Oh Boy

“Can you believe you have a boy?” This is what everyone asks me right now.

Following a decade of four girls, a decade of ponytails, braids, Flowers By Zoe, Sugarlips, and Butter, a decade of playing things like beads, dolls, dress-up, house and school, a decade of “Hannah Montana” and “Suite Life of Zack and Cody,” then “ICarly,” “Shake it Up,” “Victorious,” and my personal favorite “Good Luck Charlie,” a decade of putting on plays that are not funny and dance shows to songs like “Call Me Maybe,” “Starships” and “Blow”—yes, we finally have a boy.  

My friends and siblings with boys are excited for some testosterone to finally throw off the calm that our household has been known for. In particular they are excited for a boy to discover the never-before-childproofed Poland Spring cooler that has stood for a decade without any of my girls ever being tempted to play with it and flood our kitchen. They are hoping our crystal glasses, which we have always kept in low-lying cabinets without any child-locks are soon shattered to the ground. My friend Danny is eager to watch my husband play endless games of football on the beach with our new son, after years of relaxing and reading while our four girls quietly play what he calls “dighole” in the sand for hours. That is, those closest to me are hoping that this lone boy in a sea of five sisters is an absolute alpha-male animal.

But the truth is we have barely even noticed we have a boy. We are in too deep with the reality of two babies. Sure, my daughter Sophie has asked me “what are those ball things under Barry’s penis,” and yes, every time I change his diaper I play defense, but other than that, the novelty of a son is completely overshadowed by the insanity of twins. It sounds trite and obvious, but it is two babies. Two babies to feed, two babies to change, two babies to bathe, two babies to walk around and rock during fussy times. I am only able to write this because my sister just came and took my older three girls back to her house for the night. Our house is somewhat quiet, we are down to three.

The fact is we probably should have been more prepared for the chaos that comes with twins. The scene in the delivery room should have warned us, where I was greeted by over a dozen doctors and nurses. Two of the doctors in my practice were there to deliver me. They explained they prefer to deliver twins as a duo, with an extra set of hands. Four pediatricians stood by the warmer, ready to examine baby A and baby B respectively as soon as they arrived. Two anesthesiologists stood ready in case my delivery changed into a c-section. Another doctor was solely responsible for making sure baby B was doing ok while baby A was being delivered, and several residents were assisting throughout. Then alongside us, stood an operating table set up for a c-section, just in case, with a team of doctors and nurses ready and waiting.  This is how many people were needed to supervise my twins’ arrival into the world. And this is how many people I feel I could use right now to help me make it through each day.

We did not know what we were having. I know everyone says that, but we really didn’t. We never found out with our others and we did not want to find out the gender of our twins, despite the pleading from family members, our other four kids and so many friends. Besides, I was used to Rob’s delivery room “face drop” each time they announced “it’s a girl”—it lasted about two seconds.  Ok, maybe 2 minutes on girl three and four.

“You’ll get a male dog,” I heard my father-in-law console him over the phone when our third daughter was born.

This time around, though, with two unknowns I was a nervous wreck. Somehow a fifth girl seemed digestible, but two more at once felt tough to take. With six kids, haven’t you earned the right to both genders?

After a few big pushes, Baby A was born.

“It’s a boy,” my doctor announced, and I expected the moment to be so dramatic. I’d been imagining it four times before, the birth of a son, and I thought surely Rob would look elated.

But there was no time to react. I had a second baby sitting inside me, sitting transverse across the top of my stomach that needed to be turned around and dragged out. It was a very long 17 minutes—doctors pushing her from outside me, pulling her from inside me, it was crazy. But finally she arrived, our fifth girl.  Figures, she’d been the one monopolizing all the space in there, sprawled out like a queen, while her brother was scrunched in a ball in the bottom right corner of my uterus for 38 weeks. God this boy is screwed. 

But we did not focus on their gender then, we were too amazed by the sight of two babies.

And it’s the reality of two that is so unfathomable still. Not that one’s a boy and one’s a girl. The fact that there are two.  And I’m not sure when that will wear off.  Every time I buckle them into my double Snap n Go I do a doubletake—no pun intended--still unable to believe this is really happening and that both of these actually belong to me.

When a friend of mine found out I was expecting twins on 5 and 6, she said her sister in law had twins on 5 and 6.

“I would put you in touch with her,” she told me, “but she’s still not over the shock, and the twins are 11."

I too am in a state of shock and adjustment. I don’t know when mine will wear off, but I’m sure as it does, and these babies turn into children, and develop personalities, I will soon discover whether I need to childproof that Poland Spring cooler.