Okay okay okay. We found out last week that these ladies will be joining us October 20 at the latest. The date's set, we’ve attended pre-op, we’re suitably stressed out. BRING IT ON.
And then we learned yesterday that the surgery was bumped up. They're coming tomorrow.
So this is my last day as a father of one. Ozzie's last day as an only child. Gill's last day being pregnant.
Not really knowing how to spend it, I just sort of puttered around the house. Took Oz to a petting zoo to kill some time.
And now here I am. A tall glass of red wine to my right, spaghetti and meatballs bubbling in the kitchen, and... I don't really know what to say.
Well, first of all, this wine sucks. Oh, I forgive you, wine. Just get in me.
It's a feeling of... anxiousness and guilt for feeling anxious. Gill's the one going under the knife, not me. And I'm not even particularly worried about the surgery. It's routine. It'll be fine. But I'm worried about my little babies. Sure, we've had a million fetal assessments, but this whole situation's been so screwy that I'm still having trouble believing it'll actually result in three healthy baby girls.
It's a feeling of... knowing your life is going to absolutely change, but not being sure exactly how. There's a present sitting on the table that will explode your reality one way or the other, and you're excited and nervous and terrified and happy to get to open it.
We open our present at 11:30 AM tomorrow.
In a fit of mood, I took off to do a bit of grocery shopping earlier, but first stopped off at my parents. I needed to see them, and I also needed some of their brandy. As I got out of the car, ran into a pleasant looking couple going for a walk.
"... Doctor Schneider?", I ask hesitantly. It is. The woman who will be doing surgery on four members of my family in fourteen hours.
"Uh, I'm your c-section tomorrow morning." She remembers me now. Big smile, hearty hand-shake. I tell her to get a good night's sleep. She tells me the same.
I actually wondered if I went mad for a moment. That my poor brain, exhausted with stress, conjured up our doctor.
And now here I am.
I think about finding out. I think about Gill joking on the table. I think about me pacing and grilling the poor ultrasound tech with questions she can't answer. I think about telling Lesley and going to Boston Pizza. I think about telling my parents. My dad was stoned on T3s at the time (gallstones), and it took a long while for the news to register. I think about the countless dazed calls to friends and family, following the same triplet script. I think about the baby shower our friends threw for us. I think about retiring my band. I think about recording my album. I think about changing jobs. I think about house hunting. I think about buying a van. I think about paying someone to take away my family piano to make extra room. I think about my boy. I think about my wife.
I think about you girls. I can't wait to meet every one of you. I hope I can give you a nice life. I hope you look out for each other. Please be healthy.