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