Everything.
When you're having two children at the same time, of course, this is how it works.
The only thing we don't have two of is the cake, which–hey! There are multiples of every kind of alcohol.
Where’s the second cake? Especially a Cheeto-vanilla cake?
I demand parity.
Or, at least, my stomach does.
“Hey. You look upset. What's wrong?' Andrew asks, rubbing my back right in the spot that's been aching recently.
“Thinking about how unfair it is that there's only going to be one cake. Mom said Marie is bringing it.”
“It's yours.”
“What?”
“Pam has trays of cookies. If you want the entire cake, go for it.”
Mom's hosting the baby shower. We're at her house, which is spotless. I look at the cookies on the table and perk up.
“Marshmallow treats!”
The doorbell rings and I hear the jingle of Spritzy's collar as Mom answers it. Thankfully, she's having a good day. The Lyme disease protocol she's been on for a few months now seems to be slowly leading to some improvement, though I have my doubts sometimes.
“Pamela,” my father-in-law says with deep affection from the front door, their conversation turning to backdrop as I make my way to the Cheeto marshmallow treats, grab one, and take a bite of the crunchy, gooey stuff. The roof of my mouth argues back a bit, and I know tomorrow it'll be sore from the rough texture, but I don't care.
One of the babies does a flip, making me laugh. Andrew immediately puts his palm over my belly, feeling it.
“This just doesn’t get old,” he says, kissing my cheek.
The baby kicks in affirmation.
“Get a room!” says a bubbly voice as I'm side hugged by Shannon's mom, Marie. Her hands join Andrew's on my belly, the fingernails perfectly manicured, any idea that there might be a boundary about touching my bump inconceivable to her.
“Hi, Marie.” She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and presses gently on both sides of my personal, attached blimp.
“Hi, babies,” she whispers, her lips inches from my belly button. “What are their names?”
“Sun and Moon,” Andrew deadpans.
“Sun and Moon?” Marie repeats, incredulous. Is her eye twitching?
“Sunshine and Moonbeam, shortened to Sun and Moon.”
“Ha! You would never do that to your children. Those are horrible names!”
“How about James the Second and James the Third?” Declan says from behind us, voice filled with sarcasm.
Not that this is any different from his normal voice.
“That won't work,” Marie says, turning to give Declan a hug.
“Why not?” he asks, winking at me.
“Because James had his chance for a namesake and he blew it. He gave you his name as a middle name,” she says to Andrew, who nods. “You get to pick whatever names you want for your sons.” She plucks a piece of lint off Andrew's shirt, scrunching her face. “Except Sunshine and Moonshine.”
“Moonbeam.”
She waves her hand. “Whatever. Don't give your kids weirdo names. We stuck to Carol, Shannon, and Amy, and look how well they turned out!”
At that exact moment, Carol walks in carrying a cake that looks like... a baby being born out of a woman's vagina?
“MARIE!” Mom shouts. “What is that?” For my mother to raise her voice means whatever's been done is a big, fat negative.
“The cake,” Marie answers, clearly pleased with the result.
“I asked for a Cheeto-vanilla sheet cake.”
“It is. On the inside. But you wanted a boring, white rectangle with orange roses and that was just so... boring, Pam!”
“What's the brown fudge under the baby's head as it's being born?” Andrew asks, peering at the cake with increasing alarm.
Like all of us.
“It's, um....” Marie struggles to explain, which is very unlike her.
“Oh, ewwwww,” Mom whispers, eyes wide, hand going to her stomach as if in pain.
Horror at Marie or Lyme disease antibiotics? You decide.
“We'll just cut this up fast and hope no one realizes what they're eating,” Carol says, reading the room. The oldest of the Jacoby girls, she's the one who fixes her mother's social messes most often. “Put a scoop of ice cream on top and no one will notice they're eating the sugared-up version of an umbilical cord.”
“Did you say Cheeto-vanilla cake? Let me come with you and help,” I venture.
“You just want to sneak a piece.”
“Yup!”
“Here.” She picks up a spoon and scoops some chocolate frosting.
“This looks just like the top of the Turdmobile,” I say as I pop it into my mouth.
Andrew's turn to clutch his stomach.
“Mmmm. Chocolate coffee cream,” I gasp.
“Really?” Carol takes a taste. “Yum!”
“You two are disgusting.”
“No,” she says, patting Andrew's cheek. “We're mothers.”
He's definitely not convinced.
“How is childbirth class going?” Carol asks, eyes twinkling. “Real childbirth class, this time.”
Just then, my friend Josh walks over to us.
His eyes cut to the abomination on the table before us. It looks like Carol is dissecting an alien baby with orange insides.
“Uh, hi?” he says to me, hugging me with thin bands of steel that pretend to be arms. Josh worked with Shannon and me at Consolidated Evalu-Shop, a mystery shopping company that Anterdec acquired a few years ago. Josh is a techie, and still works with me at Anterdec, though he was moved out of mystery shopping and consumer evaluation and into accounting.
Plus he swears the pool of eligible bachelors is better there.
“Josh! I am so glad you're here!”
He thrusts a present at me. It's two boxes stacked, wrapped in white and navy-blue stripes. An adorable card with two little baby feet dangles off the red gift bow. “Happy babies.” Nervous eyes drift to my belly.
“Can you believe there are two in there?” Marie says, grabbing what I think is a Swedish fish posing as the clitoris from the cake and chewing on it. Her hand drifts to my belly again.
Josh peers at my midsection and says, “Absolutely.”
“Hey! I'm not that big.”
Everyone in the room goes quiet.
Oh, crap. I am that big.
“Speaking of childbirth class,” Carol says, clearing her throat and looking at Josh, “I was just asking Andrew and Amanda how it's going.”
Andrew squeezes my hand. “It's fine. Really simple. No instructors wanted by the narcotics squad this time.”
Josh looks at me, mouth a little shaky as he whispers, “Vulvatron.”
“Hey!” I give him an elbow jab, but the memory of mystery shopping a childbirth class at the local hospital–the very same place where I'll be delivering–hits me.
Josh just laughs.
I grab his arm, horror ripping through me as his mention of the past kicks in. “Josh?”
“Yes?”
“I'm Vulvatron.” I look down at my crotch. Can't see it, of course. All I can see is my innie belly button that's turned outie, the nub outlined by the stretchy jersey of my dress. “Me. I'm Vulvatron,” I repeat.