Pretty in Pink

It's almost time.  We will hit our 32 weeks on Friday.  On average, twins are born at 36 weeks.  Our house is coming together pretty quickly now, so I'm not worried.  The nursery is painted and assembled.  There is a little crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling and pink, flower night lights adorn the walls.  We've got a variety of bedsheets in both pink and yellow, decorative blankets (that will of course be removed once the cribs are occupied) and dozens of stuffed toys.  There are blackout blinds over the windows, hidden from view when they are up by a ruffly, pink (our colours are pink and chocolate brown) valence that matches the bed skirts on the crib.  We've got a second crib set up in our bedroom, where I can practice tripping over it in the middle of the night.

Physically, my wife is huge.  Her belly is round, with the curvature starting just under breasts.  These girls have decided to grow up instead of out.  At this stage, I hear my wife give surprised squeals (mixed with low groans) when the babies give her a kick with enough power to be visible on the surface of her skin.

Between my wife's physical appearance and everything baby scattered about each floor of our house, there is no shortage of visible cues that the girls are on their way...but to be honest, it's wasn't the preparations or my wife's quickly changing appearance that made our situation feel very real to me.  It was all the little clothes.  Just looking at them made me realize how small these girls are going to be. 

I did all the washing the other night.  I cleaned mountains of ducky decorated onesies, little pink sleepers and frilly princess dresses.  We've got matching hats, little booties and teeny, tiny gloves.  Everything is cottony soft.  And thanks to me each outfit was made even more adorable, because I shrunk them to half their original size.  I followed the directions, both my wife's and those listed on the garment labels, so I'm hoping that the shrinkage is only as was expected.  If, however, you encounter me on the street, pushing a giant stroller filled with babies dressed in shopping bags, know it's not because my wife is a bad mother, but because I am a bad housekeeper.

 Off to our week 32 ultrasound.  I'll say hi to the girls for everyone!