Twenty-Eight

Most of you know all about 28.  If not, read back a year or two.  Same job.  Same house.  Tried to get pregnant a few times, it eventually worked.  Found out I was having twins.  Wound up on bedrest.  Celebrated my next birthday still pregnant out to [———–here——–].

In a combination of pregnancy-induced nausea/fatigue and total trepidation, I never did post much about that first ultrasound.  Starbuck went with me, after taking the afternoon off from work.  In the middle of the week.  During the legislative session.  This is big for her, I tell you.  Big.

She went back with me into the sono room, averted her eyes while I changed (like I cared – I already felt like I’d had a whole brass band up in the hooha during the IVF, and I hadn’t even hit the biweekly perinatology visit stage yet.)  I was about seven kinds of nervous while we waited, particularly since I’d been having spotting.  I just wanted to see a heartbeat, and I was going to be happy.  Starbuck spent the waiting time teasing me about having triplets (a small but not totally impossible situation.  I only transferred two, but they can split.)  She was going to make me name them after the English royalty, and was sure they’d all be boys and therefore the Three Kings.

After what seemed like a year, the RE turned up.  Once the wand-monkeying started, Starbuck watched the monitor with me as the RE found Watson (now Chloe) and measured her heart rate.  Then he looked around some more, and here I’m thinking he’s looking for ovarian cysts or some sort of thing and dang if he didn’t find Crick (that’d be Emma.)  After I was resuscitated (not really) I got dressed and we hit the Carter’s outlet across the street for gender-neutral green giraffe and yellow ducky sleepers.

I spent the whole drive home saying “there were really two?  I didn’t hallucinate that, right?”  And I’m still saying that from time to time.

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