Another Update on the Twins

In my younger days I was quite the ladies’ man and absolutely hated being tied down by serious, long-term relationships. In case you’re wondering – and I know you are – no, I wasn’t able to type that sentence with a straight face. But still. I try my very best not to set strict guidelines, so I’ve resisted the urge to call these updates “weekly”. It certainly seems like they’ll be coming more frequently, however, since Lynnette’s body now resembles this cherished childhood toy.

This image has been altered so as to obscure the age of my #^-year old wife.

This image has been altered so as to obscure the age of my #^-year old wife.

Lynnette again visited the doctor for something called a “non-stress” test. According to Lynnette, it’s a battery of tests to judge the twins’ reactions to multiple stimuli. “Would you say it’s basically a physical, then?” I asked my gorgeous wife. “Uhhhh, well, no, ahhh, It’s more of just like monitoring the babies to see I guess where they are, and if they respond… normally to stimuli – different kinds of stimuli and such, and if their hearts are pretty much just responding appropriately.” I later Googled “non-stress test” and was stunned to discover that Lynnette had recited the definition verbatim!

The upper image is of my future daughter. She looks to have been in a pensive move and I hope that lasts. My other daughter is a great thinker, but as yet, has not applied that great thinking to the realm of academia. It’s not that she can’t do the work, it’s just that at 7, Madison already regards school work with a kind of virulence usually reserved for much more painful and tedious activities like getting shots at the doctor’s office or sitting in traffic on the way to the Punahou Carnival. There’s still hope for her yet, however, as she’s shown a great knack for memorization. I got home last yesterday and one of the first things she asked me was if the Mets won. “Yes, they did,” I said. “Good! Boo Nationals!” she continued. I high-fived her and she spat out a “Good for you, Bryce Harper!” I beamed as a proud papa should.

The lower image is of my future son. To no one’s surprise, he’s managed to ruin a perfectly good picture by sticking his tongue out and making a stupid face, just like daddy. Attakid now, buddy, attaboy. Lynnette said that she got to see an ultrasound of baby boy opening and closing his mouth repeatedly. He was probably just making unintelligible noises, also just like daddy. I try at all times to maintain an even keel, but I can feel my internal excitement growing. I always wanted a son but had Madison instead. Madison’s been so wonderful that I forgot that I ever wanted a son. Once, when Madison asked me if it was true that I wanted a boy instead of her, I started crying before I could get any words out. “Yes,” I said. “So are you sad with me?” she asked. I picked her up and ugly cried my ass off into her chest. “No,” I said when I finally pulled it together. “I am the happiest boy in the world,” I said. “That’s good,” she said. She slithered out of my arms and ran off into her room. But now that we’re here. I think maybe I’ve allowed myself to dream about games of catch, hitting endless fungos, and shouting at him “You gotta have that.”

The most interesting bit of news from Lynnette’s appointment is the fact that she’s been experiencing contractions without feeling them. She’s had a couple that have run over a minute, a few that lasted for a little less time. “Does that mean you’re gonna shoot ’em out already?” I asked. Editor’s Note: One of the ways Phil deals with stress is changing the tenor of a conversation from a serious one to one of sheer stupidity. In this way, Phil believes the reality of the situation is somehow delayed or altered. Phil freely admits that this both does not work and is obviously stupid, but offers the defense of “It’s better than going full-apeshit. Right?” Anyway, Lynnette suggested that I start thinking about packing a go-bag. I professed that this timetable was insane. I said I wasn’t ready. “Well, you better get ready,” Lynnette said. “It’s all fun and games until you pop ’em out,” I said. “OH MY GOD!” Lynnette said. She walked into the kitchen. Editor’s Note: Sometimes it does kind-of work.



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