work out that way, I'm going to have to be ready to go about 1 hour into the reception. Otherwise:

Des = Drinker, then finding a cab to the hotel
Abby = Disgruntled to be woken up at 12:30, after heading to the hotel for a bath and early bed.

Then she'll be all like, "Sleep on the floor, you're breath smells horrible...oh my god...did you just fart?"

And I'll be all like, "Maybe, what's it to you?"

And she'll totally be like, "Oh, sweet sassy molassy Des, you're so hot and I'm so glad I chose you to father my children! Now bring that wine scented cummerbund-ed butt over here."

Yeah, I can't see that conversation going any other way.

Ups and Downs

Up: "I think we've got a kicker"
Down: "...Or it could be gas"

Up: "The weather is great, so we'll end the day on a boat."
Down: "I feel like I've been hit by a truck"

Up: "I never thought Doc (the dog) would be the chill relaxed one."
Down: "STOP LICKING!" @ 3:15AM

Up:"Have a good day at work."-Des
Down: "I want to stay home" -Abby

The magic 12th Week

No magic yet.

Morning sickness has transitioned to evening sickness, and the cravings have shifted from mac and cheese to Red Robin's Southwest Fiesta Salad.

Yesterday was incredibly sunny and Abby woke up thinking she had pinkeye. The combination formed a perfect storm of calling in sick and lounging in the deliciously smothering heat in our house. As we were eating dinner, she lamented the inability to enjoy a few coronas while enjoying the sun.

I got stung by two bees while trying to mow the lawn, so I stopped mowing and cleaned the downstairs. It was around 20º cooler down there, but there's cat hair everywhere.

Getting back to normal... sort of

*posted by Des*

Life isn't quite getting back to normal, and I doubt it ever will again, but the really nasty parts seem to be getting a bit easier. Abby's appetite is back, with a vengeance; but she only wants specific foods at any given time. She's not thrilled about the way her pants fit, but that's nothing new. And, her mood has been improving. I bet that's mostly from being able to eat something.

On Thursday we had another ultrasound, and everything looked good. We saw the little guys/gals in profile and it was the first time they really looked like something that will end up being human. I thought they looked like predators (alien that fought Arnold), but I guess that's normal. I wonder, at what point we find out if they have super powers?

"I think I just had my first craving"

*Posted by Des*

Last night, Abby told me she thought she just had her first craving: Sourdough bread with mayo, cheddar and lettuce.

What didn't occur to her was that last week I made a 10:30 PM run to Taco Bell for two beef gordita supremes without tomato. Or the 9:45 Waffle. Or the mac and cheese and gummi bears.

The toughest part about Abby's combination of food desires and sensitive sense of smell is that she will decide she wants something, and it needs to materialize quickly, without smell, before she goes back to feeling mildly icky.

Silly Girl, Silly fetuses. Feti? Fetussus? Fetoosy?

Back to the Land of the Living

I'm back! After losing 12 pounds in 10 days, I am now on the mend. The doctor FINALLY gave me anti-nausea medication and it works like a charm. I've had more to eat in the last two days than in the last 4 weeks. Here are a few highlights from our appointment this week:

1) I should be eating 3,500 calories a day. I know, that's a lot.

2) In those 3,500 calories, I should be getting 175 grams of protein per day. There is almost no humanly possible way to do this without protein shakes...

There was a lot more information, but I'm still working through it in my head. It basically consisted of all of the things that may happen between now and birth, all of the procedures they may/may not have to do (like stitching my cervix closed, ouch!), and what kinds of things to expect after the babies are born. They also gave us a list of all of the support classes that the hospital offers for parents of multiples. So, our next few months will be spent learning as much as we can.

On a different note, I only have 1 1/2 days of work left until summer break! The district admin. finally gave us our placements for next school year. I had requested that I be at one school, instead of four, anticipating that it will be very difficult for me to move once the school year starts in the fall. They ended up giving me ONE middle school, which I'm thrilled about! And, it's an early start school, so I'm done by 2:30 every day!

Huzzah for homeopathy

*posted by Des*

I'm not sure about the intra-pregnancy view, but the extra-pregnancy view is that the morning sickness is a bit more bearable.

Solutions for morning sickness:

Preggie Pops: Vitamin B6 suckers and hard candies, seemed to taste alright and they're tart, which seemed desirable.

Acupressure bracelet: a sweatband with a plastic nipple that presses on the inside of your wrist. Besides looking like she's stylishly always about to go for a jog, they seem to have some effect. They're leaving little sore bruises where they push though.

Ginger Ale (with real ginger): Abby doesn't like ginger, but I thought maybe the ginger ale would temper it enough to make it bearable. The exchange went something like this-

Abby: I don't like ginger.
Des: But it's ginger ale, maybe that's better.
Abby: *sniffs opening, grimaces and looks at me as if I just offered to poop on her birthday cake*
Des: Don't be a wuss, ginger helps with nausea. It's science fact, I think.
Abby: *take a sip*
Abby: Oh god.
Abby: *waves her hands at her mouth while standing up on the couch Tom Cruise-esque, grabs her water and downs about half a nalgene*
Abby: No, thank you.

Symptoms are not completely abated, but at least she kept down some toast and was hungry enough for mac and cheese and Top-Ramen.

She felt the babies flutter yesterday morning. Or it could have been a muscle spasm. Either way, that's pretty cool. I'm excited for when I get so see some movement. With my genes, they'll probably learn to high five me through her belly.

Ok babies, I get the point

*posted by Des*

OK, I'll admit it. I thought the morning sickness thing was kind of funny. Abby would get a funny look on her face; like she had a bite unexpected jalapeno: concerned, surprised, and just a little displeased. Then she's let the offending food out.

Now, she's just pathetic. Feeling/looking miserable, not sleeping well, crampy, and not eating as much, because it won't stay down. I think we're blaming Baby A right now. Baby B is probably egging A on though.

You know how when a tree puts down roots, and it pushes up the sidewalk and breaks the concrete. That's what's happening in Abby's abdomen.

It begins.

*posted by Des*

Via Text:

Abby: Will you bring me home sweet tarts, strawberries, and green grapes?

Monday Morning Sickness

*posted by Des*

This morning's conversation:

Matt: "Good morning. Would you like me to make you something for breakfast, my darling incubator?"
Abby: "Gross"

I walk out to make myself breakfast and feed/potty the dogs. When I return she's sitting on the lid of the toilet, looking like she's doing long division in her head.

Matt: "Are you waiting for me to finish with the toothbrush?"
Abby: "Grunt" *hops up and goes to the other bathroom*
Doc: -Dog whine-
Abby: *Blech* "damn babies. This sucks."

This is real

As most of you know by now, we are expecting twins. Yesterday, we had our third ultrasound. We were a little worried because "vanishing twins" are common before the 10th week, but everything looked "perfect" according to the doctor. This was such good news.

On the other hand, we started to have a discussion about all of the things that we need to plan for. First, the twins are sharing one placenta. This means they're identical. It also means there is a 1/6 chance that they will have a complication called "Twin-to-twin Transfusion". This is a condition that occurs when one twin takes all of the blood and nutrition from the other. Because this is a possibility, I am now strictly a patient of the perinatologist (high risk OB/GYN), Dr. Wall. I will have ultrasounds every month until 16 weeks, every 2 weeks until 28 week, and every week after that.

He also told me to prepare for the very real possibility that I will be on bedrest, either at home or in the hospital, from 26-28 weeks on (which is October). Best case scenario is that I deliver at 37 weeks(Christmas Eve)and I'm not on bedrest. Either way, it is a mandatory c-section because all of the blood can be squeezed from baby a to baby b during a traditional delivery.

So, besides being violently ill during all waking hours, I am trying my best to enjoy the free time that I still have left.

I will put our ultrasound picture up soon.

And so it begins...

I figured this would be the easiest way to communicate with people and keep them updated on this exciting time in our lives.

On May 6, 2010 we received some big news. We're having a baby. The "parasite", as I so lovingly call it right now, will be joining us sometime around January 14th, 2011. May 6th I had a positive pregnancy test and May 7th blood work confirmed. So far, things are going well. My hormone levels appear to be increasing the way that they're supposed to and up to this point I'm just feeling tired and achy. We had our first ultrasound last Wednesday, the 13th, and saw the "gestational sac". This week we have an ultrasound this coming Wednesday, at which point I'll be 5 weeks, 5 days along. They said we will probably be able to see a little bundle of cells and maybe even a heartbeat (but it could be week 8 or 9 before we see that).