Such a Glamorous Life

As soon as the game that The Boss and I are playing is over, I am going home. I am going to fling wide the doors and windows (because this weekend it is supposed to be in the mid-70's and because the house needs a good airing out).

(Insert random fart jokes that I couldn't keep out of my head - my status as a 35 year old woman is quickly being ruined by a 13 year old boy that apparently lives inside of my brain...airing out...heh...heh...)

Ah, yes. Flinging open the doors and windows, airing out our oppressed and reasonably short winter that lasted all of Tuesday and Wednesday and half of Thursday.

I have big plans that involve trash bags and a laundry mat (here is my reasoning - they have double and triple loaders meaning that I can do double and triple the amount of laundry in the same amount of time that it takes me to do one load at home). I am thinking of washing and drying everything, every-blankety-blank-thing in my house in one day and (since the Scare Bear has other plans and has abandoned me) hanging, folding, putting, away, setting a-fire to everything in one night.

Why?

I am tired of laundry. I am tired of the multitude of tiny piles that are laying everywhere. I am tired of telling people (big and small) to pick up their shit. So I am doing it. ONE.LAST.TIME.

Heaven help those that throw their clothes on the floor again.

New year, new slate, clean house.

The Things She Says

I hear Z in the bathroom, laughing.

"MUAAAAHAHAHAA...."

"HE-HE-HE-HE HAAAAA..."

"HAW HAW HAW HAW HAAAAA..."

"Z, what are you doing?"


She turns away from the mirror. "Working on my evil laugh. All evil queens should have one."

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"Nobody likes me, every body hates me, I eat worms..." I sing as we eat gummy worms for dessert.

"Momma, nobody doesn't like me. Everyone loves me. I am awesome. I am the greatest. You should be more like me..."

I am so glad she has the gift of humility.

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When Z finds a new word she likes to experiment with it, try it out in new and different places to figure out where it belongs.

Last week's word was lame.

It is now a bad word.

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On Christmas morning, upon discovering the bounty of gifts under the tree: "YES! I FINALLY MADE IT TO THE GOOD LIST!!!!"

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The Goodyear blimp flew over our grocery store the other night. I pointed it out and said, "Look at that big balloon."

"I think it looks more like a pregnant plane."

"Actually, it's blimp. That's a balloon that people can fly."


Now, everything is a blimp or she is going to turn me into a blimp or the dog is just a silly blimp.

Blimp may be banned next...

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I had to add some more because I can't sleep and I just remembered them...


Playing doctor, Z says, "I have to examine your testes and then I will tell you when you are having my brother and sister." (Probably not my testes that need to be examined.)


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To the Scare Bear whose mother is a semi-truck driver.

"Um, Scare Bear, I hate to tell you this but...your mother lives in a truck."

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We have to have a kid exchange in a parking lot every night of the workweek (the Hubs works nights). As he is kissing me good-bye the voice in the backseat screams, "Quit having sex with my mother!"

Old and Sterile

"Is she going to be the only one?"


"Are you all planning to have more?"


"When you gonna have another?"


Lately, these questions have been coming at the Hubs and I in rapid-fire succession. I wish it were so easy to look at the Hubs, give him a wink and then 9-and-half months later give birth to a healthy baby. I can't tell you how much I wish it.

I have been a mother my entire life. I know that seems impossible, but even before Z came around, I was cooking for people, taking care of them, and when Blade and A were born I was smitten. My entire being is engulfed in the need to care for people that need me. I am a mother.

The yearning to have another baby has completely blindsided me in the last few months. The sound of a crying baby breaks my heart in two, the softness of their skin, the peacefulness when they sleep, my entire body yearning to hold and cuddle and nurse...

I had my yearly check-up and as I am waiting for the nurse to call me in - belly after pregnant belly passes in front of me. The office walls are covered in pictures of new mothers with their infants, of beautiful portraits of mothers holding their gorgeously molded bellies and inside every part of me is hurting, yearning, wanting.

My doc, the same one that delivered Z 4 years ago (yesterday and eternity) asks the routine questions. He stares at me puzzled, "It's been 4 years", he says and I nod. "Not even a thought that you might be pregnant at all in 4 years?" I shake my head as he scribbles notes on a pad.

He sends me for blood work and I know what is coming. I know because I have been down that road. I know because I have already done this before.

It doesn't make it hurt less when the phone rings. "We have the results of your blood test. You are not ovulating on your own. You will need to take fertility medicine. Even if you are not planning on getting pregnant right away, this process takes a while and it would be best if you started right away. We're very sorry. Some bodies just do this and we don't know why. You are getting older and you should start taking that into consideration as well."


I hang up the phone as my body goes numb. Back to the painful road of blood tests indicating pregnancy and bodily functions assuring you that that is most definitely not the case, back to the road of monthly tears and disappointment as month after month your body fails to do what it was made to do, back to charting temperatures and moods.

I know that it is all worth it in the end. I know because I have a beautiful and funny reminder of that every single day.

I don't know why my body cannot just work the way it's supposed to, I don't understand how it can be so easy for other people and so very very hard for others.

I have been a mother for as long as I can remember. I pray that I will be one again.