Not so much a kiss as a peck

This blog post was written as part of Scribbit's August Write Away competition, whose theme is "First Kiss." I promise that eventually I reach a point that relates to that, just stick with me! Note, if I win this, I'll give the prize away to the first person who comments on this post.

I make no secret of the fact that my original life plan did not involve marriage, children or the eutopian blandness which is suburbia. My life was not going to include anything even remotely involving inane activities like doing laundry or wiping baby's bottoms or driving kids to and from football practice. I also make no secret about the fact that even though my life is not at all what I expected, I think it's actually a whole heck of a lot better than I expected. Sometimes it's the things which come along and totally change your plans which are so much more important than those plans which you actually stick to.

No need to bore you all with the details, really ... we've already talked about how choosing to do a one year study abroad here in Melbourne set into motion a whole series of life changing events.
Sure, I could easily write about my first kiss with DH (at the Melbourne Town Hall, at a comedy show). However, I've already talked about how it's a little bit scary just how much I adore my DH, to the point of somewhat freaky, co-dependant, lovefest-like proportions. We've even spoken rather a few times (!) about how much I love my trio...but let's go back a bit and examine something I've not talked about here - being pregnant.

Being pregnant with triplets - or hell, being pregnant at all - is a completely surreal experience. It's s very 'Aliens', you know? One day you're skinny (okay so I was never skinny), and then in a few months suddenly you develop this giant LUMP, and then the lump starts to move from the INSIDE, and then they cut a jolly great rip above your hoo-hah and WHOAH! There's, like, a whole PERSON in there. With, you know, arms and such. Or in my case, there's a whole HALF a soccer team in there. Really, it's just equal parts bloody amazing and equal parts totally freaky.

When we went to the first ultrasound, DH was immediately on board with this whole idea. "Triplets? COOL!" Me? Not so much. A lot of people ask me, "What did you think when you found out you were pregnant with triplets?" Truth is, I didn't know what to think other than, "OH SHIT. We've really done it this time! I'm going to be in tttrroooouuuuuu-BLE!" I spent the rest of my pregnancy in suspended disbelief. I felt my undies get smaller, my pants ride lower and my back ache more. I saw the pillow pile on my bed get higher, the steering wheel in my car get further away...but I never really accepted that I was going to be a parent. I know that must sound crazy - but it was such a far away idea for me, so totally outside of my comfort zone that I could not fathom it. At all.

Some people spend their pregnancies in a haze of hormonal happiness. Me, I spent it in a haze of, "What? This ol' bump? Had it for years!" denial. It was really only at the very, very end of it all that the enormity of it (my stomach, that is) started to sink into my brain and put down roots. We were in this mess together, and there was no going back.

The day the kids were born, DH and I were in the operating room (giant rip, people. Giant rip!) looking at each other like a bunch of mooney-eyed star-struck teenagers in love. (This is of course ignoring his constant winces of pain from some mega kidney stones, and my whimpers of fear and begs of, "please! don't make me!"...but those are stories for another day.) We were so excited about it all, standing there on the threshold of parenthood. Fast forward to the whole slice, dice, etc etc bit and there we were, arms akimbo with a heck lot of kids. We only had time for a quick cuddle and happy snaps before the kids were whisked away for checking over.

I, of course, needed to be sewn back up (and could you please do a tummy tuck while you're there? no? Damn!). DH asked me if it was okay if he went with the children to the nursery - to see them being weighed, take more photos, etc. I of course agreed, so he came back over, kissed me on the cheek and raced out the door after his new children, to play the part of doting Dad.

I didn't know it then, but that kiss...that 1 millisecond, peck on the cheek kiss ...the one that so easily could have been forgotten in a haze of beeping machines and doctors and nurses and chaos...was our first kiss. Our first kiss as parents, as partners, as confidants, as team members, and as brave explorers in this whole new world of being parents.

In my original life plan was an endless array of first kisses from gorgeous, funny, fantastic men who would turn my life upside down. First kisses in the rain in New York, under bridges in Italy, in dark smoky clubs and in doorways in small country towns. Kisses stolen in quiet moments, kisses hidden from view, kisses filled with the kind of passion you only ready about in books with long haired men on the cover.

The first kiss I got - in my new, suburban, married-with-kids life - wasn't any of those things. Not atmospheric, not stolen, not hidden, not passionate. In fact it was a nothing kiss, a throw away, don't even tell your girlfriends about it sort of kiss. At the same time, that kiss kicked off the start of my life filled with some of the most amazing, awe-inspiring, life altering moments....and isn't that what all first kisses should be about?