I couldn't even call my mother when we found out - since it was Tom's idea and generally just all his fault, I had him call her. I actually had a hard time uttering the words for the first few days. It's not like it wasn't a planned pregnancy - it just seems like such a roll of the dice in general: you're trying not to for years, or you're desperately trying to for years. Usually one right after the other. Not a whole lot of needing to try for us. I had to be able to talk about it pretty quickly, though - Tom's fourth week Facebook post about deciphering the pink lines on the HPT wasn't subtle enough to get past many family members. And so, we're baby bound again.
I think it's hilarious when people ask you during your first trimester (if it's not your first child) if you're tired. Um, I'm always tired! I'm a mom! I'm excited, too. And although it took me a long time to get past the thought that two was the limit on the number of children a socially and environmentally responsible family should bring in to the world (never mind fiscally...), so many of our purposefully childhood friends have told us we can "have theirs", I feel good about it on all counts. If I wasn't 38 (and was even more insane than I now feel) I might even consider a fourth. Given how many people randomly asked us if there were twins in our family or if I knew that being a "more mature" gave me a higher chance of delivering twins, we only heard one heartbeat on the doppler at our first midwives appointment. I was honestly slightly disappointed. As I said, the fourth is not in my future, and so getting two for the pregnancy of one sounded actually feasible. Which evidences how much hormones can mess with your brain.
Joy of joys, my own twin sister will deliver my first niece or nephew on my side of the family soon and I am beyond excited. My younger sister is doing her best to provide me with more nieces and nephews and my gratitude is abundant. a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jynyQ3TJqow/Sb3jom05pPI/AAAAAAAAAHU/pn2tOdEwXG0/s1600-h/DSC_0022.JPG">
My wonderful mother in law gave us a new oven for Christmas in 07 - a gift I didn't take her up on until the week before Thanksgiving in 08. A Thanksgiving we were hosting. We'd been without a working oven since late February and, being a bread baker, I was so excited about the new arrival. Or arrivals. We got a double oven, and much like twins, it is twice the joy.
We don't do cakes in the oven. Cakes are Tom (and the kids') territory: they are always cooked in a dutch oven on hot coals outdoors. And are always perfect. But we do bread, with recipes handed down from my mother. Like gardening and running, the process of making bread, especially the kneading, is meditative. And Jordan and Sawyer love baking - most of their snack days at school have involved baking something. It's science and family responsibility lessons all in one. And the sense of accomplishment they get, pulling something homemade from the oven, is priceless.
Being a walking oven, especially in this stage of pregnancy, isn't that exciting. I do love being pregnant. I don't love changing out the wardrobe, desperately trying to find something to wear in the closet that makes me feel even remotely comfortable or attractive. But given how much I adore those first two kooks, what a wonderful father they have, and what great siblings they will be, there is far more excitement than trepidation. I adore my siblings, cherish them and feel the greatest gift I can give to these children I already adore is the gift of a sibling.
No comments:
Post a Comment