deeples

Dropping the bomb.

October22

Many of you already know… in fact, I waited so long to post here about it because I absolutely did not want anyone I loved to read about it here – because while you may be imagining that I handle sneering comments like, “Gee, so glad I had to READ YOUR BLOG to find out“, with diplomacy and grace… I fear, I do not.

I would respond by either going, “Tough shit, jerkface.” or immediately bursting into tears.    Some people have fight or flight response, I have asshole or sobbing mess response.

That said, if I haven’t told you… please don’t think I don’t love you.  I just finally had to get it out. I couldn’t wait any longer.

Here is a clue:

Now, we’ll play multiple choice!

The woman pictured above is:

a) Wearing a really badly screenprinted shirt

b) Evidently unaware that she is being attached by a giant leech baby

c) Shockingly alluring

d) Pregnant

If you answered d) Pregnant, you are right!

If you answered c) Shockingly alluring, you are my new best friend (and also probably a little drunk)

So… there it is.  The Teen will be 17 in December.  The Baby , I guess will have to undergo a name change at some point?  The Toddler?  I suppose she could be The Baby because the new one is still The Embryo, soon to be The Fetus – which sounds like a place to buy bongs, hemp jewelry and rare Clash EPs..  Anyway, she will be 2 next month… and this one… this little cupcake…. is due the end of May.

We have no place to put this new baby.  I have a large shoebox from the boots I bought last winter and it’s looking promising.  We don’t have the $2000 a month it will cost us to have both the kids in the Montessori/Reggio school we love.  We don’t know how we will manage 2 little ones at once.

My OB revealed to us that the hernia (that wasn’t cancer balls) that I had surgically repaired  back in June with it’s own little soccer net has busted back out, thanks  to an expanding uterus.

It will need to be repaired again.

With a new soccer net.

She doesn’t know if I can go the whole pregnancy without it being repaired, so I get to see the surgeon again next Wednesday for a consult.

She said, “Boy, I’m surprised they did the repair surgery if you were going to have more kids!”

I said, “Well, we didn’t know we were going to have more kids.”

When I see the surgeon on Wednesday, he will probably say, “WHY DIDNT YOU TELL ME YOU WERE GOING TO GET PREGNANT WITHIN 3 MONTHS OF HAVING THIS SURGERY??”

To which I will reply, “Well, my goal in life is to eventually look like Sally from Nightmare Before Christmas. Also, we didn’t know we were going to have more kids.”

The OB investigated the patchwork that is my abdomen.  She ran her fingers down each scar from each old incision. One.. two.. three… four… five… six…

She looked up at me.

I don’t….  I….  I’m just not…. “, she stammered.

Honestly, I don’t know where I can take this baby out.”  (I have had 2 prior c-sections, so I have no other option)

“Maybe HERE…”, she said drawing an invisible line with her hand across the middle of my stomach, horizontally, dissecting my belly button.

Oh, goody.

Her plan is that she’d like to deliver the baby and then step out of the OR and have the surgeon step in, take me deeper on my anesthesia and repair the hernia AGAIN, all at once.  Which to me sounds like a really complicated dance move.  Will there be a nurse by the OR door wearing a Spice Girls headset keeping the show going?

AAAND… 5..6..7…8…. Cue OB! GO! GO!  Let’s move it people.  Baby is out. Repeat baby is out. Cue surgeon! And ACTION!.Annnd.. tell me what you want, what you really, really want!

The OB, I like her.  She said, “This is it.  No more births, ok?” … and I’ll admit it…  I was scared.

Did we make a mistake?  Was this the wrong choice?

We struggled for months to make the decision, Kory especially so.  Weighing the good, the bad, the hard, the money, work, what’s best for the kids, what’s best for our family… and we decided, finally.

We decided we were done.  No more kids.

And then…. we mourned.

A family with 2 only children, essentially…

And then we waivered.

Ok, Universe, we aren’t going to get all fancy or anything.  We aren’t going to TRY, but we won’t PREVENT.  For 6 months, we’ll live in this effortless zone of possibility.  And you know, I’m overweight. I’m 37 years old.  I have chronic anemia.  It’s UNLIKELY to say the least, but we can live with it – because we’ll be able to tell The Baby that we tried.  We’ll be able to tell OURSELVES that we tried… and that’ll be enough.

And two weeks later, I was pregnant.

You hear that sound?

That’s the universe laughing.

And in the spring, when the leaves are fat and green and the nights are just starting to buzz  and smell like barbecue… when the kids are waiting for the last day of school until delicious summer break… when the lilacs start to bloom…

We will welcome our new love and we will marvel at how we could have ever imagined our lives without them.

We will kiss tiny feet, as they kick the air from their big DSW shoebox.

Holy burst of energy, Batman.

April7

Holy burst of energy, Batman.

I got to work pretty early this morning as I had to have Kory to the airport by 6:30am – he’s flying to Denver for the day.  He’s less than thrilled. If I had to fly somewhere and back in the same day and there wasn’t some sort of emergency or guest appearance on a TV show or something like that… I’d be mad as hell.  But then, I’ve developed this strange aversion to flying. It joins my strange aversion to clowns, dolls, any toy that talks and non-crispy bacon.

For some reason I’ve gone into Martha Stewart on crack-mode, today.  I’ve decided that this weekend I’m going to make cupcakes:

cupcakes

and cookies:

Easter Cookies

and baskets and eggs and Easter trees… and all  that shit.

Here are some pictures of the ACTUAL EASTER TREE I MADE:


 

This is a strange phenomenon because:

1. Easter is hands-down my LEAST FAVORITE holiday.

2. I’m generally anti-pastel.

3. Spring is my least favorite season of the year.

4. I hate eggs.

5. I don’t like cake.

6. I hate anything “country craftsy”.

MMMDI 

“Martha made me do it.”

martha stewart

You just don’t understand her the way I do.

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