Our First Thanksgiving, In a Way

I already posted this on Facebook, but that's not public and I feel the short story bears repeating with a smidge more detail.

Six years ago, almost exactly to the day, we found out we were expecting twins.

It was two days before Thanksgiving, 2006. I was five months into my pregnancy, blissfully unaware of the bombshell the ultrasound technician was about to drop. My in-laws and my sister- and brother-in-law had all made the trip to our home in Oxford, Mississippi, and the next day we were all going to travel to Texas to be with my family for a big, all-sides Thanksgiving dinner.

My pregnancy up to this point had been textbook perfect. I had gained only a few pounds and was barely showing, though I insisted on wearing maternity pants because I was so doggone excited about pants with elastic built into the waistband. (I honestly wish elastic waistbands in jeans were acceptable at all times, not just during pregnancy. Does anyone else deal with a permanent gap above their bottom?) I hadn't experienced any nausea, and in hindsight, the only sign I may have had as to the nature of my pregnancy was the fact that I slept 14 hours a day. I woke up, taught high school English, came home, slept, woke up to eat, slept, then woke up to go to bed. I was exhausted. My body was working hard.

Because everything had been smooth sailing, my doctor didn't see the need for a super early ultrasound, so we waited for the typical 20-week ultrasound. We had scheduled it to correspond with family and Thanksgiving, hoping we would have definitive gender news and clear photos for everyone. If you've had kids, then you know the drill: Two eager, excited parents, making nervous jokes with the ultrasound technician, sneaking peaks to try and figure out just what the heck is going on with that screen.

She told us rather abruptly.

"Did you know you were having twins?"

And just like that, everything shifted. We weren't a graduate student and a high school teacher, 24- and 23-years-old respectively, eagerly awaiting our first baby. We were suddenly parents of two babies, two babies who would come at once, two babies who would need all the things that one baby needs except times two.

Oh, dang, I thought. I just have that one fancy crib on layaway. I can't afford two like that.

I think that, all things told, we took the news remarkably well. We laughed and cried and accepted the news stoically and joyfully. I didn't cry out of frustration, like I've heard other mothers of twins are apt to do. (I once met a lady who had undergone IVF, perfectly aware that it would dramatically increase her chance of conceiving multiples, who stormed and threw a tantrum when she heard the word "twins." What a brat.) I was definitely a little bit scared in my core; anyone expecting a baby who has any sense of the great shift that is about to occur feels that, and I had just been told I was carrying two babies. The Professor was rather jittery himself. After all, he was a poor graduate student who suddenly had to support a wife and two kids, most likely without his wife's income to pad out the extra expenses. Whoa.

Baby A and Baby B were most definitely boys, and the ultrasound technician, almost as excited as we were, printed us out a million pictures with arrows and words so we would know exactly what we were looking at when the shock wore off. We stumbled out in a daze, grinning like fools, and took our spoils home to our family, who were all eagerly awaiting gender news.

We handed them a photo of their two little, perfectly round heads, perched side-by-side, and asked them to guess what they were seeing. Janie guessed a close-up of testicles, which makes me laugh out loud to this very day. When we were able to stop smiling and say, "Twins," no one believed us for a few seconds. Then there was whooping and much rejoicing. Then I called my parents and my mom said, "I knew it." Then The Professor called his grandparents and his grandma said, "I don't believe you."

We had a lot to be thankful for that Thanksgiving. Sure, the universe had just placed a lot of uncertainty in our laps, but we were surrounded by a supportive, excited family who wouldn't allow us to fail. We were among friends who would hold us up and bring us meals and visit our sons in the NICU. We were in the arms of our Savior, who would sustain us. We were thankful.

Less than two years later we had a baby girl. Last year we had another boy. This Thanksgiving, six years since our first big bombshell, my sister and her husband have two sweet children, and Janie and Ryan have a daughter and a what-if on the way. A lot has changed since that family photo (minus my father-in-law) was taken, but we have only managed to add to our happiness, to strengthen our families, to grow in the Lord.

That wasn't our very first Thanksgiving, but it was, in a sense, our first Thanksgiving as a family. In my mind I organize our family timeline according to "before" or "after" that Thanksgiving, and the senses and sights and sounds of that experience are still fresh enough to give me an excited, slightly sick swoop in my tummy.

I know it sounds trite and overdone and roll-your-eyes worthy, but we are so thankful. So very blessed. Like, beyond-our-imaginations-and-wildest-dreams blessed. So happy. Healthy. Safe. Close to food and heat and water and shelter and adequate clothing and family and education. Short on drama. Long on love.

Blessings to you this Thanksgiving and all year, friends. I truly wish you much less shock and awe than we experienced six years ago. Let's all just have a nice, normal, chill time, okay? Agreed?