Sure, I can look at this picture now and marvel at how amazing the human body is. I had three hearts, six arms, six legs, and three brains at one point. Wow! Ask me how I felt two years ago, and I might have punched you in the face.
Starting off a little smug about the fact you seem to have caught two Pokémon, the doctor soon puts you in your place. Increased chances of GD, premature labor, morning sickness, everything. Please, stop—your encouraging words are too much.
I joined twin groups on Facebook to figure out what was coming with this pregnancy. Nobody warned me I was going to be taking an internal beating from the Whomping Willow for the next few months.
So. Many. Limbs.
“Wow, you must be ready to pop?” Please shut your dirty mouth, I feel like my stomach might actually split open, and I still have 10 weeks to go. The doctors measure your stomach at appointments just for a laugh. “Wow, you’re measuring 52 weeks!” Hahahaha, HILARIOUS!
One nestled down in your uterus, one crammed up under your ribs—bending isn’t an option. If you drop something, just walk away. That’s a little joke, you see, because the weight and pressure of two babies means you can’t walk. In fact, if you stand up, you can’t help but wonder if your vagina is going to fall right out. If you drop something, stay plonked on your rear because it’s the only way to keep your body in one piece.
The weight inside your stomach is unreal. Laying on your side for more than 10 minutes just isn’t an option. Everything gravitates to the side, and you can’t just simply roll over. Pivot, pivot, pivot. Twenty minutes later you have successfully rolled over to continue having another crappy night’s sleep. Eventually, you sleep upright like a cow.
Looking for a business opportunity? Maternity clothes for ladies pregnant with multiples. After trying on all the largest sizes of maternity clothes, you wrap a doona cover around yourself and call it a day.
You are introduced to every single staff member at the hospital because you never know what team might need to come in during delivery.
The poor uterus hitchhiker gets a little pin in the head because you can only measure one heartbeat over your stomach. You are so tired after you push the first one out you say, “No, no, it’s fine—that one can stay in there. After a sympathetic look, you get the full farmyard experience. They reach up into you to turn that uterus hitchhiker around and guide her out, just like a baby calf. It’s like once you pop, you just can’t stop—the babies just keep coming!
I had my doubts, but my body was a solid, baby jail for the whole 38 weeks. Thank you for being so amazing, body, but let’s never do that again.
Previously published on the author’s Facebook page
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