Sometimes I feel like a bit of a fraud.
When, upon telling someone of the pregnancy, I don't follow it with a cautious note or a worried frown.
When I rest my hand on my growing midsection (for comfort or to clarify that this is not just my fat getting the better of me).
When I make plans for the future that involve paint swatches, or furniture arrangements, or being on maternity leave.
The normalcy of the actions is so foreign to me I feel I must be masquerading - I don't really deserve to plan a nursery, or look at strollers, or joke about how my exhaustion now is just preparation for later sleep deprivation. (Actually, I find the last one annoying - fraud or no.)
Yesterday, someone who had just learned of the pregnancy asked if she could touch my belly - it's my first random belly touch. At least she asked (!) but I couldn't figure out how to say no, politely. I think as it becomes more frequent (see, there I am assuming it will become more frequent) I'll get better at asking people NOT to touch. But right now it's all just so foreign that I feel like I'm making it up, bit by bit, as I go along. Or reciting some script I've heard before, complete with a laugh track.
I had meant to write about telling, and I will, especially since I'm getting to the point where it's hard to avoid. Meanwhile, J has managed to tell only a few people at work. In some ways, I want him to tell more so he gets to experience the weird pseudo-normalcy (and brief thrill) of other people's excitement. But every time another person finds out, it's one more boundary that has fallen and one more mask I have to put on. No one wants to hear "Yes, I'm pregnant with twins. At least for now." or "Well, we expect them in July, assuming I can make it that far." So I bite my tounge, and try to act like I actually believe this is happening.