Overtime

This weekend brought many changes including moving off of our row into a quiet room and moving into cribs. We are so close I can barely take it. A brief conversation with their doctor enhanced this belief so we went shopping for the basics on Sunday. Our cart was full with all the trappings a new baby demands. The Babies R Us cashier efficiently rang us up, noting our choices, and inquired, "Boy and Girl Twins?" "Yes," we smiled back. She then discreetly looked me over and asked, "Adopting?" I suppose I should be happy that I do not look pregnant anymore but a part of me wistfully regrets never being able to take advantage of the "expecting mom's" parking space. I am just about over the fact that I will not be wheeled out of the hospital with "It's a boy!" and "It's girl!" balloons tied to my wheelchair, flanked with bundles of joy in my arms and a beaming husband dutifully pushing towards our new life. I just want to break out of this limbo. Bryan tried not to laugh at me last night as I struggled to put together the pack and play ("portable" my a**), using instructions that are thoughtfully written in three languages but are of no help whatsoever. I washed clothes, sheets and towels, hoping that each act would bring me one more day, one more minute, closer to having these babies with us so I can quit this part-time parenting job.