Clean, Sober, Huge and Taking Names

Current mood: anxious

So, how's my pregnancy going? Pretty great. Not that I understand why anyone who isn't either an immmediate family member or a close friend would give two cares.

My father's side of the family seems to be playing their usual hand by acting like nothing is a big deal. Birth is no big deal, as death is no big deal. It is something that may come up in conversation in a delivery room or a viewing parlor, but that is about it. They ask you once if you need something, and then it is up to you to tell them if you do. Most likely, they won't ask again. And, my mother's side? Well, first, there is my mother (although totally wrapped up in creating a new life for herself), who has been waiting for grandchildren since I first got my period in seventh grade. She will completely lose her mind by the time I go into labor. As for the rest of her family, god only knows where they are. Well, I know where they are, but no one really ever talks often or much . The bonds of family are, surfacely, as seamless as a piece of glass (remember the old SNL skit about "my Irish mother"???). We know all the stories of our immediate ancestors; however, you barely even get a call on your birthday. So, considering this family background, I think it is bizarre when people I hardly know (which I consider everyone except the handful of my closest, longest, and dearest friends) voice their numerous and repeated inquires or ancedotes. I suppose people are "just being nice". But, many of you already know my suspicions about "nice". I told myself right from the beginning, after finding we were expecting multiples, I would need to put my fierce independence and self-destructive self-reliance in mothballs for a while. I would need to accept help whenever and whereever it was offered. Easier said than done.

I do not believe in altruism. No, I don't think people necessarily want an award or a gold star on the calendar-- but worse yet, they may want some conversation! Believe me! I am EXTREMELY grateful for any help/assistance offered and/or given. And, I say it probably meaning it more than most people who express frequent thanksgivings. However, I am not a chatty person unless you are one of the afore mentioned handful. For example, I hate the phone. Really... HATE! I usually scream, "Damnit!" from whereever I am in the house when it rings. When people offer one, I don't know, a banana, then one then is obligated to answer a bazillion questions about names, due dates, why is one so big already, why one is out at a bar (not drinking or smoking, mind you), why one isn't tired, does one suffer from gas (which means a hairy boy baby) or just in general, WHAT IN THE HELL DO MY HUSBAND AND I PLAN TO DO?!?!?!?! Okay, you get the picture. I'd tell you if I wanted you to know. And, if you tell me one hundred thousand times that I am looking great (for being pregnant), you make me feel like a chemotherapy patient. No, I don't take compliments well. Nor am I really fond of people telling me how tired I look on a given day when I actually feel relatively refreshed and slightly together. It's always on the tip of my tongue to say something like, "Oh, tired, eh? No, I'm just tired of looking at the squirrel-sized mole on the side of your neck?" or something like that. But, instead, I say, "No. Actually, I feel really good today." Ugh! And, you know what? I really don't complain about being pregnant (like some people I know who would probably get a motorized scooter from the day the took the EPT test). That might change in a couple of months when I look like Mama Cass in a sweaty poncho-dress with a fan blowing up between my legs, sucking on a popicle. But, as of right now, I haven't had any morning sickness (did get some mean heartburn on Cinqo de Mayo but that was the tomales not me). I sleep pretty well. I can still climb stairs (more slowly), etc. If you were my Itty Bitty kitty, you might overhear me complaining about my hip hurting (good ol' pelvic bone spreading) or cursing when I tinkle in my pajamas a little bit when I sneeze or laugh too hard (extra weight on my bladder). Personally, I am not thrilled about my larger than average bosom growing an additional three measurements and two cup sizes. My husband, on the other hand, doesn't seem to mind. Actually, I have had to ask him not to announce this novelity to all of our smarmy friends. Anyway, mind over matter. I am healthy! I will remain healthy.

Oh, and the smoking argument? I was never a smoker. And, I gained an exaggerated distaste for it once pregnant. I have little respect for people who cannot stop smoking for their children (unborn or born). What is your point of persuasion? Oh, the baby will only be a little bit premature and the birth weight a little bit below average. Yeah, and Brian Wilson is only a little bit schitzophrenic. Ted Bundy was only slightly a serial killer. And, Hitler only killed a handful of Eastern European Jews.

So, the pregnancy? What do you need to know? We were expecting triplets; and about a month ago, we lost one of them. It was far more difficult to deal with then we thought it would be. However, we are not looking for sympathetic pats on the back. The doctor told us from the beginning we could have all three or none. But, when you see the little head and hands, etc. and then they tell you there is no heartbeat? Well, yeah, it is still tough to think about even now. My husband and I figure it is better this happen now then have to bring a child into the world who would have to suffer with some affliction or handicap for the rest of his life. It may sound gross, but the body naturally reabsorbs the fetus. So, the baby is part of me and the other two "beans" now. If there is a bright side to the story, there is now a better chance for the other two to go full-term with less chance of complications. And, it will put less stress on my body as well. Nature runs its own course. And, if it is meant to be, it is. I mean, crackheads carry babies to full-term. And, I am cleaner than I've ever been, getting lots of sleep, and eating hummos and cheese instead of donuts. So, it makes no sense to me. It just is.

As for Baby A and Baby B (as the sonogram reads), they are doing great. KNOCK WOOD! Their heartbeats are strong. And, every bit and piece is filling out nicely. Heads, hearts, ribs, tummies, hips, and femurs. They are laying atop each other like bunk beds (maybe explaining my extra-width), and punching the hell out of each other. I figure they will roll out of me in fist-a-cuffs. I can't wait to holler out my first, 'Knock it off, Dumplings (because they actually looked like little doughy dumpling)!" However, there will be no Cain and Abel in our household.

Otherwise, we are preparing the best we can. Trying to get our ducks in a row (after we identify and define what a "duck" may be in this situation). I figure these next two years are gonna be pretty rough. But, I also figure, we'll do what we got to do. Food, clothing, shelter (not to mention the emotional and mental needs) are the logictics. I am so SICK of peoples' horror stories about childbirth and rearing. "Oh, you wait and see!" People make it sound like you'll have two 50lb. leeches hanging off your skull! Perhaps, I could more understand this attitude from single/childless friends (although most share our joy). But, it comes from the mouths of mothers!!! However, most of those mothers would complain about the taxes after winning a million dollars in the lottery, too.

Well, all in all, we (all four of us) are healthy and happy. And, as present spokeperson, we're excited (also filled with a healthy dose of sheer horror and confusion) about our growing family and the new phase of life we have begun. You know, the usual. And, as cheesy as it sounds, I find it amazing that I could be fortunate enough to have two little people in me who have been created with half of myself and half of the man I love, my best friend. So, we're just sex-crazed, pro-creatin' monkeys, eh?

Oh, and I do plan on starting a cottage industry of "DIY" maternity wear for the rocker/goth/punk/retro woman. I guess you don't think about it until you get there, but maternity clothing is a sad sac... literally a sac.

I said, "Good day to you, sir! Good day!"