And Another Sleepless Night.....

In an insomnia fit, I watched a terrible, terrible Lifetime-esque movie last night. Well, I must admit I Tivo’d it, but only because I thought it was a documentary. It was called “Half a Dozen Babies,” and the details described it as “An infertile woman takes fertility drugs and delivers six babies.” I’m a sucker for those super-high multiple birth stories, so I thought it would be an interesting way to pass a couple of hours.

So I figure out in two seconds it’s a movie, not a documentary, but I watch it anyway. And it was beyond awful, and I have been know to enjoy awful lifetime movies. Just the details on how it happened were incorrect (doesn’t anyone fact check these movies?). She goes in for her first beta and her levels are 7,000. On Day 14? Please.

The fake “bump” the actress wore was also ridiculous. Her stomach was about 7 feet in front of her. And then they created stretch marks on said stomach, which looked like someone took a garden rake and dragged it along her sides.

Then, against all odds, she delivers 6 healthy babies (she managed to keep them in for 34 weeks I think, which in itself is ridiculous). And then the most unbelievable part: The mother and father are just fine. Not a single issue in sight. They make having six kids look like taking care of a goldfish. That Amy Grant song “Baby Baby” was actually in the soundtrack, during a montage scene where you see the parents cheerfully scrambling during diaper changes and getting bottles out of the fridge and pushing babies in swings. Sometimes I cry tears of frustration after a mere few hours with my nephew, and he is one baby and so very well behaved.

Oh, and this super family managed to do this on one salary. Not one six-figure with six-figure bonus salary; one fast-food restaurant manager’s salary. Seriously. Call me crazy, but it is hard to stretch that kind of salary to cover all the bases for a family of eight. The couple lived with the mom’s parents, but a fight between the mom of six and her mom prompted the happy couple and their six under-a-year-old kids to pile into their van and leave in the middle of the night. No diapers or cribs or clothes. Just upped and moved to another city. Just one ridiculous concept after another. And yet, at 1:00 in the morning, I was hooked.

So today, in a fit of optimism, I looked through a baby name book and ran some ideas past Nicole. It looks like we won’t be settling on any names any time soon. Here were her responses to my suggestions:

• No
• Are you kidding me?
• You’re kidding
• You have to be kidding
• Never
• I wouldn’t name a cat that
• That’s perfect [sarcastic]
• That’s great [sarcastic]
• Maybe [ followed by: “I was just tossing you a bone. I don’t really like that name.”]

Our boy was going to be Atticus. I also mentioned Noam to Nicole when we thought perhaps we could have two boys, and she agreed. She recently revealed that there was no way she was going to let me name our son Noam. I am learning so much about her during this pregnancy!

I have a feeling both girls will have long names, like royalty: A first name followed by six middle names and a last name, and maybe a descriptor such as “The Great” or “The First.” We’ll see. We are kind of settled on three middle names, but those won’t be unveiled any time soon. (surprises abound!)

Tomorrow is my appointment and—I am hoping— the day we get good amnio news. A little more than 12 hours from now. I wasted most of this afternoon just waiting for the day to end so it would be night and pajama time and then bed time and then morning and then sweet relief. Worry is absolutely exhausting. I am really getting tired of it.

The above picture is of my beautiful niece Skye, and her reaction to eating sour candy. She’s not a fan.

I'm 19 weeks today. 19 weeks.