Okay, right. So, babies on the way. Are you tired of me yakking about this yet? Are you tired of all the baby bullcrap? Are you worried I’m going to slip into a parent stupor where all I can talk about is our precious little snowflakes and the adorable poopies they make? Really, I am as worried as you are. But let’s just ride this train to the end, shall we? I will try not to be obnoxious, I will try to be extra obnoxious. So sloppy gooey obnoxious, it’s funny.
But first, a bit of philosophical meandering. We had an OB appointment earlier this week with my new Portland doctor. We are moving back to Portland, the babies will be born in Portland, and it made sense to start getting that ball rolling in the place they will be delivered. I had an exam, we went over all the usual stuff, and we got a quick ultrasound so the doctor could get a peek at the babies.
They are still in there. Two of them.
They were bouncy and wiggling around in there. They are stacked on top of each other like bunk beds. Baby A was still enough to get a heart rate. Baby B was so jumpy, the doctor couldn’t get him or her to sit still. The doctor noted the level of activity and said, “That kid is just fine.”
We’ve now been through a few screenings and tests to make sure the babies have normal chromosomes, and we’ve done some other tests for genetic diseases related to our heritage. Everything is looking good. The babies are healthy and wiggling around like little fishes. The are too small for me to feel kicks yet, but that is coming soon. We will learn the genders in a couple weeks.
All this means: We’re having fricken babies. They are coming. It’s really going to happen.
I don’t know if this is the case everywhere, but it seems like a lot of people are having babies. We noticed this even last summer, as many of our friends were having their first kids. And none of us are spring chickens. Almost all the couples we know are in their thirties or later. And everyone seems to be having new babies. On a larger scale, in the scope of our Portland friends, there are babies popping out everywhere.
And all these babies are cute. They are damn cute. Truly. It’s remarkable. Because we know it happens, that sometimes, some babies are sort of funny looking. It happens. I have seen some really funny looking babies. Like I’ve seen babies where I wondered if the father must be some kind of amphibian, like a frog, but with ears like a deer. Or others that look like tarsiers, with the huge eyeballs. Or babies that already look like old men, and they just need a cigar and cognac before they become managers at a bowling alley.
Come on. We’ve seen those babies. And you look at them, and you choke back your natural reaction and you dutifully tell the parents, “Oh my! He is just a handsome little thing!” Even when you really mean to say, “Oh my! He could have been an extra in the Gremlins movie!”
So you, my friends, family and internet readers, you have a job to do. Your job, if you care about me at all, is to LIE TO MY FACE if we have ugly ass babies. You know we are just going to lose our minds when the babies come. I’m going to be fevered from labor, exhausted and probably relieved to finally get these kids out. We will not be in our right minds. We are going to look upon our precious snowflakes and we aren’t going to care if they look like little raisins or sea creatures.
So if we have ugly babies, your job is to lie, lie, lie, like you’ve never lied before, and tell us that our puffy little blobs are just the cutest things you’ve ever seen in your whole life.
Not too much to ask, right?