Be careful what you wish for

In my other life as a freelance journalist, the one where I earn money and respect, and which is fast fading to a distant memory as I submerge myself ever further under a mound of nappies, bottles, dirty washing and discarded action figures, I have been asked to pitch an idea for a piece to a newspaper. The story is about, not surprisingly, my ever-burgeoning family, but one of the questions the editor asked me to think about was how I felt when I found out I was having twins. 

I am not sure what I could charge for a two word piece, as the honest answer is 'Shit scared' or, more accurately as it's a family paper, 'S**t scared'. 

Bizarrely during this pregnancy, and only this one, my husband was convinced from the outset that it was twins, and this was long before my gargantuan bump advertised to the world and his wife that there were two on board. This was strange coming from a man who had so strongly resisted the addition of one more baby to the family, let alone two. Clearly there was a warning in there somewhere, but I just brushed it off with an airy: 'Good god I hope not, that would be my worst nightmare!'. 

Imagine my surprise when at my 12 week scan it turned out that my (bad) dream was to come true as when the scanner hit my stomach the image of two tiny, grainy babies was clear as day. But while my husband turned the air in the ultrasound room blue, expanding the foreign sonographer's knowledge of British swear words immeasurably, I was convinced that there must be some mistake surely? I even wondered if perhaps the expensive Harley Street scanner had a split screen mode no one had thought to mention - talk about clutching at straws. 

But no, it really was twins and as we paced the tasteful corridors of the clinic trying to persuade baby A, or was it B, I really couldn't tell back then, into the right position to complete the scan we quietly panicked about just what havoc the twins would wreak on our model family of four. The car was too small, the house was too small, the bank account was too small and all in the middle of a credit crunch. 

While my husband, being a man, wrestled with such practical considerations. I was, being a woman, in emotional meltdown desperately trying to suppress the dark memories from my postnatally depressed newborn days with baby number one, when the only thing that got me through was thanking my lucky stars that at least I didn't have twins - only now I would. 

Now who looked a fool for wanting  that third throw of the baby dice? Not only had it failed to land on pink, we'd inadvertently thrown a double. So as the saying goes be careful what you wish for as you might get one more than you bargained for. Though at least I get the last word as now even hubby admits that three would have been a breeze.