The bottom line is that I am pregnant. Again. Planned? Hell no. In fact, for the first month or two I was sort of in a combination of denial/depression. One minute I was planning a massive murder/suicide and the next I was pretending that this wasn't even my life. Just some sad, pathetic woman who I knew who happens to be 15 weeks pregnant.
But I've come out of all that and have faced acceptance. Yes. This is happening. I will have a baby right as Rip turns 3,19 months apart from Chet, who is 16 months apart from Rip. Three kids in three years. If you are wanting to vomit, know this, it doesn't help. And if you are considering calling Child Protective Services, know this also, it doesn't help; I've already tried and they are not interested in adopting all three of my kids. Something about there being too many too fast?
So. Here I stand with 500 baby/toddlers, one of which is trying to plug the vacuum into my computer at the moment. I am sort of done with this stage, and yet, I just keep starting over. Remember how I have made it very clear that I don't do babies? That is putting it politely. I do not like the baby stage (also put mildly..). In fact, I saw a friend's new baby and I got slightly sick to my stomach thinking of holding that baby.
That is where things are at. I am anti-baby and am basically reproducing at rabbit rates. Pray for us. Pray for Chet for he is soulless. Pray for Rip that he doesn't end up going to jail for killing Chet one day, and pray for me that I don't kill all of us. Oh yeah. And pray for Josh too, but he's not really a factor in all this because he spends his entire life somewhere on Cornell's campus. Smart man. I wish I was going to pretend school so I could hide from the babies that are multiplying in our tiny apartment.
