All the Way Home

Well, it's getting kind of exciting around here: 35 weeks today with cerclage removal scheduled for Wednesday at 35 weeks and 2 days. Baby A weighed in this week at 5lbs, with Baby B still out in front at 5lbs 8oz; both girls aced their non-stress test. Cedric is holding strong at 2.7, and while Ursula is kicking up a bit of a ruckus, contracting with relative frequency, she's rather weak at the moment, so no one is worried. Both the girls are still head down, so the question will be whether all this training work she's doing will leave Ursula strong enough to get the job done on the big day. Which really, could be any day.

In news on the home front, the nursery is finished and I LOVE IT. I am still totally in love with the green color of the walls. And the rest of the elements, despite my eclectic style which compelled me to draw from all different collections and vendors, came together perfectly. The foundation of it all is the cribs and changing table loving donated by the girls' Aunt and Uncle, and previously used and loved by all four of their cousins, and the crowning touch are curtains sewn with love by their Grammy. There is family and love and energy flowing out of every corner. And, of course, a gliding loveseat with matching poof ottoman in Chocolate Chocolate Chip microsuede fabric. Of course.

Most exciting of all is to be able to get excited about silly froo-froo like green walls and poof ottomans. To have a few "normal" moments of pregnancy. To waddle to the laundry room and wash loads of tiny little socks and sweet little onesies with ruffles on the butt. I know that soon the glow will be off the laundry, but right now I have the joy of doing it without the fog of either terror or severe sleep deprivation. I'm taking my moments where I can get them.

Speaking of moments, Saturday marked my triumphant return to the Farmer's Market. For an entire grief-filled summer, and then a foggy fall, and then a bleak winter, and then a regenerative spring, and then another summer and another fall, I looked with deep envy at the pregnant women strutting through the Farmer's Market, collecting produce and well-wishes alike. Then I got pregnant, and got stuck inside my own four walls. And now, it is finally my turn to strut and collect.

I waddle out of the house, and groan my way into the car (was it always so low. And so small?) Arriving at the market, I heave myself out of the car, and begin to waddle toward the market (were the cars always parked this close together?)

In my fantasy version of this Farmer's Market strut, I lithely and happily amble amongst the organic fruit, selecting choice morsels with which to nourish my little ones. In slow motion as people see my beautiful belly, their faces light up, they ask when I am due, ooo and aah when I mention twins, and wish me the best of luck. I glow and receive my admirers with a blush and bashful look in the direction of my non-swollen feet.

Yeah. In the real version almost as soon as we start to make our way through the stands, I want nothing more than to return to the car. My feet hurt, and my hips ache, and the downward pressure in the down there area...well, let's just say if pregnant women got to feel this part first, they would have no issue with weathering bed rest. Any well-wishing stranger who dares to make eye contact with me is met with a face filled with such strain and desperation that they quickly look away again. As we linger at each of our favorite stands, the best I can do is quietly will Bruno to pick the fruit quickly so I can sit down again. And as we round the top of the market where the quilt-clad woman with the guitar sits singing "Time in a Bottle", the sentimentality of the song is too much for hormonal me, and I feel the tears pushing into my eyes. No, NO, hell no! I am not going to cry over a Jim Croche song, for G-dsake! Oh, but yes I apparently am, and when Bruno notices the tears running the down my face the best I can do is shake my head with the shame of it all.

I lumber my way past the remaining stands, clinging close to Bruno, avoiding the stares of the well-wishing strangers wondering why the enormously pregnant lady is openly weeping. As we head back toward the car, Bruno asks how my triumphant return to the market was. I admit the discrepancy between my fantasy and my reality, and, after heaving my way back into the incredibly low-to-the-ground car, we laugh all the way home.