WEEK 8

We’re back full circle, where this blog first began. Matt and I have been notified that we’re having triplets, not twins. Apparently one of the eggs we transferred decided to split in two and turn our world upside down. Matt and I giggle and chatter nervously through the appointment, but as soon as we’re alone in the elevator on the way out, the dread sets in. I start crying. “Triplets are weird,” I sob to Matt. “They freak me out.”

It may seem ridiculous that I was excited about twins but horrified by triplets, but here’s the thing: Triplets are the tipping point between controlled and uncontrolled chaos. Suddenly Matt and I are outnumbered, with not enough arms and boobs to go around, not enough money in the bank account for a party of five, and a much riskier road ahead of us. 

Although my fertility doctor mentions that I could selectively reduce the number of embryos if I wanted, I instantly turn him down. Deciding to end life after trying so hard to conjure it just isn’t something I can do. Some force of fate or chance has gotten us here, and I imagine it will lead us to wherever it is we are going.

Still, I am terrified. So is Matt. There is no Panera or bagels of joy after the appointment. Just a shaky drive home. And when we get home, everything comes to a head. Matt has shut down; I am panicked and babbling non-stop. Pretty soon we are locked in a huge fight. Then, before we can resolve things, Matt has to go to work. When he gets home, I’m asleep. After a morning of stony silence, we finally sit down and try to communicate how we were feeling in a more productive way. We agree that the only way to not be completely overwhelmed by the enormity of it all is to just take it day by day and arm ourselves with as much information as possible.

For a long time we had been banging on the ketchup bottle of reproduction, hoping for a small serving. But when something finally came out, it was a huge splurt.

Don’t get me wrong–I am in no way regretting our splurt. I know, at least I think, it’s a blessing. It just takes a minute for the panic to convert to excitement.

Today, we freak. Tomorrow we figure this thing out.

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