Hospital antenatal class #2.

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Last night was the second antenatal class. I think we may be getting a bit friendly with the other twin couple, if only because the four of us have to stay after for extra little field trips.

We saw the normal delivery rooms, the twin delivery room (about four/five times the size of a normal room and much more medical looking), the operating theatre, the postnatal ward, etc. Then the twin familes went along to the special care baby unit – not as terrifying as I had imagined, but still VERY hospital looking. We found out that admission – assuming your babies are perfectly healthy with no problems – is based on weight. Any baby under 4 pounds 6 ounces (2 kilos) has to stay in the unit. And they separate twins if only one hits that criteria.

Here’s hoping both our babies can skip over the special care unit, because in ordinary circumstances (vaginal or c-section delivery) twin mums get private rooms – just them and the babies!! No sharing with 7 other women and screaming children. You have all that privacy, the babies are in the same cot and sleep next to your bed, and also TMD can have skin-to-skin without it looking too weird.

I find that the closer to birth we get – and all the passports and same sex parenting stuff from yesterday – the more LESBIAN I turn. I’m not quite the militant I was when I first came out, but feeling very angry, frustrated, and hurt about a lot of the shit we have to go through that straight couples can take for granted.

I had my very own wheelchair for all this tour stuff yesterday, and poor TMD is probably broken from pushing my giant self around. Add that to the fact that it was a shitty hospital one that only can move ‘easily’ when going in a straight line, and I think she will probably be relieved to push the giant twin pushchair as it is more manuverable and lightweight than me in a wheelchair.

I can’t figure out how to spell ‘manuverable’ in this country’s spelling. Or any other country’s, for that matter. Anyway. Moving on.

Woke up this morning and was actually motivated enough to clean both bathroom mirrors, the shelf, the sink (except for the gross shit that needs to soak in vinegar), and the outside of the toilet. This included handpicking off all the bits of paint the racist decorator left in our brand new sink. Fuckface. Is this nesting?

I am obsessed with the sink looking dirty. I also think every day of my life about how simple and easy it would be to just wash the main mirror. I NEVER EVER do these things. I am not a cleaner type woman. Yet this morning I had music blaring and almost was dancing (in my heart, anyway, because I’m all broken like a high fashion model on a photo shoot) while cleaning. Yes, halfway through I needed to sit on a chair because I could stand no longer – but surely that only proves my commitment?

TMD and I talk about how we feel loved – and we both show it in the way that we need to personally feel it. For example, I feel loved by human touch, by together time, etc. TMD feels loved by things being done – cleaning, cooking, washing up. So she spends a lot of time doing these things and is quite hurt when I am upset because I simply want to to sit next to me on the couch. I also don’t show her love the way she needs – particularly at the moment – because I am a couch cripple.

I hope she notices the bathroom. Maybe I could use the vinegar to burn a heart in the hard ass gunk that has built up.

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3 Responses to “Hospital antenatal class #2.”

  1. Tatiana Says:

    “Maybe I could use the vinegar to burn a heart in the hard ass gunk that has built up.”

    That is (honest to goodness) one of the most romantic things ever.

    It’d be like me making the bed and arranging matched pairs of socks in a heart on top of it.

  2. Jinxy Says:

    I agree with Tatiana, that is totally romantic.

    I never thought about how people feel loved before, you put it so well. I’m in awe.

    I’m glad you felt good enough to clean, it probably was nesting. I never really did nest, but I wish I would have got the cleaning bug. I was so tired and unmotivated that the only thing I did was what I felt absolutely had to be done.

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