In what would seem to be a biological impossibility and an unprecedented feat of evolution, I appear to have given birth to a giant octopus. And not just one, but two.
Several nights a week, one of my kids crawls into bed with us and literally kicks one of us out. Though we have a queen size bed, various hotel stays have taught me that it doesn't matter what size bed we are in. Half the bed could be in the next zip code, and it won''t matter: When I sleep in bed with one or both of my kids, I am inevitably kicked and punched ALL night long.
For eight hours, I'm pushing and shoving anywhere between four and eight limbs off my rib cage. It's enough to make me want to wake them up and explain to them that my patience for getting kicked and punched in the chest and abdomen by their feet and hands ended at week 39 of my pregnancy with each of them. They're no longer paying rent in my uterus, and thus are no longer entitled to kick the shit out of me. And I'm not happy about the younger, male octopi's tendency to squirt "ink" beyond the confines of his Disney-Pixar Cars pull-up on a fairly regular basis, either.
I hope I'm wrong that my kids are actually octopi in human form, because I don't want them to have short lifespans and die after mating. Obviously that would be completely tragic. But apart from that, I don't want to be left to raise 20,000-100,000 baby octopi.
Lord knows I'd never get a wink of sleep again.