So yes! A boy. I’m in a bit of shock due to the fact that I had been convinced that I was having a girl. Truth be told, I was convinced that I would have a girl even before I got pregnant so perhaps it was more wishful thinking than it was “mother’s insight”. I’m not sure how I’m going to handle a boy. I was really looking forward to having a girl who would be nice and quiet and who would like to draw and play with stuffed bunnies instead of a boy who is going to sleep with a pile of dirt and scream “poopie” from 6 AM to 9 PM and ram monster trucks into my ankles and who will think that bugs are like, The Best Thing Ever. Boys are loud, energetic, and messy. Those three things are totally against what I stand for. Oh why oh why can’t I give birth to a 60 year old librarian?
There's still a chance, right?
I already told Andy that I’m going to spend the next 18 years following my son around with a Dustbuster.
Who throws nuts and bolts around? Oh, that's right...BOYS.
Before I get hate mail – or hate comments – I’m actually very happy (shocked, but happy). The baby is doing great. Nice and healthy, which is all I could ever ask for (well, that and a million dollars which I don’t mind admitting that I would totally get pregnant for again if I could somehow shoot $100 bills out of my crotch). I just need to wrap my head around having a boy.
Because this isn’t a pregnancy\baby blog, this is most likely the last pregnancy\baby centric post you smart-enough-not-to-have-children readers will have to sit through until I pop this thing out, I have to get one last pregnancy\baby thing off my mind. I’ll be done with this topic for the time being then – cross my fingers, hope to pie.
The thing I really need to get off my chest is the people who assume that since I’m breeding now, I will want to continue to breed forever and ever until my uterus falls out. I can’t tell you how many people I’ve had discussions (read: arguments) about this with. This child I’m carrying around now? It’s the last one that will grace my insides. I DO NOT WANT MORE THAN ONE CHILD. I don’t know why people find this so hard to believe. Like since I’ve done it once, surely I’d want to do it again! You know, I almost drowned once – boogie boarding in the Pacific, which to be fair is about as pleasant as being pregnant, and I’m telling you, I don’t want to do it again. I wanted one kid, one kid to grow and teach all my bad habits to, and then let it be. I didn’t grow up thinking that being a mom (and just a mom) was what I was destined to do. Having a single child gives you the flexibility to be a great mom and also have a life of your own. It’s not going to be, “Johnny’s* got soccer at 5, then Jenny’s dance lesson at 6, then I’ve got to get the baby to the doctor to check out the rash”; it’s going to be, “Johnny’s got soccer at 5 but he’s spending the night over at his friend’s house, so sure, I can meet you for a couple of drinks later tonight.” I might actually be somewhat delusional about my flexibility once my son is older (I’ve never done this before, remember?) but I’m certainly not delusional about my feelings about having more than one kid. So you out there! Stop your fucking smuggy-smugness, “oh, just wait – once you have one, you’ll want more.” Bite me. I DON’T WANT MORE THAN ONE CHILD.
Just so I don’t offend anyone, I would like to say in all seriousness that I know that there are mothers out there with more than one child who manage to have a very full life (career and personal) outside of motherhood. I admire and respect those women more than I can say. I wish I could be like them, I really do.
*We are not fucking naming our son ‘Johnny’.
End of pregnancy\baby talk, I swear. Just to prove my earnestness in that, here is a picture of the cat:
The damn cat trying to steal some of Andy's ice cream. Hey! At least it's not a baby picture.