A few things in my life feel like they became irrelevant on Wednesday. Here is a small list, in no particular order:
1. My subscription to Runner's World
2. My seven passenger mini van
3. Pinterest
4. My leisure time.
5. Feeling like I am in control of my life.
I think those are the main ones that come to mind. A few others float into my mind, then float back out almost as fast. The ability to focus is temporarily missing too.
For about a year now, I've wanted to have another baby. It's hard to narrow down exactly what it was that most compelled me towards that decision. I think it mostly felt like a constant thought. Like a thought you have at the tip of your tongue, like you feel like you need to tell to your most significant other, often and repeatedly. My significant other wasn't on the same thought. He was certain I was having a mid-life crisis. Maybe he thought I was ungrateful for this priceless gift of time together that we've been given since moving here to Chapel Hill. Maybe he thought I wasn't able to appreciate or live "in the moment" enough. Or mostly, he was probably being a little more rational than me. It really did feel like my new thought was a glassal disruption in the system. A tsunami type storm, in an otherwise peaceful sea. Why did I need to rock the boat?!
To be totally honest, I don't even know how Darin's thought process on the subject went. All I know is that one day, he agreed with me. I never looked back, flinched, second guessed or inquired. I just moved forward.
I got pregnant.
We were pretty excited. We had a new vision of our future. It involved a bustling but manageable family of seven with five years of overlapping togetherness. Then slowly, one by one, and then two by two, they would start leaving, but we'd have one more to hang on to, to stay young with, to continue to grow as parents with. It felt so beautiful and right.
I knew that there was a slight chance it could be twins again, 8% to be exact. Our first set of twins were completely spontaneous and unexpected. But honestly, it felt so spectacular that it would happen again that I seriously didn't worry about it. My sister-in-law who is married to Darin's brother, she has two sets of twins sandwiching the two singletons that she had. That is a remarkable story. I've told it often and repeatedly to anyone who wanted to listen to twin stories. I knew that she took the double twins for this family. I just KNEW it. Another sister-in-law had twins, but then had two singleton births after. Never repeating her tricky twin trick. I felt very confident.
Darin had to leave town, but I had my first OB appointment. I contemplated momentarily changing the appointment, but then decided there would be nothing that would require Darin's attention at this first appointment, and so I went alone.
After going over my complete OB history with the doctor, she agreed that we should do an ultrasound to simply rule out the nagging possibility of there being two babies in there. She was so certain that we would find only one, that she was making Las Vegas jokes about odds, and gambling. I was laughing right along with her, because I'm totally a numbers girl. I get 8%. I know what that means! She starts scanning the uterus. A baby is found. A heart beat is found. There is measuring taking place, and other scanning. But it was really weird because almost every time she tried to focus on the one baby and the one heart beat, the screen kept trying to be split with what appeared to be another baby sac. And then suddenly I saw two beating heart beats on her screen, AT THE SAME TIME. I said, "What are we seeing?! Why does it look like there are two? That can't be right. That just can't be right. What are the odds?! I mean, I know the odds! Why does it look like two heart beats?"
She totally froze. She was more shocked than me. She said, "Let's not jump to any conclusions. I'm not sure if I'm reading this right. Let's bring in another doc. She's better at reading these early ultrasounds than me. Just wait here, and do not panic." But she froze the image on the screen. The one that looked like two babies, two sacs and two heart beats.
Unbelievable.
The other doctor walked in, did a quick look at the screen and said, "Yep, that's two".
I don't really remember the rest of it. I was so shocked and confused and busy trying to remember why Darin wasn't there. And I kept thinking the ultrasound machine was broken.
Obviously, it is meant to be. Two are coming together, again. And that is how it's supposed to be. And we are thrilled, and blessed, and excited. But the shock is just so shocking. And the shifting of perspective takes times.
So many new things to worry about. So many things to wonder about. Two babies need to now arrive here safely and well. One body needs to do that for them.
I've only cried once. It was after I read a note from my parents about how much they loved me, and how proud of me they were, and how they knew I could do this. I had to cry then because it's going to be hard, but we're going to do this again.
Darin's still out of town. Won't be back until next week sometime. We chat here and there. Every time the conversation inevitably comes back to, "how did this happen?". Or the other variation of our conversation is, "Did this really happen? Is this real?".
I had to send him the picture. The one I have taped up in the kitchen, that I look at five times an hour, just to remind myself that this did just happen, and that this is real. We're doing this. Again.
