Yesterday I couldn't wait to go to bed. I was cranky and bloated and tired. The last couple of nights I'd been sleeping hard - like not even getting up to pee once. But instead of sleeping bliss, I got a waking nightmare.
First it was the need to pee. Then I got a bloody nose. Followed by cramps that seemed freakishly like contractions but I wasn't sure. I was sure, however, that the floaties were dancing and kicking like cracked out club kids in NYC. Then pee again, then a growling stomach. Matt, who was awake and worried next to me, got me a 3 a.m. snack of dried apricots, turned off the fan that was drying out my nose and rubbed my aching back.
By the time the morning came, I was delirious and thinking up ways to bag out of work. Oddly, I was focused, alert and working all day. In fact, it was a lovely day -- until I backed my car out of the driveway so Matt could move the garbage cans out to the street and rammed into the telephone pole with my side view mirror.
Somehow, the total unexpectedness of the cracking plastic and shattered mirror seems like a metaphor for the shit you can never be prepared for as parents. The good news is that while Matt and I both thought, 'Well, this sucks,' we also couldn't stop ourselves from laughing -- a lot. It's a pain in the ass. It'll cost money. But it's not the end of the world. So it goes with the life about to unfold before us with twins. Broken plastic and laughter.
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