We had an appointment to check up on the twins.
They said “‘Sup.”
It was a standard check-in on the kids and thankfully, both seem to be healthy. Other than this photo which I have interpreted as a faint salutation, I was amused to witness what appeared to be one of the twins kicking the other in the backside. Incredibly, the doctor and ultrasound technicians took more pictures than I do during a trip to the playground followed by the beach. We’ve got a roll of pictures about three feet long, but the only other one I’ll post here is the one that answers the question I’d been thinking about most:
It was amusing to watch the doctor try to snap this picture. I could hear the excitement in his voice. “Oh, wow. You usually don’t get a chance to see both like this. Here, let me…” he said, then slipped into extreme concentration mode. This is a picture of both feti from beneath. I’ve been told that the knob beneath the word “boy” is the umbilical cord, and not tremendously good fortune for my son. Too bad. I’ve also been assured that there is a penis in there somewhere, alright.
This information allows us to move forward with those aforementioned decisions like color swatches, clothing, and names. That last one is going to be the hardest part, I think. The problem is that I’ve spent the last 13 years of my life teaching primarily young men. I know or know of just a male who bears nearly every name Lynnette tosses out there. When she says name, I immediately think of the student or students who also share that name. I then say “No, I know a _____________.” It has nothing to do with whether I liked the guy or not. I just want my son to have a fresh start. Like Apollo. I don’t know any of those, Lynnette.