On reaching 79 days (at maximum)

As a new blogger, I'm trying multiple outlets to meet other bloggers sharing similar experiences (much love to SITS!). One of the ways one can do so is through Fatherhood Fridays at Dad Blogs, one of the only blog networks out there that caters primarily to fathers (or soon to be fathers, in the present case). They're quite open to moms as well. As someone still in the process of becoming a dad, my only contribution to Fatherhood Friday comes in the form of describing what it's like to watch the time tick down to Twinsageddon as well as the process of beginning to bond with something that was previously little more than an idea.

79 days remaining in this pregnancy. It shouldn't seem significant, and it isn't in any ostensible way, but the number seems shockingly small. 79: a prime, the atomic number of gold, the year of Amanda's birth (well, with 19 as a prefix), the number of days Phileas Fogg actually takes to get around the world in Verne's Around the World in 80 Days. None of these things make this specific day especially remarkable, but it still seems poignant. Time is marching on, unrelentingly, and these guys are coming no matter what we do. We're completely ready emotionally, mind you, we just feel like we still have so much to do. We can file an extension for our taxes, I can get an extension on some papers for classes, etc. but these little monkey are making their collective appearance even if we don't feel entirely ready for them to be out here with the rest of us. But... It's also the case that May can't get here quickly enough.

* * * * * * * * * *

Amanda falls asleep before me most often. Almost like clockwork, the boys begin to play another round of their in utero games around midnight. The boys and I have a little "alone time" as I watch Food Network or try to drift off to sleep and this has helped the bonding process quite a bit. With my arm wrapped around her belly, I feel a certain closeness that was elusive previously. They were like vague ideas before, but now they demonstrate their existence constantly. Timothy's kicks have become solid thumps, like someone flicking you through a blanket, while Raiden's kicks are carefully considered, irregular inquiries. Amanda assures me that this is because I only get to feel them externally; internally, both wail away on her organs at various points throughout the day with alarming alacrity. They sometimes seem to roll; that's what really gets to her.

* * * * * * * * * *

School has become much harder to focus on. I already have a rather short attention span. With so many interesting and shiny objects around it's hard not to get distracted. The dialogue in my head goes something like this: "I have two days to get something done? Huh. I know, let's look at trucks...err, no, cribs! Maybe I should also read this philosophy paper that has nothing to do with my thesis or classwork. I definitely should work on my blog!"

Humph. On that note, I should probably try to climb that small mountain of laundry. Before I go, Popper would like to sing to you:

He's a big Beatles fan. His favorite is Ringo, but we still love him.