Three people have asked me in the last week whether I'm knocked up. OK, so sure I have been wearing my maternity gear a little longer than J.Lo, but the boys are still in their PJs and it's 3pm. For the avoidance of doubt, the "new tummy" referred to in an earlier blog is my post-twin pouch. The "maternity knickers" a post-Caesar essential recommended by the physio.
When it comes to me and pregnancy, it's like the second world war. Never Again. NEVER EVER AGAIN. No Bosnian or Rwandan carve-outs, here. Been there, done that and I can attest that it's the greatest propaganda ever propagated. That and the bit about children being necessary to complete one.
There was no glow about me whatsoever during my pregnancy. I vomited for 6 months, had 2 weeks respite and then started fainting before I got so vast that I just lolled on the bed scratching at my excema, panting from the exertion. My partner called me The Dugong (for those not in the know, the dugong -- also called the sea cow -- is the Joan Rivers of the Dolphin family). My father said to my mother "You really glowed during your first pregnancy. Kim, however, is not". When your own father thinks you look like a dog, things have to be dire.
Nope, as far as I'm concerned, twins have dealt with any maternal yearning in this household; I saw a newborn baby the other day and actually shuddered. Apart from the lady with the twins, the triplets and the mini bus, how often do you see parents of twins who went back for more? Very very rarely, is the answer.
In fact, twins could be the solution to so many of the world's problems. The UN wants to stem the population boom but appease the Catholic Church? Roll twins out to developing countries! Good God. You mean we could get that? Teenage pregnancy? Nothing to do with morality, my daughter, spend a day with us. Premature ejaculation? One word to keep you hanging on son, Multiple Birth.
And that's our sons: poster boys for abstinence.