It's Thursday, which means it's time for Brittany to regale us with...well, with whatever the continuation will be of whatever it is that she started lasted Tuesday. I'm still not clear on what she's doing, even though she's told me where she's going with these entries. The only problem is that she explained her plan in that most painfully brief and hyperactive of ways that only a woman can achieve. It was truly a sight to behold, though. Her various ticks and gyrations alone were dizzying, and the whole affair was lacking only in antennal tapping and pheromone release in their insectoid levels of complexity.You do know what I'm talking about, don't you? Surely you've witnessed the communicative techniques of an excited woman before. You know, the sort of communication with an over-dependance on gestures and body language that only other women are capable of parsing with any sort of reliability.
You can imagine me trying to comprehend her Girl Language in much the same way as you might picture a beekeeper who stands over his hive, watching one bee twitch-and-shake to the other herky-jerky members of its hivemind. The beekeeper knows that his bees are talking to each other with all of their dance floor fever, but all he's ever going to be able to understand is that the end result of the bee disco is either sweet, sweet honey for his table or a nasty, painful sting.
In the end, I only understood that Brittany was definitely attempting to tell me something, and that the something of which she was attempting to communicate was of terrible importance to her. So, while I didn't actually understand the content of the message itself, I could easily tell by the way her nose was wiggling as she spoke that I had better at least pretend that I did.
"I hope you don't blame yourself for my
horrible death, even though it was your fault."
Anyway, let us our attentions elsewhere now, as we drive ever onward, deeper into the murky, unpredictable land of confusion that is...
The Brittany Broadcast System
"Get Set..."
-by Brittany
When my parents got married, my mother was twenty and my father was nineteen. I don't think that when they stood in front of the preacher in the local church, they thought that in a few short months, they would be starting a family. Mom found out, not too long after the wedding bouquet lost its bloom, that she would soon be taking on a new role, and I'm sure she was excited. I don't know, though. Maybe she was scared shitless and breaking out in cold sweats every fifteen minutes. I just don't know. I wasn't there.
I do know, from stories I've heard, that my Dad loved the fact that my mother was pregnant. Mom, on the other hand, didn't enjoy parts of the gestational period quite so much. However, once my brother was born, they both decided that having kids was great! Dad wanted two girls to add to the growing family, and Mom just wanted a brother or sister for my brother to while away the time with. My Mom thought she'd wait until my brother was four or five before she had another baby but, unfortunately, that wasn't how it went down...
Instead of having a little brother or sister for my brother to play with, my Mom was pregnant with twins. She was, needless to say, shocked when she learned that she wasn't going to be responsible for not only two small children, but three. Now if that wasn't bad enough, my Mom's pregnancy wasn't an easy one with Charissa and myself.
Mom was hungry and craved foods like peanut butter, shrimp, and the Big Mac's special sauce, only to not be able to keep any of it down for too long. She was tired and sore, like most pregnant women are during any stage of pregnancy. It seemed impossible for her to get any quality rest.
By the time my mother was picking out names for her unborn babies, she had settled into the daily routine of pregnant life. The house was cleaned until it sparkled, and baby clothes were washed and folded every day. She would spend hours reading books on how to raise a well-adjusted child (which, for me at least, failed miserably), and she would visualize what her new children would look like once she finally got to meet them.
She pictured them healthy and strong, with her eyes and my father's smile. Or maybe it was the other way around. I could never keep those details straight. A story I do remember, though - and I called my sister to confirm this - is about the time that my Mom went to the doctor for a normal checkup.
Instead of her normal physician, my mother had to see the substitute doctor, who had never worked a multiple-birth case. Instead of a normal visit, this doctor ruptured my mother's cervix and sent her into premature labor. When we got home, she noticed some unusual bleeding and started calling the doctor. Time and time again, her call was either ignored, or she was told that some light bleeding was normal, and not to worry. She was told that it would go away on its own and, if it didn't subside in the next day or two, she needed to come back into the office.
However, when she tried to do just that, she was made to feel like she was just overreacting. Once she finally got into the doctor's office and they started to actually examine her, however, they realized that she was in full labor. At that point, the doctor quickly ordered and emergency Caesarian Section to retrieve her small, unborn children. My mother was only twenty-four weeks along in her pregnancy at this point...
I'll wrap up this three-part story with my next entry on Tuesday. Until then, don't do anything that I wouldn't do!
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