And counting...

Rarely can one make such a statement:

I am going to become a father sometime in the next 17 days. Not just that, but three in my first shot.

It's coming, and it's down to less than three weeks, which seems surreal. This whole thing seems surreal, in fact. Yet at the same time, it seems just right. Seems like it was supposed to happen this way. That we can put a finger on it and narrow it down to only a scant few days? That's downright insane.

We have been trying to expect the unexpected, to foresee the unforeseen. And what we did not see was the possibility that this thing would be going the distance. Not even remotely. And now that it's in sight, we almost cannot see it going any other way.

Three babies? Are we ready? We'll never be ready. And yet we'll never be more ready.

People commonly ask how we can do it, or how we're going to be able to do it. I think the trick is the more you think about it, realize what is coming, the worse off you are. I really do not think about the overwhelming parts too much, save for the fact I realize I am going to be overwhelmed, tired, clueless, nervous and all those other things.

Consequently, I have not allowed myself to think too much about the wonderful things that come along with this whole deal - three times the work, but three times the love. Three times the responsibility, but three times the payoff. Everything will cost three times as much, but give me three times the experience.

All at once.

It's all in sight right now. Scary, yet calming. Like getting ready for the biggest test you know you will ever take in your life. Yes, the test is scheduled for 17 days from now, but you have to be ready, because the proctor can call you anytime before. And the proctor could have called pretty much anytime since August, and you would have to be ready for a different test.

The kids? I think and hope they'll be fine, although you never know what you have until you have it. I might be a little more worried about myself. I have not done the best job of taking care of myself while caring for the mamma of those babies. If I can't take care of myself in that situation, then how am I going to do it when there are three little ones around?

My friend Brooke told me a while back that she had success with a food diary. I love the idea, and for some reason I never did one. I forced myself onto the blog world, trying to take that first little step, figuring I could, maybe, somehow, turn this blog into a food diary. Track the workings. Feel some responsibility to anyone who might read this to keep on the straight and narrow, because I have not been feeling enough of the guilt, or responsibility or will power or whatever I need to feel to halt me from buying that ice cream and then having it late at night while I am trying to work on my freelance projects.

So, today for breakfast I had two eggs, with two pieces of Ezekiel bread with part-skim mozzarella.

For lunch it was 1 1/2 pieces of chicken breast with onion and zucchini, cooked with olive oil and seasoned with salt and pepper. The plan is to eat the rest for dinner. That would amount to two zucchini, two white onions and three lean chicken breasts.

Then I sneaked in a cup of Edy's chocolate chips (they spell it C-H-I-P-S, not singular). The full-fat dealio. That has been the evil. I buy it when it's on sale, initially under the guise that it's for the pregnant lady, who only wants soft-serve these days. It's a big lie to myself. The freakin' slow-churned is better, anyhow.

I also managed to eat a bosc pear in there somewhere. There is a pomegranate in my future tonight, as well. I think. There is no ice cream left in the house.

Oh wait, I also had my Dunkin' Donuts large french vanilla decaf with skim, very light.

Wow. When you put it down in print (electronic or otherwise) you can see how much it is. No wonder I am fat. Without working out, I already have eaten enough today to keep alive an African village for about 20 weeks.

OK, I am out there now, exposed for the food fraud I really am. Time to go eat.