To give you the back story, last October, Deuce woke up one morning and couldn't walk. He cried that his knee hurt and wouldn't put any weight on it. I took him to the doctor and they said he had inflammation in his hip which was probably caused by a virus. But not to worry, although rare, this does happen and there isn't any lasting damage.
Two months later, it happened again. This time, I freaked the hell out. We went to the Children's Hospital, did blood work, took x-rays, the works. It all came back fine and after a dose of Motrin, the kid was up running and playing.
Here's the part of the story that you need to know; in the waiting room, my husband and I were watching a mom trying her best to coral three boys while nursing a little girl. She was fighting not only the combined will power of three young boys, but also the only terrycloth-lined piece of privacy she had left.
My mind was torn between pitying her and envying her because while she was having a tough time keeping it all together, she was managing to do it and seemed to be unphased by the whole ordeal.
Dork-fish's mind was also taking it all in, but in a different manner. "So, if we have met our deductible, I really need to go get snipped before the end of the year," he says just as casually as if he was suggesting grabbing a cup of coffee.
Surprising not only him, but myself as well, I blurt out, "I'MNOTSUREI'MDONEYET!"
To this day, I don't know which of us was more shocked. It was as if someone else had said it. However, the look on his face confirmed that it had indeed come out of my mouth. (Like so many other pearls of wisdom that I never see coming.)
"Wha?! Are you serious?!" my loving husband retorts, barely able to blink and with all the disbelief of a toddler learning that mommy just used the last drop of milk for her coffee. (Heh.)
"Um, yeah, I think I just said that..." I barely squeaked out.
For the next few months, we discussed it over and over but never quite 'sealed the deal', if you get my drift. Finally, last month we decided that if we were going to do this, we needed to get on it. After all, one of us isn't getting any younger. *cough - I married an old(er) dude - cough*
We have always been SCARY fertile. Bonus was on of those little 'blessings' that come from your husband deciding he learned all about the female reproductive system in paramedic school and therefore simply had to mark a calendar and we'd be FIIIIINE.
I was pregnant three days later.
Deuce, on the other hand, was a 'we're going to Costa Rica to make a baby on our anniversary' kind of deals; and it worked.
Needless to say, when I came up late and my (never have hurt in my entire life unless I'm pregnant) boobs started aching, I knew.
Here's the other part of my blessed system. I don't have a lot of HcG hormone in my system. The good part of that is that I don't ever get nauseous, but the other side of that coin is that HcG is the hormone that all pregnancy tests use to work. Mine don't work. I was 8 weeks pregnant with Bonus before I got a positive test and even THEN the doctor didn't believe I was that far along until he did an ultrasound.
So this time around, I was late and had three negative pee tests before I finally went to the doctor.
"Okay, you're telling me that you're pregnant EVEN THOUGH all your tests and the one we just did in the office was negative?" the doctor asks accusingly.
"Um, yes. Yes, I am. I'm here because I told you that back in Tennessee, this happened and you told me to come in as soon as I thought I was pregnant. So here I am." I retort, a bit sarcastically. "And now you're making me feel like a dumbass."
"The only way you would be a dumbass is if you...well, never mind. You're not a dumbass." the doctor quips back confirming my assumption that he too was skilled in the fine art of smartassness. It's an acquired skill that must be honed by years of quick-whitted come-backs.
I haz it.
And apparently, so does he.
We did a blood test. (Incidentally, this was the same time I did the, "BIG! NEWS!" post that I have been getting so many "you're a damn tease" emails over.) But you see, until that test came back positive and I could prove him and that bitch, Google, wrong, I was not posting about it.
The test? It was negative.
Yeah, I was shocked too. I still had every single symptom of pregnancy and was now 9 DAYS LATE. (I am never, ever late.)
So we waited.
And I tortured all of you again.
And waited some more.
Finally, out of nowhere, Aunt Flow* stopped by; which not only shocked the hell out of me, but also my husband who had no idea that I knew that he secretly never believed I was pregnant and thus was on my Super Terrific Hate List which is generally only reserved for those who do really horrible things, like eat the last of my Mother's Day cookies with out bothering to think that maybe I had only had one of the damn things in the first place because he put them on the shelf where the boys could reach them kick kittens.
I have since forgiven him for his disbelief, but the cookie incident is going to take some serious groveling (and two more bags, in case your actually reading this, Dorkfish.)
To FINALLY tie up what is quite possibly the longest post EVAH, I have now decided to not have another child after all.
I know, I know, you read the entire damn thing expecting some miraculous ending and all you got was a glimpse into my mind for the past two weeks.
(Please do not disturb the cob webs while you're there.)
I guess that as it turns out, I know that we are complete. If another one (okay, boy, another boy...who are we kidding here) came along, we'd be fine with that too. But for the mean time, I think I'm going to enjoy what it's like to be the mother of two incredible boys.
Maybe, just maybe, we'll be out of diapers before Deuce starts kindergarten...maybe.
*If you are trying to come up with a much more whitty term for 'that special time' please don't go to the Urban Dictionary. Just trust me on that one...
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