Wednesday, August 03, 2005

I don't want a pickle

You know how I have this blog labeled as my writing / whatever blog? Well, this will be a whatever post. If you're looking for writing insights (ha, ha, ha) or inspiration, this won't be the place to find it today.

I've been thinking lately about having a baby or not having one, probably because I've been asked so many times about it now that I'm at home all the time and I've also started reading this great blog called a little pregnant. Sometimes I waver and think that we should have a kid. You know, carry on the family line and all that. Something cute and cuddly that sometimes smells really good (after a bath) or really terrible (after, well, you know).

But I don't think I'm ready (so Tony, if you're actually reading this, you can breathe a sigh of relief. Or regret. Whichever.). I've just really started my writing career and I can barely find time to get dressed some days. I take more naps than little kids do. And I'm still a kid in a lot of ways, age notwithstanding...I like to play computer games and build things with legos. I don't (I hope) think I'll ever lose that, but who knows, maybe after I sell a book or two (please!) I'll revisit the question.

And I also know how I am. I know exactly how the pregnancy would go, and it wouldn't be pretty:
  • Get off the (amazing, wonderful, life changing) shot and return myself to normal womanly monthly mood swings and cramps. Drive my husband crazy once a month and weep uncontrollably at Hallmark commercials, cute puppies, and just about anything else I happen to see.
  • Then, I would either a) get pregnant immediately before I am even mentally prepared, like my fertile myrtle older sister or b) struggle for years to conceive like my aunt.
  • Get pregnant.
  • Immediately commence throwing up in the mornings. Actually lose weight the first two months as I struggle to keep down bread and water.
  • Find out I'm having twins. Panic.
  • Finally come out of the morning sickness to immediately progress right into bloated whale stage as I pack on more pounds than a sumo wrestler getting ready for a match, no matter what I eat.
  • Experience all the 'bad' pregnancy side effects: water retention, thick ankles, bad hair, breaking out, stretch marks, my first cavity, big purple veins, etc. Do not experience that much-talked about but almost never seen 'glow' of pregnancy.
  • Discover I can no longer drive because I can't fit behind the steering wheel any more.
  • Receive 4 copies of the same "While You Are Pregnant" book.
  • Decide I can't possibly be someone's mommy. After all, I'm only 4' 11". They'll be taller than me by the time they are 5. But it's too late. Have nightmares about breeding a basketball player.
  • Discover that yes, you can go to the bathroom more than 30 times a day.
  • Be confined to bed rest the last month (because of the twins and my gargantuan size) and forced to watch day time television until my eyeballs feel like jello and I start thinking "Jerry" really isn't such a bad name after all.
  • Lose all concept of privacy and private parts as I am constantly poked, prodded, and tested.
  • Go into labor. Stay in labor a record 46 hours (beating out my cousin who topped out at a measly 35 or so).
  • Have huge 10 pound twin babies. Am warned by nurse that "boy, you'd better get used to running for the bathroom."
  • Return home with two kids and no idea of what to do next and realize that we live really, really far from any grandparents. Darn.

Anyway, that's about it. Tony's probably right. I think about things a little too much. Heh.

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