I'm 6 months and one week pregnant with twin boys. I'm not sure exactly what has happened over the last 2-3 weeks, but my active life has come to a slow, creeping halt. Exercise is out. Walking more than three blocks sends me fleeing back to the couch. My belly is hea-vy. Friends? Nah, I can't go out and socialize. My focus is this giant belly with two very active little dudes bouncing around inside. I've become a (mostly) home-bound baby cooker. Of course, I still work. Must... keep.... working. And while I'm there I keep up, I pull my weight, I do my job. Then I come home and collapse.
I feel bad for my husband, Matt, who now does the lion's share of the household work like cooking, washing dishes and taking out the trash. I mean, I still try. I do wash dishes and make salads and heat stuff up for us to eat. But Matt tries to head me off at every pass. Drop a morsel of food on the floor? "Don't get it!" he shouts. Start the laundry, "I'll do it!" he yells from the other room. The poor guy doesn't get a break.
To backtrack a little, since this is my first blog post: These will be my first (and only) children. I live in L.A. I'm 30-something. The twins are identical. And I'm terrified of becoming a mom about 98% of the time.
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