"It would be so nice if something made sense for a change." - L. Carroll

My kid was almost a twin.

For as long as I had entertained the idea of having children, I always said, laughingly, that twins were my nightmare. On one hand, I could see the "convenience" of knocking two kids out at once: no need to for two pregnancies, and no need to feel guilty about depriving a child of a sibling. On the other: TWO BABIES AT ONCE. Double the expense. Double the poop. Double the sore nipples. And then there's trying to tell them apart when they still both look like tiny alien octagenarians.

When I found out I was pregnant, at every early OB appointment I half-expected to hear, "it's twins!" By the time I got to ten weeks, I figured it was pretty certain that this was a "singleton" pregnancy.

Last night, after surgery that my doctors were almost certain was to repair a twisted ovary, I was gobsmacked to hear the nurse inform me, "you had a heterotopic pregnancy." At the time, I was mostly gobsmacked because that possibility had explicitly been ruled out in previous ultrasounds and MRIs, when everyone was sure that I simply suffered from hemorrhagic ovarian cysts. In my foggy, post-anesthetized state, I even looked at surgical photos of the fallopian tube pregnancy in question and failed to register anything beyond, "HUH. Go figure. I'm a statistical anomaly."

This morning I woke up and realized that the fallopian tube that got removed last night actually contained the potential sibling of the little gymnast who appeared on yesterday's ultrasound, flipping on his head and refusing to stay still long enough for the nuchal translucency image. It was the Tweedledum to the Tweedledee in my uterus.

My brain has registered this, but I'm not sure my emotions have yet. I'm not actually even sure that they will. Obviously, I'm primarily relieved that Tweedledee made it through a rough first trimester and surgery like a champ. But I feel like I should also be experiencing some devastation at the loss of the misguided little dude who wound up stuck in my fallopian tube.

Is a loss still a loss if you didn't know it was there until was gone? Discuss amongst yourselves.