The Time Hubby Found Out We Were Having Twins

for my sweetie on Father's Day

There’s a wand stirring the gel on my belly like it’s cake batter. Doctor Vermesh is my fertility specialist and baker. He shows Jeffrey and I what’s on the ultrasound monitor.

Vermesh-- And here’s the heartbeat.

Jeffrey squeezes my hand.

An impish smile spreads across Dr Vermesh’s face.

Vermesh-- Oh hello. Another heartbeat. Twins. You’re going to have twins.

BorUpFoto; Getty Images

I catch my breath, thrilled. Jeffrey looks terrified.

We get to the elevator. He presses the down button. Hard. He paces the hallway.

Jeffrey—Tw--Twins? How will—? What the—?

Me-- Jeffrey it’ll be fine. We’ll get it all done. One fell swoop.

Jeffrey-- Swoop? Swoop? You know me. I don’t swoop. I’ve never been a swooper.

Me-- What are you talking about? You’re King Swooper. If I had a dollar for every time you swooped I’d have at least a thousand dollars.

Jeffrey-- No way. Never. I have to research. I can’t even buy a pair of pants unless I stare in the mirror at them for 45 minutes.

Me-- You didn’t look fat.

Jeffrey-- Yes, I did. I need pleats otherwise the focus is drawn towards my mid-section.

Me-- That’s chinos. This is children.

Jeffrey-- I know this. I know. But TWINS?

Me-- And you ended up buying two pairs of pants! See? You’re an expert swooper.

First known “swoop” was on our honeymoon. He convinced me to take a helicopter ride.

Jeffrey was always Mr. Reality. Mr. How-will-we-pay-the-mortgage? I’ve always tried to be the calm in chaos. Mrs. We’ll-figure-it-out. It’s a good match. We set each other straight. But today… I notice sweat pooling on his neck and the A/C must be 59 degrees in this building—probably for all those expectant mothers who are carrying an extra 45 pounds, a weighted blanket.

Maybe if I change the subject. That’s been a good strategy in life. Except the time I said, “The sky is less orange today,” to a busy barista who then raged about living in Los Angeles.

Me—Slow elevator.

He punches the button again. I’m reminded of my grandmother’s apartment building. There was always some senior on another floor who accidentally left a shopping cart in front of the sensor. One couldn’t walk down a hallway without bumping into a shopping cart. They served as excellent walkers for the seniors who refused to get medical grade, delaying the inevitable.

Me-- Look, you swoop at work every day. You have like thirty-two different things going on at once making video games.

Jeffrey-- Video games is different. This is babies.

Me-- You said you deal with babies at work every day.

He’s about to say something but doesn’t. I probably just reminded him of that one genius artist who has a refrigerator in his office filled with beer. He’d take naps and have tantrums but churn out brilliant drawings for their next game.

The elevator doors open. I push G for Garage or in this case, Grumpy.

Me-- C’mon. It’ll be great. One for you and one for me. Instant family. Steefel party of four.

Steefel party of four. We probably all napped after that birthday party.

He sighs. I know that sigh. It emerged when he took this job. He knew it would be a big change but ultimately the right one. And it was.

Jeffrey-- We can juggle?

Me—You’re Mr. Multitask. Besides, we’re not going to do anything about it.

Jeffrey-- What do you mean?

Me-- I’m not showing anyone the door.

Jeffrey-- Oh right. Yeah. Of course not.

Me-- I have confidence in your swoopage.

Jeffrey-- Instant family?

Me-- I’ll pop ‘em out before you can say, “Quintuplets.”

Jeffrey-- Bite your tongue.

Me-- It’s bitten.

Jeffrey-- Bing bang boom?

Me-- Bing bang bada boom.

The elevator doors open to the garage. Jeffrey takes my hand.

Me-- We’re in this swoop together.

Jeffrey-- Always.

Me-- Now where did we park?

28 years later Jeffrey is still swooping and swooning over our kids. He’s the best dad I know.

Happy Father’s Day.

I love that hubby and son don’t care that they look like a gay couple.

Let’s talk! Do you have a favorite dad story?