After our son was born two and half years ago, I distinctly remember telling the doctor to burn out my insides (twice, if she really loved me) because I am physically incapable of not making adorable babies without the assistance of modern medicine and being cauterized. I have proven this to be an indisputable fact this week.
After suffering through almost twelve insufferable hours of what I was convinced was a lack of fiber, I told my husband to take me to the hospital. I googled my symptoms and was pretty sure I was heading in to the hospital for what would be the removal of either my useless appendix or my worthless gall bladder. After waiting around (and enjoying the complimentary morphine) a lady doctor came into my curtain fort and said, "You are pregnant."
My response was a flat, "Of course I am." And, not because I don't want another squishy baby to kiss and smoosh and love and cuddle and put through therapy, but because I knew there was not a super great chance that this would be a viable pregnancy. And, it wasn't.
At first I was in shock, then I was sad, and now I am just happy I'm alive because apparently ectopic pregnancies can seriously mess you up if they are not detected right away. The doctor who performed the surgery was amazing, and funny, and kind, and my entire family stepped up and just took over what tasks I would normally have to do as mom around here.
This is less of a funny post this week, unless the pain medication has completely taken over and I'm actually typing up a story about the time I accidentally tucked my skirt into my pantyhose and walked around a meeting hall with my butt hanging out for twenty minutes until my friend's dad came up, tapped me on the shoulder, and asked me, "Is this the new fashion trend or something?" But, I'm feeling confident the codeine is directing this post the way I want it to go.
I am so grateful for a husband who worries himself sick over me, four awesome kids who love me to the moon, and for my in-laws for rushing over and doing all of my laundry and cooking me delicious food to eat while I lay around doing nothing all day. I'm also grateful that we are not in a Mad Max type of situation where I would be held captive as a breeder, because that definitely would be my post apocalyptic role.