When I was in Sweden this year, I met a couple expecting their second baby.
They hosted The Swede and I over the New Year’s holiday.
We played Monopoly in Swedish and The Swede declared that I lost because I tapped out and sold all my properties at below cost value to his competitors.
The Swede won anyway.
And he declared me to be a cheater.
I’m sure if you asked him now he’d still say I cheated.
But I digress. . .
The other day, a picture flashed across my Facebook page of a beautiful newborn baby girl.
With the Swede.
Now, I don’t know about you but there is something very sexy about a man holding a baby.
It actually makes my ovaries shudder in the same way that my ovaries shudder when I see a fireman.
If my ovaries had a voice I’m sure they’d be screaming, “IMPREGNATE ME NOW!”
But as far as the baby goes, I can just imagine the fragrance wafting off her soft, peach fuzz head.
And just the thought makes me giddy.
There’s just something about that new baby smell that makes women want to self-impregnate so that they too can have a reliable source of it.
New baby smell = the middle aged woman’s crack.
IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!
I was born first to Paul and Sherri, two teenagers living in Sonoma. They accidentally conceived me in a treehouse during their eighth grade year in school.
Sherri was sent to live with her aunt and uncle in San Jose to await my birth.
I was born on November 2nd. I was a forceps baby and I came out with a banged up, scratched up head (see pic below) but no worse for wear.
Alice and “Mario”, my parents, got the word that I’d been born and I’d be joining my 5 month old sister Lisa. My dad got to the hospital and looked at his itty bitty newborn daughter and declared that I looked like a frog on account of my legs stuck out sideways.
I will forever be grateful to Sherri and Paul for putting me up for adoption. I was lucky enough to meet them when I was 22 and they have been a part of my life ever since.
Nothing pleases me more than explaining to people how lucky I am to have two sets of parents who love and adore me.
I am one lucky baby.
Happy Birthday to me!
DO NOT GO TO BURNING MAN WHEN YOU ARE OVULATING AND EXPECT TO SEE ART.
Instead of seeing art, you will spend an inordinate amount of time on your back trying uselessly to impregnate yourself.
I say “USELESSLY” because we all know how important it is to use condoms when one is engaging in CASUAL SEX without any other form of birth control.
I am not on birth control for one reason: it takes the THREAT OF AN 18 YEAR COMMITMENT to make me INSIST on using condoms.
I RARELY fudge it.
But fudge it I do sometimes.
Which is why I can say with a little shock and dismay. . .
. . .I’m late.
The WHOLE reason I am writing this post is because I AM SURE THAT IF I POST IT, I WILL NOT BE PREGNANT.
It’s the whole Murphy’s Law thing and me, again.
If I write it, it won’t come to fruition.
If I don’t write it, it will.
THE LAST FUCKING THING I WANT IN THIS UNIVERSE is to be a 43 year old pregnant woman.
Or, God forbid, to have gotten pregnant at Burning Man.
I went to Burning Man and all I got was this FUCKING BABY!*
*I’m DEFINITELY NOT PREGNANT. Still no period, though. Perimenopause SUCKS the BIG ONE!