Twelve days ago, I lost my magical no-mommy pills. (and I'm just getting around to blogging about it now. I'm running out of material for these scheduled posts)
I was two days into a brand new pack. How/where did I lose them? You know, playing in a park. Probably on the swings. Or the slide. Or more likely, the jungle gym.
But that's besides the point. Because I think that this is a clear sign from God.
What? No! Fuck no! Losing my magic-no-mommy pills isn't a sign that I should get pregnant! It's a clear sign that someone who still enjoys larking in playgrounds is certainly not ready to have children. Besides, I lose everything. Tis not the fist time I have lost my magic pills.
Do I want to be pregnant? Like, with a baby? I wouldn't mind being pregnant with emotion, and I've been pregnant with a hefty food-baby since our Greek-food eat-fest on Friday. But I can't even keep a plant alive!
I was walking to the grocery store on Saturday, when I came across a prefect scene. A beautiful young woman in long skirts and a hijab was sitting on the boulevard, gazing lovingly at her family. Twin girls, in pigtails, on tiny pink bicycles were riding up and down the sidewalk. One of the girls had her toddler brother in tow, chasing after her.
Just when it couldn't get anymore Norman Rockwell, I noticed Dad (who was a hunka-hunka burnin' luuve) teaching the other twin how to ride her bike, sans training wheels. I watched this scene from a distance.
"Do I want this?" I mused.
And then the moment was over.
"I'm going in the house. I want a sweater," the young-woman called.
"No, just stay for a bit," Hunky-hubby replied.
"I'm just going to get a sweater, and then I'll be back out," she said calmly.
"You can't leave me!" He cried, panicked. "I'm just one man, I can't watch 3 kids!"
"What. Do you think I do. EVERY. DAY." She replied. Scathingly.
It's allllll the birth control I need.
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