"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...
