Lately, I have been utterly convinced I am having two babies, because I have been so hungry and my gut popped out weeks ago and I'm only twelve weeks. So I have been eating away, feeding the twins, so as to gain 20 pounds before my first appointment, and then on the ultra sound, I see, clear as day, only one little baby, about the size of a maccaroni, and otherwise, a whole lot of me. Strange to say, I am in mourning. Two for one seemed like an incredible bargain to me, six being an even number of kids, and perhaps even a feeling of "doneness" where procreation is concerned. I don't know where this leaves me, except scuffling through days feeling a very strong attraction to my bed (likely first trimester induced). Luckily, Emily made it clear that in spite of the fact that she just returned home from vacation and is planning a party for James's first Communion, and that she's going camping next weekend, what she really wanted is for one of my kids to tag along with Nana and Pop to Virginia this weekend. So with Jane partying at the Cooks, we have a guys weekend here in Shelbyville, the stipulation being that the boys must spend every waking hour of the Memorial Day weekend outside. We all slept in the tent last night. We've had picnics, we planted the garden and it's possible that the boys have even made use of the great outdoors to do their pottying. Actually, its more than possible, because when Andy and I woke up from our nap, we went outside to find everyone, and there was Nick, behind the shed, looking very much like this:
Tonight we are going to see Indiana Jones at the drive in, and then Joe and the boys will once again sleep under the stars. I, however, have made a conscientious decision to sleep inside.
FYI, Tuesday is Joe and mine's 8th anniversary. Raise your hand if you want to babysit.