There Are No Timeouts in Pregnancy

I feel bad, both literally and figuratively, which does not make for a very happy household. It is summer, a bit muggy and The Saint is getting uncomfortable as the twins have apparently set up a beach volleyball court in her uterus (don't even ask where they got the sand - we don't know). I want to do everything I can to make her comfortable and keep this a relatively easy pregnancy but we have encountered a big problem:

I am sick with a summer cold of epic proportions.

Actually, I think it might be the Bubonic Plague or something similar because I can't shake it. Yesterday was the worst: it felt like an elephant was sitting on my head, using its trunk to burrow deep inside my brain and shoot a gross substance I won't even begin to describe out of my nose. All.Damn.Day.

But The Saint is still pregnant and I want to take care of her. I did manage to make dinner last night but it was not the chicken dinner I know she wanted. Instead, we had scrambled eggs and toast since I figured this was a good substitute: if you can't have chicken, have something laid by a chicken. (And I know there is a good joke there, but this damn cold medicine has me all fogged up.)

While the eggs were good, and more than enough for me, I know it wasn't enough for The Saint and the two chorus line members in her belly. It also doesn't help that there was a sea of wadded up Kleenex on the living room floor driving her nuts but I wouldn't let her pick them up, lest she become infected as well. So I begrudgingly got up every hour or so to make what felt like a 30 mile trek to the garbage can to throw the little cotton germ bombs away, shuffling and snuffling the entire time.

The Saint was growing impatient but trying hard not to show it. This irritated me because I know she was right: I should have gone to the doctor by now. We spent a partially silent night together, complete with an exciting trip to the local drugstore for more cotton germ receptacles, something I am sure we will long for in the very near future. But now I am worried because if there are no timeouts during pregnancy...

...what does that mean for motherhood?


- The 2nd Mommy

It Begins

Two years ago, at what most doctors politely call "advanced maternal age," my partner (the Saint) and I (the Prof) decided it was time to start a family. After 8 inseminations, 1 miscarriage, and a big chunk of change (seriously, why the f#ck does sperm cost so much!???!!! It's not oil and it's pretty easy to obtain...), we finally succeeded.

In fact, one could say we became fertility overachievers: we're expecting twins.




I know what some of you are thinking: We? Why the hell is she saying we're pregnant? Are they BOTH having babies? No, we are not that stupid. I say "we" because these babies will be ours but I am not doing the hard stuff, hence the pseudonym for my partner: the Saint. And thus is the plight of the other mother.

You see, a lesbian couple and a hetero couple are two entirely different breed(er)s. Dads never have to answer the question, "So, why aren't you the one who got pregnant?" This is a tough one to answer because it is often loaded with judgement. If I am in a particularly crappy mood and the scorn of the question is palpable, I lie and say I have ovarian cysts that may or may not be malignant, which usually shuts the asker right up.

But if the question is sincere and asked by a friend, I tell the truth: I am scared to death of pregnancy and have never had any desire to push a child out of my nether regions. I paid attention during that fifth grade sex ed class; I saw how babies are born and decided right then and there that I wasn't ever going to do anything that might produce a baby.

Hmmmm, perhaps it worked a little too well....







- The 2nd Mommy