We Prefer Black Kids Anyway

As usual, and pretty much as expected, Eric and I are not normal. Instead of having a precious little bouncing baby we are having 3. Three times the hormones, three times as fat and three times as many doctor visits. We also get the force of everybody else's reaction to the news. Don't worry. I was as shocked as you were. For the first several minutes after Doctor Wang (not his stripper name either) told me, all I could say was, "Oh, Shi*. (That little asterisk is for all you kids out there, by the way). Before this happened to me (insert music from Teen Mom here) I assumed that people who had this many babies were either:

a. Hyper-Religious, or
b. One of those girls whose life dream has been to be a mom, who majored in Family Studies because she knew that her one goal was to raise the perfect family.

There are several factors that influenced my thinking including; every show on TLC, the fact that the really religious people I know always seem to know several sets of multiples and are generally less surprised by the news, and, did I mention every show on TLC?

Well, clearly, I don't fit my own stereotype. People were beyond shocked that I ever got married, let alone that we are now having like 60 babies. Also, before all this happened I asked Eric, what I thought was a completely reasonable question, "What if they come out and are black?" I was a little serious but, in his reply, so was he. "Well, that'd be okay. I prefer black kids anyway."  I was shocked, cause honestly, I do too. I never expected us to agree on such an important issue.

The good part is that everyone thinks you are suddenly interesting- like any of you would be reading this if I was writing about my adventures with Fenway everyday. That interest only lasts about 3 minutes though so don't worry, after that I still let my socially awkward, nothing to say, self shine through.

Here is a sample of reactions from people:

The Woman On The Train
Scene: Me on the subway reading, When You Are Expecting Twins, Triplets or Quads. Woman looks at my book.
Woman: Oh, are you expecting twins, triplets or quads?
Me: Yeah, triplets.
Woman: Oh, wow. That is wonderful. I always wanted to have a lot of babies at once, as many as I could.
Me (out loud): Well, that's a pretty bad idea.
Me (inside my head): I am pretty sure that's a personality disorder. I think Octomom has it. You should probably seek help.
END SCENE

My Father
Scene: On the phone. My mother had of course already told him.
Me: So, what do you think of the news?
HIm: Wow. That is a lot of babies, like a lot of babies. People with twins are tearing their hair out. Three babies is going to be a LOT to handle.
Me: Uh, thanks for the encouragement.
Him: Yeah, that's a lot of babies.
END SCENE

I don't just get their reactions about the triplets. I get strangers reactions to my current lifestyle- being super fat, annoyed and having to pee every six minutes.

First, the barista at Starbucks judges me every time I order a steamer with whole milk. Of course, first they don't even know what it is even though it's on their menu so I get to handle all that confusion. Maybe they are disgusted that I am paying $3.29 for flavored milk, maybe its the whole milk choice but either way I get that "look" from them, that judging look. Stop judging me baristas. You work at Starbucks. (Disclaimer: I highly respect baristas and have often fantasized about working at Starbucks).

My friend Grace and I went to see a play, a one man show to be more precise, so it wasn't exactly a broadway production. We had excellent seats, front and center. Being the incredibly thoughtful people we are, after noticing that NO ONE was sitting in the side sections we moved to a side section in case I had to get out and pee. Maybe you missed it but there was NO ONE else sitting there so we sat in the 2nd and 3rd seats, leaving one seat by the row empty. Well, of course, this woman chooses that seat of all the empty seats in the house. I politely warn her that I may have to get out in the middle. After she rather rudely asks me why I tell her that I am pregnant and have to pee frequently. At this point I am using my cutesie, sweetheart voice, trying to be genteel and nice. Her response? "Well, you should drink less." To which I respond, "Well, either way, I might bother you if you sit there" in not such a cutesie voice. Here is what I said in my head, "Listen Beast, there are 3 babies, 3 amniotic sacs, 2 placentas (one of them rather large) and heaven knows what else all sitting extremely low and squishing my bladder so unless you want me to pee on you, LAY OFF!"