I spend a lot of time during the night -- asleep and not asleep -- working on blog entries. When the morning comes, I find that my genius ideas of the night before don't actually make sense.
For example, two nights ago I composed something in my head about the question of whether pregnancy was good or bad. It all depended on which pillow I was sleeping on, and whether I was sleeping on my right side or left side. Doesn't make a ton of sense, does it? Unless you want to treat it as modern art and "see whatever you want to see."
I did have a couple of coherent dreams in the last week that seem relevant to the blog. In one, I was in my grandmother's living room where all eleven cousins used to pile on the couch for our Cousins Picture. This time, the floor was full of babies, all about six months old, who represented the Next Generation of Second Cousins. There was one set of twins there, and at different times during the dream they represented me and my twin brother (David), my two twin girls, and one baby belonging to me and one to David. Now this seems like something you CAN read into. Each time I looked at them I wanted to find out which one was mine. Even in the case where both babies were "my twins," I still considered one to correspond to David.
In the waking world, the buns and I went to the OB yesterday for a regular check-up. Baby A's heartbeat was in the high 150s per minute, and Baby B's was in the 130s. Both are in the normal range, but they are clearly very different from each other, as the OB noted with amusement. We see this pattern in all our ultrasounds and heartbeat checks: Baby A is frenetic and won't pose nicely for a picture, and Baby B is calm and provides a perfect, docile profile for snapshots. Baby A kicks more than Baby B, though B is catching up. Their size and health are on par with each other, but their behavior is strikingly different.
The personalities that we have read into these little bits of information seem to be parallel to my brother's and my personalities. I'm the wild one. He's the calm one. I'm loud. He's not. I've raced all over the world. He's better at staying in one place.
I have long been aware of my role in the generational cycle, the genetic line, among my women forebears. The connection between my maternal grandmother, my mom, and me has been very strong and obvious. You can see both a subjective and objective progression -- and lots of continuity -- from one life, one lifestyle, to the next. On the other side of the family, as I watched my grandmother's casket lowered into the family plot ten years ago, I imagined her as a young woman standing where I was, watching her own grandmother put into the same earth. Woman to woman to woman, sharing that experience.
Ever since I found out I was having twins, I have found my psyche spending a lot more time on my brother and me -- recreating ourselves in a way that incorporates our spouses, in a way that blurs whose baby/ies really belong/s to whom. Our identities are blurred, the generations are blurred. It gets a little confusing, really.
When David's daughter was born last month, I found I could look at her forever. I wondered about her future, her personality, her life. I made plans for her to grow up with her cousins, who were still hanging out in my belly beneath her. I was surprised at the immediate connection I felt to her. I've thought before that when David and I got married to the loves of our respective lives, about six months apart from each other, we all became a group of quadruplets. It was like we both got to bring our best friends into the twinship. (Erin and James, I hope you at least feel you were forewarned). I've never been so happy! Maybe out of our twinship, our quadrupletship, what we're doing is producing triplets. Gosh, if I weren't about to pass out from fatigue, I'd get giddy right about now.
Three babies is a charm.
I'm going to take a nap.