Have I mentioned my rampant hormones? Or maybe it just has to do with my baby turning 1 in less than a month. But I am starting to mourn the end of my baby years. So much so that I almost begged my hubby for a puppy. I am so not a dog person, so he figured that it must be baby cravings causing these mad ravings.
Then, this weekend, the accident. The dread condom accident. You know the kind, the one where you think you are all protected and stuff and it turns out that the birth control was faulty. Like broken faulty. Crap! and then, to make things worse? You ovulate the next day. And then you realize how insane those baby cravings are, because really? Who on earth could possibly think I could raise 6 kids. Not me! And hopefully no one in heaven does either, because, seriously?
Now I would happily raise a passel of kids. In a bigger house. With domestic help. And maybe if they were not all from my womb. Because my womb? She is tired. And the fear of labour has increased with each pregnancy. Because labour? It hurts. A lot. So.
Here is hoping that if God intends for this old girl to do the baby birthing one last time that he also intends to send a windfall my way, in the shape of a huge house complete with housekeeping and meal making.
Crossing my fingers for the negative pg test,
and crossing my legs until the VASectomy,
your overly fertile friend,
Mighty Morphin' Mama