Don't shoot the messenger!

How can I tell people who are also pregnant, that I'm having twins without sounding like I'm boasting? 'Oh you're having a baby, just the one? How quaint. I'm having two you know, yes two babies in this neat little bump'.

Here's a tricky one, my brother-in-law and his wife got 'knocked up' around the same time as us, which is great, BUT as they told us their news before we had a chance to get our news in, when we did finally tell them it looks like we're showing off. It's the 'two sheds' syndrome (I've got a shed, - well I've got two sheds). They say: 'We're having a baby!' We say: We're having two babies!' and suddenly the old competitive gloves go on as they retreat back to their corner to try again.

Mind you, I'd be a bit miffed if the bootie was on the other foot. I'm sure if I had left the maternity ward with a new mother of twins, I'd feel a bit shortchanged coming out with just one baby, especially after all that hard work. Harrumph!

Blooming? My arse!

Only 15 weeks into this bloody pregnancy and my hormones have turned me into the she-devil. I seemed to have contracted hormonal tourettes, as I have a constant growl and cannot stop swearing.

I do remember this hell from the last pregnancy. Turning from a mild-mannered, sometimes sarcastic, happy go-lucky type to a snarling, thick-waisted, vulgarian with a big chip on her shoulder. It does only last for a month or so, but still it is not pleasant for anyone to live with. Poor Mr D, knows the only way to disarm the beast is to walk in with a dozen krispy kremes, which, baring my teeth, I snatch from him and retreat to my kennel.

Still, it is nice to have one vice left (swearing), after all my others are considered so bad for the babies.

Bah! I going to f*&% off now and hopefully Ill be more personable in a month or so.

Double Entendre

As the sickness slowly comes to an end, and the feasting resumes normal speed, things are getting back to normal. Cherry bakewells have taken pride of place in the breadbin (and beside the bed) and the condiment shelf of the fridge is positively blooming. My head has accepted my body's state and is excited about my new playmate.

And now the day has arrived when I have cold jelly smeared on lower parts inorder to see the beast within (no, not my birthday) scan day at the hospital. There are coy smiles and jolly small talk with the sonographer, dreamy looks and talks of bunnies, clouds and the warm weather we're having. UNTIL... he drops into to conversation as he is rubbing his rubby thing over my belly, he quietly says 'so Mrs Davies, how many babies were you expecting to see here today?'
I beg your pardon? I glance desperately at the poor shadow of a man who only seconds before used to be my husband, how many?
'Well, it seems to be you are expecting twins!'
What the F*&%$*, F*&$%, S*&%*?
I'm sorry, what did you say? Are you sure? I have been eating a large amount of Haribo jelly snakes, do you think they could have moulded together to form a fetus look-a-like?

No, it seems that there is no mistake, and due to my age (early-ish thirties) and my Amazonian stature, I am more at risk to conceiving twins. Then, I scream (albeit inwardly) why was I not informed of this elevated risk about 10 weeks ago???? Huh! If so, I may have kept a bigger bat by the side of my bed!

Well, what do you know eh? Two little me's, how exciting.
As for Mr D, he has since been mute with shock and can only mutter the words 'daddy's run off with the circus!' in between glugs of wine from the bottle.