There's Two of Them

Tomorrow marks three weeks since we found out there were two babies inside Rose's belly. To say it was a shock would of course be a gross understatement, as cliche´ as that sounds.

We had an appointment for late afternoon that Monday, but it had to be rescheduled (Dr.'s orders, I guess) to an earlier time at which I couldn't attend. We arranged it so that Rose could have the car for the day and she'd pick me and my carpool partner up from work after the appointment. That all worked out, and she was waiting for my co-worker and I outside of my school at the end of the day. Standing by the car as I approached, Rose handed me the keys and said, "You have to drive."

Sure. No problem.

At this point, we were still keeping this whole thing from our co-workers and even most of our friends and family. So we said nothing about the ultrasound while taking my co-worker home. Once we dropped her off, I turned to Rose to ask her how it went as I pulled the car away from the curb. I got no response.

I tried again, "Well? How'd it go?"

She looked at me and said, "you better pull over." As I pulled the car to the nearest curb, she began to cry. This obviously isn't what I was expecting, and I began to think it was all over; something happened and she was no longer pregnant. "What's wrong? What happened?" I asked. She kept crying, only harder.

"What's going on? Tell me, please," I asked. Rose just covered her face with her right hand and kept crying.

Finally, she responded: "There's two of them..."

"Ha!! Are you fucking kidding me?!?"

I couldn't believe it. One moment I had begun to think about how we were going to cope with this whole thing ending before it began, and the next, I learn we're having twins. I just started laughing. It's the only response that made sense. Not that I could control it, it just came over me. "No fucking way!" I said, and kept laughing and slapping the steering with both hands over and over again. I was laughing and bouncing in the driver's seat. I think a tear even came into my eye. And I never cry. Ever.

"No fucking way! Are you serious?"

Oh yes. As serious as a heart attack.

It was a strange moment. In an instant I stopped being afraid of what lay ahead of us. There's nothing I can do about it now except deal with it, and that's not something I'm afraid of. I can deal. This whole experience is going to be a long, long flight by the seats of our pants. I can do that. But now it was Rose who seemed to be lying jack-knifed on the proverbial big square pillow. She kept crying, asking, "what are we going to do now?"

I have no idea. Three weeks later, and I still have no idea. I have a feeling I'll be saying the same thing 20 years from now. But for some reason, I'm not worried. It's too unreal to even try to come up with a real answer to that question.

Oh My God

I can't remember exactly what day it is, but it's an early-December afternoon, 2009. I'm laying on the floor on my side in front of the couch, jack-knifed over a large pillow -- one of those big square deals you can use as a foot rest, or lean on to watch TV -- with one arm wrenched behind me and the other raised up with my forearm covering my face. Over and over I keep saying, "oh my god."

"Oh my god."

"Oh my god."

"Oh my effing god."

After about ten minutes of standing over me, watching with both amusement and concern, Rose said, "You know? This isn't really the reaction I was expecting."

Perhaps that's because she had just given me news I definitely was not expecting. We had talked about the possibility of this event happening, but those conversations seemed to focus a great deal more on the great sea of reasons we shouldn't let something like this happen. The only other thing I could think to say while I continued to lie there was, "we're fucked." (Warning: on many an occasion, I have been given to swearing like a character from Deadwood. Sometimes it's due to circumstance or surroundings, and sometimes just for fun. But in any case, sometimes you just have to say, "what the fuck?")

Rose is pregnant, and it's been almost two months since I peeled my self off the floor, looked her in the eye and asked, "What the fuck are we going to do?"

"I don't know..." she said.

Since then our lives have changed almost immeasurably. We've done not a 180-degree turn with whatever plans we had, but a 720, and then a 180, and then we tossed our lives up in the air and put together whatever came down in a completely new way. Three months ago, we were planning on staying in Santa Barbara through June, when Rose's and my work contracts are up. No more. Then we were planning on sticking around here for a while longer before heading off to whichever city was home to the college that offered Rose the most appealing job. No more. And as soon as we found out which state that city was in, I was going to get my paperwork in order, get my teaching license, and start looking for jobs. No more.

Now, we're leaving Santa Barbara ASAP; heading back to Appleton to do this thing near family and friends, because after being gone for so long, it feels right. And let's face it: we're going to need some serious help and support.

Reading this, it must be easy to imagine that I'm not happy about it, but that's just not true. In fact, the complete opposite is true: I couldn't be more excited. But as any completely immature, foul-mouthed 32-year-old who still likes to do things like go to bars and drink to much, listen to heavy metal much too loudly, ride his bikes for inordinate amounts of time, and other acts of selfish hooliganary would be, I am also scared. But scared in a good way, I think: I am ready for the mountainous challenge that lies ahead; I just have no idea how I'm going to make my way towards the summit.

Did I mention that there are two of them?

Two babies?

Twins?

Yes. Twins.

Oh my effing god...