At 19 weeks pregnant and already the size of a pensioners bungalow I waited excitedly in the hospital for my first scan.
I was tired of hearing comments on my size from everyone with an opinion, and was terrified that the sonographer would reveal what everyone was guessing, that tucked up inside my alarmingly sized bump was not one baby but two.
With a squirt of jelly (the non edible kind I discovered) and a mere glimpse into my innards she confirmed in a matter of fact way that I was sub letting. My advert of ‘womb for rent’ had been printed in duplicate and I had two tenants in residence.
We stuck to our previous thinking, if it was one baby we didn’t want to know the sex, if it was two we did. The obvious was revealed first and he who helped create them beamed with the proud knowledge that he would finally have a long term friend to kick about with in the park. We waited for the second baby to literally expose ‘its’self to the camera (the first and only time we wanted our child to be a flasher) and soon it was confirmed that we had a ready made family, a boy and a girl were to be dropped off by the stork in five months time.
To discover you are going to be a mum is pretty darn amazing, to find out you are going to be responsible for two at the same time is almost unbelievable. By 37 weeks I had graduated from being the size of the pensioners bungalow to needing two seats on the tube to accommodate the three of us. My feet were as far away as china and we don’t even need to discuss the size of the boobies. I had to serve an eviction notice by means of an induction. It was time to turf out the babies and literally cut the cord.
Being a high risk multiple birth pregnancy meant I was handed the key to the drug cupboard and my labour was positively euphoric, unlike with beautiful baby birthing process. As I settled down for a epidural induced nap, I chuckled quietly to see he who helped create them fidget in the hard chair whilst the midwife rearranged my eighteen pillows. I even slightly shamed him before dozing off gently by telling the care assistants that I hadn’t felt this drugged since I was in Amsterdam.
Starting as they meant to go on, the two babies inside me declared squatters rights and refused to come out. I swear I heard twin girl call out ‘you can’t make me leave its my sac’. Twin boy clearly got angry about me trying to kick him out and his heart rate started to increase rapidly. The doctors, not yet knowing twin boy, took this for distress. In retrospect I believe it to be stubbornness combined with a tantrum. So the doctors stepped in and decided that if they weren’t prepared to leave the easy way then they were prepared to play hard ball. So they dived right in and grabbed the first baby they could find and pulled her out by her toes. My little twin girl, all five pounds two of her was dangled briefly in front of me before being whisked off for a stern talking to by the doctors. Two minutes later twin boy was pulled from his hiding place and within moments I had a baby lying in the crook of each arm.
In took twin boy and girl no time at all to realise they had moved from the basement to the penthouse. It took me the same amount of time to discover I could love more fiercely and passionately than I believed possible.
It has been four and a half years since that moment on the operating theatre. Where I used to have morning lie ins I now have ‘Milkshake’ in bed, I used to have nights out instead I am now having an affair with the washing machine. My children have enthralled me, embarrassed me, made me cry with love and shout with anger but most of all they have taken my life and made it better.
They are growing up so fast venturing off to school, wanting to climb frames too big and swing up far too high. I am now watching them from the sidelines cherishing each time they run back to me, too big now to sit in the crook of each arm but the perfect size for a three way cuddle.
Love you M and O