I’m taking this private, just-between-us forum to make an announcement. Some of you may feel angry that I didn’t call you, personally, to let you know. I understand, but when you hear my announcement (or, rather, read it), you’ll understand why I didn’t make all those calls. Ready? Deep breath. Here goes.
I’m responsible for all those toxic assets.
Or, I’m 3 months pregnant.
Which may end up being a toxic asset, if my current level of nausea is any indication.
And I have a headache. One long, pulsing, rip-my-head-off headache.
Plus I have enough energy to open my eyes almost all the way for almost all day. And then I’m done and I need to sleep.
But, of course, I already have a dozen kids (approximately) and I can’t sleep. Even at night, when the angels have drifted off to their various sugarplums and cloud castles, I wake up at 2:00 AM, ready to tango. Or puke.
One last thing. I’ve been getting ocular headaches, which don’t hurt, but they do prevent me from seeing. Well, actually, they allow me to see an alternate universe of stars and light beams radiating through my field of vision. The consequence of this LSD like state is that I can’t actually see other things. Like, say, the road. Or people who may be on it.
Now, it sounds like a lot of complaining, but that’s just to mask the fact that I am over the moon, top of the world thrilled. Unlike every other child in our repertoire, this one did not take 3 years of medical intervention to get, nor did we have multiple miscarriages.
And, yes, we have names picked out. If it’s a girl, it will be Hepzabah and if it’s a boy, Hezekiah. Or, in the interest of preserving our sanity by repeatedly spelling the real names, which you will almost certainly disapprove of, we’ll let you be surprised.
Before any non-friend asks, we’re not trying to have a boy. We’re trying to have a rhino and thus ensure the future of our 3 daughters by selling our story to a tabloid. Originally, Hal was going to have the baby, but then that other guy got pregnant and took the wind right out of the idea. On the upside, Hal has an extra uterus he’s willing to sell. Which ought to help the Tylenol bill I’ve been accruing.
Now, I’ll field questions.
Yes, I’m going to give birth in a sterile hospital. Yes, I will have an epidural (most likely. I do not enjoy pain and I do enjoy medication.) Yes, I will find out the gender as soon as possible. Hopefully, that will happen before I paint the baby’s room pink. No, I do not want a copy of What To Expect When You’re Expecting. I know what to expect, which is why I’m taking Tylenol now. And I don’t need a book to make me feel guilty about eating chocolate during my pregnancy. My hips make me feel guilty enough. Yes, I will take all the prayers made on my behalf to whatever god you want pray to. The due-date is September 11, so include a plea for a very small adjustment to that date in your prayers. No, I do not need essential oils, aromatherapy or chanting. I’m oily and smelly enough, and my birth-swearing will drown out any hippie love-chant you’ve got going on. Yes, I will probably have my husband and another female relative in the room with me. My parents-in-law stayed in the room through the birth of my oldest, and I did not feel weird about it. And, in a Gemini move, I refuse to have a man deliver my baby. I would waddle out of the hospital and give birth in the courtyard before I’d let a man have that role. How’s that for split personalities?
I know you’re all anxious to hear about the other body-changes I’ll be going through, so I’ll keep you posted with the same reserve, the same discretion with which I blogged about the massage. You may want to adjust your filters now.