Periods should be punctual. I mean, white pants, y’all. Romantic vacation planning. Too much tequila at a critical time of the month. Or maybe your biological clock is ticking and OH MY GOD I MUST HAVE ANOTHER BABY. RIGHT. NOW.
Or maybe that’s just me?
I was two days late this month. Forty-eight hours. That’s nothing. It’s not even long enough to decide if I like a new hair cut, and it takes more time for Dane to pass a foreign object into his diaper (Don’t ask. You really, really don’t want to know.). And yet. AND YET.
I didn’t take any tests this month. We haven’t been trying for that long and God knows I have no reason to be concerned and every reason to be thankful we were able to have Dane with relative ease, but I’ve still been spending a mint on fertility and pregnancy tests. For February, I quit. No tests. No stress. Just nature taking it’s course. Right? Uh-huh.
Thanks for that, nature. And by that I mean, well, NOTHING.
I’ve been asking myself why I’m up on this have-another-baby-immediately- bandwagon. I’m very, very happy with my family. That’s sort of the problem. Before we had Dane, I didn’t know how many kids I wanted. I mean, I love Aunt Brookie’s peeps as though they’re my own (Really. And I can say that because I have one of my own and OMG I LOVE THOSE KIDS). But you don’t know how you’re going to do until they are, in fact, your own, and as it turns out, I love this motherhood stuff. I want six or seven. A passel, y’all, I want a freaking PASSEL of babies. But I have a dilemma, because I don’t have another fifteen years to turn those puppies out (also, my husband. But let’s focus on the important). I’m aging pretty effing rapidly. And now, all of a sudden, I’m looking at a limited number of years to have a bunch of little pattering feet and holy crap, all joking aside, I’m terrified, TERRIFIED I’m going to run out of time.
I know this is all very, very irratonal (and also possibly TMI as I, you know, share my deepest emotions with the internet and all. Awesome.). Lest ye forget, I haven’t had a problem yet. On the other hand, I’m not always what you’d call hormonally stable. Add in a little disappointment and cramps that prescription drugs won’t touch, and I spent the weekend… oh, let’s call it moping. Raging bitchery sounds a little, I don’t know, badmommy.
And now I feel both badmommy and guilty, because instead of focusing on our funny, skinny, roaring lion of a baby, I spent these last few days bitching and moaning. I mean, I could’ve been quacking and flapping like a duck and singing fourteen verses of Wheels on the Bus at the top of my lungs and reconfiguring the train table and in general crawling around and acting like a crazy person. Because, for real, y’all, I love that sh*t.
So I”m planning on better weather for March. You?
p.s. I’m sorry, y’all, that this post is a total downer. I feel much better this week than I did over the weekend!
p.p.s. Yes, my husband is very, very patient. I wouldn’t call him a saint (by any, ANY stretch of the imagination, but he is indeed ONE PATIENT FELLOW).
p.p.p.s. Honey, don’t let that go to your head.
AND FINALLY: I linked up with Shell at Things I Can’t Say, which was the first linky I ever connected with… it’s her second anniversary over there and it’s fab! Happy day, Shell!