I was lying in a hospital bed feeling very, very large and cumbersome and wishing that the two little aliens tumbling about in my vast stomach would come out.
They needed to you see, even though it was a few weeks before they were due their grand entrance.
There I lay,tucked into uncomfortable scratchy nylon sheets in a too warm ward surrounded by horrendous decor (really would it be too much to choose a *nice* colour?) Alone, which was prophetic in a way, wanting to see my babies so much. Waiting and waiting for them to decide to begin the twinge that would indicate things were happening and the gel (oh they don't tell you about where they put the *gel* do they!) had finally worked. Because if it didn't work then it would need to be under the knife.
My mind chased with thoughts and dreams and wishes. I could never have presumed what would eventually happen although the signs were already there. My priorities had changed, from the first moment the stick turned blue on a cool day in early June. My priorities had changed indeed and left him behind. The desires of a nurturing soul are much different from a selfish soul and too often they cannot be brought together.
I slept that night, despite the monitors strapped to my stomach drumming out the beat of their hearts. Or perhaps because of that. Because for every night since I have given thanks that they were born healthy, hearty and whole. Two tough little cookies; two wonderful little boys; two totally independent and interesting Hobbits. And I am so glad I am their mother, I am so glad I've gotten to know such little men.