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.