Strap yourself in, folks. We’re in for a bumpy ride.
Thar’s twins in them thar hills.
Heaven help us all.
We probably should have known. As soon as the ultrasound tech glanced at my chart, she said “Looks like twins, huh?” in the thick Russian accent that, for some reason, almost all of the techs at my IVF clinic seem to have. (It’s quite exotic, if a bit mind-bending.) My face must have registered pure shock, followed up by “Really? Um, no-one’s said that to us.” She quickly stopped talking.
I lay on the gurney, in shock. Maybe it’s not twins? Maybe it’s just one really hormonal microbaby. But a smile kept on tugging at the corners of the lab tech’s mouth as she started the scan. And yep, soon enough, there they were. They. Plural. Two babies growing inside me.
My first thought: “Oh my god, what have we DONE?????”
My next thought: “Oh well. At least they won’t get lonely.”
I honestly thought there was just the one in there. I’ve got virtually no symptoms. I’ve been dreaming about one littlie. The odds were stacked right in our ‘one baby’ favour. But it turns out there’s a history of twins in my lineage, and while that doesn’t impact the number of embryos put inside me, it does mean my uterus is a veritable “doubles only” dance hall. Nice that my mum decided to tell me this AFTER we did the transfer.
So here we are. Two times everything. At least the little buggers won’t get lonely, what with their siblings being 20-odd years older than them. And, frankly, T. and I are a bit weird. So we’re probably going to be slightly kooky parents. It’s probably a good thing that these kids will have someone to turn to, shake their head our hopelessness, and say “Nope. I don’t get them either.”
Now I just need to wrap my head around how the heck they’re going to FIT in there. Heaven help us all.