Last night I dreamed that my body was an oven. The babies were growing in my broiler. I slid them out to check on their progress, and found that they didn't have any amniotic fluid. From there I can only remember that I scrambled to do something for them, but was not really satisfied with the results.
Like so many of my baking projects.
On any given morning I can recall at least four dreams. This is partly due to being pregnant, partly because I'm waking up all night, and partly because I've always been good at remembering my dreams.
Last night I dreamed that I was in the flight deck talking with the captain. The plane began to plummet rapidly. I told the pilot to do something, but he said everything was fine. At the last minute he pulled up and we narrowly averted a hillside. Once we landed I refused to work the next leg of our trip.
I pretended to be asleep when they came to get me and it worked.
They couldn't bare to disturb me when I looked so content.

Then I dreamed of water.
I dream about water in all sorts of scenarios, pretty often.
In this one I sat on a tiny shore as huge waves broke at my feet. What's interesting to me about this one, is that I seemed to be the only one afraid. Many people rode the waves by any means possible. With little pool floaties and body boards.
I've read many things about water dreams. When you're pregnant, it's said that water means you're aware of your amniotic fluid, which would certainly tie in with the earlier dream I had, but I believe it means something different for me. I think it has something to do with why I hate outer space.

When I woke up for the final time, I nudged Jesse and said "Good morning," as is standard procedure. He opened one squinty eye and gave me a sincere "Good morning to you." He nodded to his shoulder, to signal that my head should go there.
I asked him if he had any dreams and he recalled some of them for me.
I could only hold out for a few minutes, before abruptly swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.
My body running downstairs for breakfast as though eating were as urgent as my next breath.
Happy Sunday.

I'm sitting at the kitchen table with a half caffeinated coffee. My laptop in front of me. Bills, hard candy, and left over Christmas cookies spread out on the table top.
A few days ago, we found out that we were having boys, just as we had wanted.
Later that evening Jesse reminded me to write about it. He said,
"I can't wait to see how you'll memorialize it."
I'm in charge of keeping our memories.
But it's been a few days and I've had a hard time letting my mind wander, the way it needs to when I write.
I've been too busy thinking about all the big adult things we'll need to do, like insurance plans, a possible move, taking leave from work, decorating the baby room, etc.
Jesse has been my sounding board for all of it, whether I'm babbling audibly, or emitting it through silent consternation.
I really haven't been alone until today.
He'll be gone through the afternoon at a convention.
I'm thinking this is the right time.
So I stare at my cup of coffee and try to see the forest through the trees...

When I woke up this morning, I noted that it was just me and my belly.
I rolled onto my back so that all my other organs kind of sink down. This way my uterus is perfectly defined.
I laid there for a little while and traced its parameters with my hands. As though I were shaping clay.
Hi.
Hi Baby A.
Hi Baby B.

When you're little, I'll let you use my arms like super highways for your toy cars.
I'll dress you up in overalls and we'll take walks.
You'll ask me lots of questions, and I'll get the honor of being the first to tell you that,
"That's a hummingbird."
and
"That's an apple."

Jesse's scared of the awkward years, but I can't wait.

For the bad hair cuts and faltering steps toward adulthood.
For the moment they make me laugh because they told a really funny joke.
I realize I'm a little drunk off the hormones right now, but I trust my adoration will stick.

When the ultrasound technician casually told us we were having two baby boys, Jesse let out a little "Woop!" and my eyes flooded with tears. He squeezed my hand and we looked at each other as though we had accomplished something. Nodding our heads and smiling.
Clutching the pictures she let us take home, I put my sunglasses on as we took the elevator down. My nose running and my eyes red.
On the way home, we stopped for lunch and made some phone calls. You can never anticipate just how you'll react to big news. In this case, we were a lot more quiet than I had imagined we'd be. We'd been given the go on the rest of our lives.
Answers beget questions.
It's taken me this long to say as much, because of just that.

The unknown is big. And so we crave the facts.
I don't know how many times I've told people that "each baby is 8 ounces."
That I'll be "19 weeks on Friday."
It's as much as I can say so far.
And so I say it, over and over.
I think that lasts a life time.
You recite what little you know.
Like fighting an empire with a toothpick.

Boys.
I'm having two boys.

A lady asked me how "far along I am" while shopping at the grocery store tonight. Being the first time I've been asked this by a stranger, it caught me off guard. I could feel all the blood in my body go to my face and I nearly panicked.
For no reason at all.
It's not that I think it's an inappropriate question. It's actually really sweet that we can all come together as a community and adore pregnant women. But I'm not quite use to the phenomenon yet.
It still feels like the friendly woman putting spinach in her cart had just asked me what size bra I wear.
Of course, I didn't run down the cereal aisle, and we had a nice little conversation. Now that I'm home, I realize I'm still smiling over the incident.
I wish I could go back in time and say, "Hey, thanks! You're the first to ask!"
Because it seems like a right of passage in a way.

As I write this; Jesse is making me scrambled eggs, half caffeinated coffee, and toast. Roy Orbison is singing Candy Man in the living room. My job is to flip the record in a timely manner and comment on how good the kitchen is beginning to smell.
It's sinfully beautiful outside for the second day of January. We plan to take a walk to the library after breakfast. Maybe later we'll catch a movie with the theater tickets we got for Christmas.
Jesse sings along to Sweet Dreams Baby while cracking eggs.
I remember him once telling me that he had fantasized about one day singing his kids to sleep.
I think that's going to work out.

I took a picture of Jesse wearing my maternity pants this morning. As I feared, he said that they were incredibly comfortable. They didn't look too bad either. A split second before posting the picture I decided it might be a good idea to get the okay from him. As it turned out, he didn't care how cute he looked. He didn't want that picture seen by the public. I then asked him why he let me take the picture in the first place. He said that if that's the way I saw it, we'd be facing open season.
So, no picture. I'm sorry.
It would have had a great caption too, like, "Manternity Pants" or something better.
I told him about the caption idea too, but he wouldn't be swayed.
Well, I've been up for all of four hours. Time for a drift into nap time whilst watching the New Years Day Twilight Zone marathon.

The Gist

Today was sleepy. I even tried turning in around 7pm. It would have worked. It did work for an hour or so. Up until Jesse came in to be adorable, and woke me up in the process. Closing the balcony door to keep the cold out, and leaving a chocolate truffle on my night stand. Kissing me on the cheek and whispering, "I love you."
Two minutes later I was pulling my pajama pants back on and shuffling down stairs for a glass of soy milk to go with my truffle. And for two more truffles.
One truffle, Jesse?
As he saw me come down stairs he got up to meet me at the bottom. Tilting his head to the side and giving a guilty smile.
Taking my sleepy face into the crook of his neck, he hugged me and apologized for waking me up.
"Yes you did."
But it was fine. He followed me back up to the room with Missouri Breaks to pop in the dvd player. After only a few minutes I turned to try and sleep. But really, I only couldn't watch a movie anymore. I looked blankly at the ceiling. Jesse noticed.
"Nothing's wrong."
Except that I don't really feel like myself. Can't think much. Unable to experience the world around me in a present manner.
Jesse rubbed my back in a circular motion.
Tears sprung up in my eyes, and then retreated.
The feeling passed.
We laughed about something.
We said sweet things to each other.

Once again, sleep wouldn't come. So we both came down stairs for second dinner. Jesse made left over spaghetti and a pancake. I made veggie hot dogs wrapped in tortillas.

There's a lot to get upset about.
But there's no reason to get upset.
As we walked this afternoon, we talked about that.
About recognizing that moment when the people or events around you, get so bizarre, that you're only course of action is to completely dismiss them.
Like when one baby felt very serious, and then another appeared, and it all became very funny.
Or when you get blind sighted by someone, and can't figure out why you ever made them perfect to begin with.

This is how I feel:
Sometimes something huge drops down from the sky and lands right in front of you. It's not what some people call a "hurdle".
And it can't be avoided, dodged, or conquered.
The only course of action is to walk your way around it.
It takes a long time. It's inconvenient. It makes you feel like a rollie pollie some kid arbitrarily picked up and set down somewhere else. Beginning your life long trek all over again.
Forget how long it will take you to get there.
Forget how it felt right before everything changed.
None of it matters.
You are where you are.
And where you're trying to get to isn't really anywhere at all.
Start walking.

To whom it may concern.

Hello there!
I see that you've decided to pick my belly as your temporary residence. Welcome! Benvenuti! (as the Italians would say)
I can see that you're getting cozy. Which is to say, I'm looking a little chubby most recently, and sitting just doesn't feel right these days unless I loosen a button.
I know it's too soon, technically. I realize that you're probably a lot more, ehem, gas than babies right now. But I can't resist the urge to do a "pat pat rub" every once in a while. I can't help but smile a little more sweetly. And if someone happens to notice that I'm glowing, well, that's not my fault now is it?
Maybe I'm doing a bit more than my part when I stock breakfast sausage on my plate next to waffles and fried plantains. I'm just pretty sure that you probably enjoy that stuff as much as I do.
And I got plantains.
They're a fruit.
I haven't seen them listed in any of my pregnancy books, but they've gotta have magnesium or something.
And I'm eating the good stuff too.
I guess food is just the first way we have to communicate with each other.
For example, you tell me you don't like nuts.
CHECK.
Apparently you like meat.
Okay.
I could fight you on this, but I'm afraid I'm easily influenced by people I like.
And for some reason I like you a whole lot.
Even though you make it so that I can't poop, but pee every five minutes.
Even though the two of you will make everything that preceded you a vague memory.
So that one day I'll wonder how I ever could have wanted to stay up all night.
I can't help it. I've got feelings.
I could go on pretending you're not there for another few weeks, but I think I'll go ahead and start loving you instead.
But I'm not rushing you. You just keep growing your creepy little fish bodies til they look like human.
And when you're ready; don't be shy. You can visit my rib cage with the heel of your foot as soon as you feel like it.
Until then. We'll just keep on eating, I guess.
Yours Truly,
The warm tissuey nutritive thing that sometimes makes sounds like
swoosh-glom-gurgle, who's altitude pressurization varies according the days of the week.
a.k.a
mom