32 weeks

I have a ratty Led Zeppelin t-shirt that I inherited from Dane a few years back. He bought it in Montreal when he was 14, and when it reached the point of being nearly transparent and having small holes all over, he stopped wearing it around the house and I took it over as a hot-weather night gown. I was wearing the shirt the other evening when Dane came to bed. He kind of gave me a funny look and said, "Wow. I never imagined you would ever wear that shirt when I bought it. And I definitely never imagined that you would wear it while pregnant with my baby -- BABIES!"

Life is kind of funny that way. So much of Dane's and my lives have gone exactly according to plan. When we were juniors in high school one of our teachers made us write down what we would be doing in 10 years on cards -- the idea being that she would mail us the cards in 10 years. Unfortunately, the cards never came. But we both remember what we wrote, and by and large our predictions were very accurate. I went to college, then grad school and got a job working on a Mars mission; Dane went to college, got married, got a good job as a programmer, tested to a ridiculously high rank in Taekwon-do. Tidy and neat and on schedule. But in all that orderliness, every now and then there's been something we simply didn't anticipate. Like the t-shirt. Or hitching a ride with a trucker from North Caroline to Tennessee early on a Sunday morning. Or the twins. Little things and big things that make us pause and think, "Wow. I totally didn't see that coming."

There's no belly picture from last Sunday, because we were occupied having one of those unanticipated life experiences. I woke up early Wednesday morning (9/9/09) having some slightly painful contractions. I timed them for a while, and they were about 5 minutes apart. After a couple of hours, I figured I was going to have to go to the doctor, so I decided to take a shower first. That was around 6 in the morning, and I was getting pretty tired. So, I let myself fall asleep for awhile after I showered. Then I called my doctor and left him a message, took care of some calls for work, and generally puttered around getting the day started. I just wasn't that concerned. When the doctor called back and told me to go to the hospital, we packed up our work and some water and apples, thinking that our afternoon was going to be disrupted. When we checked in, we cheerfully told the nurses in labor and delivery that we were probably wasting their time.

Of course, what we didn't anticipate was that I was in the hospital for nearly 6 days, during which I was on 4 or 5 different types of drugs, I got to experience some seriously painful contractions followed by psychedelic hallucinations, and I ate a lot of jello. Of course, everything turned out fine. The babies weren't born early -- though we were concerned enough that we finally got serious about deciding on their names. I eventually got off all of the drugs and was allowed to go home -- 3.5 lbs lighter and with a disturbing new understanding of what inspired the illustrations for the peyote sequence in Beavis and Butthead do America.

We totally didn't see that coming.

Things have gone really well since I've come home. The cats are happy to have two humans again. All of my contractions have been mild, and the doctor is beginning to think I may hang on to the twins for a few more weeks. I've been really appreciative of simple things like sleeping in my own bed and being able to watch humming birds through the window. I've gotten to chat with piles of people on the phone. So, assuming all goes well, regular belly pictures will resume tomorrow. In the mean time, those of you who want to see pictures of me hooked to a million tubes and wires like the Borg queen will have to appeal to Dane. :-)