The aliens have landed

As far as I am aware, my obstetrician is speaking to me in Chinese. When I’m in a strange space in my head, I swear people usually appear to be speaking French, but not this time.

“I’m sorry?” I say, more than a little confused.

“You are having twins. See the two sacs on the monitor?” He is not speaking Chinese at all. He is simply saying words I never thought I would hear.

“Are you sure?” Just two weeks ago our radiologist confirmed that I was expecting again. But at just six weeks, he only spotted one bag.

“Without a doubt. You are expecting what we call dizygotic twins, which means they can be different sexes.”

“Babes, did you hear that? Twins!” I eye my fiancé, better known as the twat, who until now seemed to be staring into complete oblivion. It appears he too thought the doctor was speaking Chinese.

“Huh? What?.... Twins?! Yesssss.” He lifts his arms and does a body builder impersonation. It is so like him to take ALL the credit for this.

The rest of our appointment is spent with doctor informing us what to expect in the next few months. Regular check-ups, a cervical stitch, healthy eating and loads of bedrest.

As we are driving home, the twat puts his hand on my stomach. “We are having twins, baby...” He pauses. And just when I thought he had stopped being a royal pain in the arse, he says “There are so many twins on both sides of my family that this was inevitable. I have strong genes.”

I roll my eyes but say nothing. I’ll give him a couple of days to gloat before I crush his ego with an internet printout on the hereditary of dizygotic twins.