The first order of business is to admit why I have strayed off my beloved sauce – that is to say, why nary a drop of whiskey, Harp lager, vodka mixed with anything (Chocolate sauce? Why not?), and house margarita has breezed past my lips in two months. Anyone with a brain in their head and any inkling of my lifestyle can probably guess this teetotalism isn’t voluntary. My comfy seat on the wagon is of course due to one of these brewing:
One of the first thoughts I had when I found out is, “Oh Jaysus. People are going to think the end of the world is coming.” You see, I’m not really what you call a child-liker. I don’t coo over babies, I don’t offer to babysit someone's rug rats, and I certainly never (used to) browse through Target wistfully caressing the soft fabric of a toddler’s size 2T pant set. I also get really annoyed at the kids I see running around restaurants screaming (OK, I’m actually more annoyed at the parents). Anyone who knows me- and even knows me very well – might be shocked that I of all people decided to breed.
I don’t know if I can really explain it. I think being married put me more in the perspective of family. Because of this feeling of family I am experiencing, after I came home from my yearly this past June, I sat down with Andy and said, “You know, I’m getting older. I’m definitely fatter. I don’t know if I can even physically have kids. I think that if you agree, that we should stop being careful and let whatever happen, happen.” I said this for a couple reasons – 1) I didn’t think having a child with Andy would terrible – in fact, I thought it could be a Very Awesome Thing and 2) Because I thought it would take at least a year to happen, if it happened at all.
As it turned out, it took approximately 1 week…and Andy and I aren’t exactly “Zack and Miri Make a Porno”. (I probably shouldn’t have said that on the Internet.)
So there’s that news, and that’s all I’m really going to go into about it here. This isn’t a pregnancy blog and it’s not a baby blog. I just thought you all should know why I haven’t had a hangover in two months. Is it weird to miss hangovers? I think I just miss Carl's Jr cheeseburgers tasting so good.
What could possibly top the news of a (now) 3-inch human growing beneath the layers of my belly fat? Well, our final moving plans of course! Andy is going to read this and get all paranoid that my work will also read this and get all, “if you’re leaving, we’re going to fire your ass” on me – but I think it’s very doubtful. I could be wrong, but no one mentioned the earthquake post which I think is much more damning then my intent to move. Moving on…(pun, bad but intentional) The final word is that in January Andy and I are going to be British. Well, he’s already British and I can only ever pretend to be British and then very badly so, but we will be in England nevertheless. We’re going back to his hometown of Liverpool which means that my child will be a Scouser. What this really means is that I will never understand a god damn word my child says. So yes! Liverpool! Home of the Beatles and the Super Lambanana! I’m actually really really stoked about this move. I’m excited to eat biscuits. I’m looking forward to be so close to other foreign speaking countries (I’ve commanded Andy to take me to Rome for my next birthday).
Super Lambanana, how I love thee!
I’m actually sitting here trying to think of other things I’m going to look forward to but my mind has suddenly gone blank. I must really like their biscuits so that every other positive aspect of the British Empire has been wiped away from my head.
Hob Nobs make me lose my mind.
If anyone is keeping track, I have just admitted that not only am I having a very life changing baby but in less than 4 months, I’m uprooting every little American fiber of my being and hurling it across the ocean. I may seem very calm and collected (I’m just really tired) but I’m actually freaking out quite a bit. The worst thing about it all is that now, of all possible times, is when I could really use a drink.