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Pulling the Goalie

Pulling the Goalie
Pulling the Goalie

There is nothing sadder then experiencing what was once true bliss to a single Mama. Eck. I have cramps that make me want to hurt someone. My head hurts with a throbbing that rivals some migraines. My body is bloated and feels like if someone stuck me with a pin it would deflate like a balloon.

Welcome to attempting to spawn with the Boyfriend.

A handful of months ago, we pulled the goalie so to speak and have been working on combining the awesome super powers that we each possess as individuals and create something the world has never experienced before. I’m truly not certain how the world will handle two of my children or if it will implode from the sheer magnitude of the freakish wonder that we will bestow upon all of you. There is a certain amount of fabulousness to the whole trying part and a smidgen of disappointment that comes with tears and wall-punching (me not him) every time good ‘ole Aunt Flowsaphine rears her dreaded noggin. But, to be honest I am an overachiever and I have exceedingly too high expectations for me – and the Boyfriend by proxy.

I’ve made dozens of sacrifices. Cut back on the intake of adult beverages, cut out coffee altogether and have even taken measures to consume as many multi-vitamins as humanly possible in order to ensure we have a prime nest for our future egg. However, there are other factors that could be a hinderance – my uterus is now 35 years old, I had a traumatic birth with Monkey oh and my uterus is old. Every thing I read on-line talks about “prime birthing” ages and how to keep your lady parts ready for babies. On-line stores cash-in on potential fertility issues right and left, selling a variety of crazy pants products like special lube that nurtures sperm. No seriously, it said that. If you Google anything related to baby-making over 30 years young, the r
esults are terrifying! How do these brave women in their 40’s and 50’s dare to procreate when the interwebs clearly has it in for us?

When I was in my mid-20’s I thought I would be done making babies by 30. I mean it all made sense. I would be married with 2.5 children. Done. Fin. Nothing left to do. Well, I’ll be damned if things didn’t go as planned. Ain’t that a pisser?

Yesterday, I had a good cry fueled by the emotion of getting my period for the third month in a row after epic attempts at trying to engage the Boyfriend’s swimmers and said egg into holy babiness. Crying is cathartic. It’s soothes my soul. It also makes the folks at Target look at you funny while shopping for props for your Monkey’s Halloween project. So let that be a warning to you all!

No doubt this will be the first in many posts about making life with the Boyfriend. There is so much out there it’s hard not to have material to write about for days!!


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