Lynnette went in for a check-up on the twins yesterday. I could not attend because of my work schedule, but my lovely wife was more than happy to fill me in on their progress. Strap in and/or hold on to your hats.
This is a picture of the little girl’s foot. Looks like she’s got Higa feet and again I can’t help but feel genetically responsible for the lifetime of shoe-searching she’s got ahead of her. Like Madison, she will likely have to try on multiple pairs of shoes, sandals, and slippers to find the rare pair that are both long enough and wide enough to accommodate her feet.
Her feet are very small in there. But still, I wonder how big it is. I wonder when those feet are going to start walking.
I guess it’s all relative. These are one of the four feet keeping Lynnette up at night. Both of the twins routinely hold soccer practice inside of Lynnette’s body while I do my best to serenade her back to sleep with my melodic snoring. Some nights I wedge my hand between the bottom of Lynnette’s belly and her thigh and fall asleep to the kids peppering my palm with their cute little pitter-patter. Cute, I suppose because I can pull my hand away at any time and enjoy a decent night’s sleep. Someday, when Lynnette feels up to it, we’re going to have her get on here so she can tell you first-hand what literally and figuratively carrying her family inside and out is like. I, of course will retain editing rights, just to make sure everything is up to snuff.
Little boy, meanwhile, seems to be going through either a Rey Mysterio, Jr. phase or a Strong Bad one. Atta kid either way, boy. Now, I’ve referred to my developing son as “boy” twice now, and as much as I like to think I am doing it ironically, I must confess: something might be happening to me that I can’t understand or stop.
Lynnette told me that by the doctor’s estimation, little girl currently occupies 69% of the space inside of her womb. This accounts for their individual amniotic sacs. When I was appraised of this situation, I shouted at Lynnette’s stomach. “Don’t let her do that to you, boy! Own your space!” It was a strange moment for me as I do not identify moke, but damn, there it was, bright as day. Lynnette replied “That’s how it goes with the women in this family.” I had a sick burn ready to spit out, but yeah, no, I didn’t have a sick burn at all. I just had to eat it and then talk back to her from the shower where I could A) do so without her hearing me, and B) pretend I was singing if she did. “They’re going to scrap when they come out,” I said. “Or they’re going to miss each other when they finally have space,” Lynnette countered. And that pretty much says everything you need to know about both of us without the formality of a psychological test.
Recently, Madison has been replying to me with “You right, you right” in true Damien fashion whenever she is confronted with my superior logic. All I can say is that there are parts of me I am not proud of, like shouting “Hrrrrrrrajahh” at Lynnette when she says “We’re leaving in 10 minutes.”