As the Average Joel, I am average in many ways. Average height, average weight, average Madden Football abilities (the true measure of a man). But in one area I am anything but average. In fact there is one area in which I exceed all others: making babies.
While this may come as news to some of you, most will not be surprised: My wife is pregnant. Considering I already have three children, being pregnant with yet another child barely elicits even a congratulatory hug, or at the very least, an at-a-boy butt slap. This laissez-faire attitude has pretty much dominated my entire approach to this last pregnancy, even more so than the incessant puking from my wife. The only thing that made this trip down maternity lane any different then the previous pregnancies (aside from before mentioned puking) was the semi-satisfied smile that dominated my face at knowing this was going to be the last one. The last child who would ever need diaper changes. The last child that I will ever have to lull to sleep in the middle of the night. (Okay, lets be fair, the last child MY WIFE will ever have to lull to sleep in the middle). The last child I will ever have to fight with because I had the audacity to choose the red Sippy cup instead of the green one even though their both the same FREAKING SIPPY CUP!
Then, on Thursday, my entirely calm demeanor towards this pregnancy changed. With one swoosh of the ultrasound wand my worst fears were realized. Our sweet little baby was healthy, happy and growing just right. Oh.. and so was the other one.
Thats right: Twins
As we have begun spreading the news around about the double trouble brewing in my wife's womb, we have received mostly one of two reactions. The first reaction is good natured disbelief, along the lines of "No Way!" "Are you serious?" and "Surely thou dost jest most capricious zephyr!"
The other reaction tends to be a commentary on the Michael Phelps like fortitude of my- how do I put this delicately- man seed. As my mom so tastefully put it, "Your boys can swim, bud!" Of course, considering my wife is as fertile as a Tennessee Valley, I hardly deserve all the credit.
In fact, all the credit really belongs to my wife. You see, my wife has a very tight relationship with the man upstairs. And no, I am not talking about the creepy hermit living in our attic, I am talking about God. For example, there was a moment in time where we had a mouse living in our van. Apparently all the Craisins and goldfish our children had strewn about the car were enough to support another sentient being. To be fair, there are probably enough cracker crumbs in our car support an entire third-world army. But try as we might, we could not get rid of this mouse. No bait was too tempting to lure him into our many well placed traps. Until, finally, my wife prayed to catch this mouse. What should happen? Sure enough, the next morning, there was our little stow away, finally caught in a trap.
Well, unbeknownsed to me, my wife had been going behind my back and praying for twins. We always knew we wanted five kids, but we also knew that my wife could only handle four pregnancies. The answer to the riddle was for my wife to ask Heavenly Father for twins.
Well, ask and ye shall receive.
Of course like any other husband, I greeted this news of my wife's secret supplications with a feeling of betrayal. I am not bothered by the fact that she asked for twins, I am bothered by the fact that she did not ask for a million dollars. I mean, if she is that tight with the Big Guy, would it have hurt her to ask?
In some ways I am almost disturbed by my wife's powers. It is like I am married to a Genie in a Bottle. I am afraid now that if I upset my wife, I will wake up with a shark head, gorilla arms and kangaroo legs. Forget to take out the trash and I could be the worlds first Shorrillaroo.
These twins also reveal another disturbing force controlling my life: Baseball. Le 'me' splain. I have been to five professional baseball games in my life: Two San Francisco Giants games, one Houston Astros game and two Minnesota Twins games. As it turns out, I have two boys that, especially as babies, could easily be classified as Giants, one little girl who has her head firmly planted in the clouds, much like an Astro and now Twins. Coincidence? I think not. Considering how hard it is to get our current kids to keep their clothes on, I am just glad I never went to an Expos game.
All kidding aside, I am honest-to-goodness excited about the prospect of twins. While the image of me trying to keep two rambunctious twins quiet in church has become my new vision of hell, I can't help but be happy about the two little additions to the family. I mean, just think of the tax benefits?