One of our own

I've only been married three months, but I've had the same conversation dozens of times now with friends and several Casual Aquaintances. 

CA:  So... when are you and Chris having more kids?
Me:  We have one.  We're good.
CA:  No, really.  Don't you want to have a baby?
Me:  I had one.
CA:  Don't you want another one?
Me:  Not really.
CA:  And Chris is okay with that?
Me:  Yes.
CA:  I don't believe it.
Me:  You don't know Chris.
CA:  I can't believe he doesn't want one of his own.  
Me:  We have Alex.  He's plenty.
CA:  Most men want one of their own.  You just watch.
Me:  Yeah.  I'll do that.

My husband and I discussed this before we were married.  I think we had the conversation before we were engaged.  He's not trying to "spread his seed", "sow his oats", "carry on his name" or whatever it is that makes a man want to impregnate a woman. 

First of all, it might kill me and he likes me alive.  I love my son, but I had him when I was 21 and healthy and I still ended up in the hospital, strapped to my bed, heavily medicated (not with the good drugs) and in labor for 61 hours before I finally pushed out his big head.   At which point, I was hospitalized for an additonal four days.

Second, my son has told me under no uncertain terms that he doesn't want siblings of any kind.  Ever.  He's had this opinion since he could talk and reminded me the other day that he's not changed his mind.

Third, in about eight years I'll be sending the boy off to college.  I will cry my eyes out as I leave him in his dorm.  I will think about him everyday and send cards and care packages all the time.  I'll call him and email and myspace him.  And then I'll spend the weekend in Austin with my husband just because we can, have sushi for dinner, walk around my house naked if I feel like it....  I can't do those things if there's a 7 year old running around.

Fourth, we have one of our own.  Tonight as we were looking over Alex's take home papers, there was a worksheet Chris and Alex worked on together.  One was marked wrong.  Chris said he was glad most of the questions were right in case the teacher asked him who helped him with it.  Alex said, ""My dad"".  Last week when someone asked who was taking one of the kids home from football practice, the coach's wife said, ""He's going with Alex's dad"".  On Sunday when Alex beat Chris on Madden, he asked, ""so how does it feel to get beat by your own kid?""  When the boy had been acting up I had no problem telling Chris that his child was crazy.

So thanks for your concern...  Never say never...  BUT - No, we're not planning on getting me knocked up... not on purpose anyway. So if one day I end up preggers, you can throw me a baby shower and tell me you told me so.  If that day never comes,  don't look for me to adopt.

Not *in* your eye, Mrs. Morris

When I first entered the house I now live in, it was to watch Fight Club with my new friend who had never seen it before.  As soon as I sat on his couch I realized that either cats lived there or had in the past.  My eyes started tearing, my nose started running and my face started swelling.  I took a roll of toilet paper from his bathroom and we made it through the movie.

As time went by and my friend became My Honey and I started staying over on the weekends, I would clean his house.  He thought it was because I'm really nice or have some kind of cleaning obsessive compulsive disorder.  Nah.  I'm just really allergic to cat hair..and it was everywhere.  It was on the couch cushions, in the carpet, on the baseboards, in the dust on the windowsills.  Every weeekend I'd clean a little more so I could breathe a little easier.  Chris even washed the covers on the couch cushions for me.  It's gotten better.

The thing about cat hair is that it clings in hiding places you'd never think to look.  Last weekend when I was cleaning I had an asthma attack when I inadvertently turned up more cat hair.  I think it was when I changed the vacuum bag.  Sadly, the vacuum did not suck up all the cat hair.

Last night, while on the phone with my good friend Scott, I felt something in my eye.  It was bothering me in a big way.  I was working up tears and moving my eyelid.  I rinsed with water and it was still irritated beyond belief.   Finally, after rinsing with wetting solution I got the irritant out.  I looked at my face and my eye looked puffy, but I assumed it was just from the rubbing.

I woke up this morning with my eye swollen almost shut.  No redness, nothing in it, just big, swollen and slanted.  I looked like I had down syndrome.  It was very distressing.  I iced it and it helped a little, but Chris took me to the optometrist (opthamologist?) who dyed my tears, examined me and determined nothing was actually in my eye, but it was probably an allergic reaction.  I'm allergic to quite a few things, but the only thing that makes me swell up?  Yes, friggin cat hair.  It cost us our $100 deductible to find out that I had cat hair in my eye.  The doctor told me to put some cortizone on the lid, not in my eye.  He repeated that twice ""not in your eye, Mrs. Morris.""  I guess I still had some of that down syndrome look going on. 

It still feels a little puffy and irritated, but it's mostly better.  Did you know that Visine makes drops with antihistimine in them now?  Twice the cost of regular drops, but well worth it in this instance.  When the swelling goes down all the way I'll be going back to that nice doctor to get my vision checked.  Hey, deductible is paid, the whole family can have exams!

Chris told me I should stop cleaning so much.  He said the cat hair had been sitting there minding its own business when I stirred it up.  Yeah.  He thinks he's funny.

My blogs are boring

It's true.  Nothing exciting has been happening to me.  I'm just living a happy, drama-free life.  I apologize if that makes for a pitiful blog.  Also, my blog had somehow become mandatory reading material at work and while part of me doesn't care, part of me doesn't want to share more of myself with those people.  My page is no longer public...just one more way to have less drama.    I was telling my husband about my boring blog and he said that I've become a soccer mom.  Say what?!?  I'm no fucking soccer mom.  I'm  a FOOTBALL mom!  BTW, my baby's team won the last game 42 - 0 (and still got yelled at for being lazy).  There was a crazy lady on the other side of the field screaming at our team not to hit the boys on the other team.  What the hell was she smoking?  How do you not tackle in football?  She screamed at our coaches that they only cared about winning the game.    What did she expect?  She must be one of those soccer moms.  Ick. 

I'm not remotely athletic or particularly competitive, but I believe in keeping score.  If you want your child to play a game where no one wins and no one loses and ability doesn't matter then your kid better have down syndrome.  But if he does, don't let him play football.  All that helmet switching will only confuse him.  And for the record, the Special Olympics have winners and losers.  Retarded kids accept that some people are better are certain things.  Why grown women of normal i.q. don't understand that just escapes me.  They need to stop taking their child's Ritalin and accept reality.  Your kid's not perfect?  Mine either.  Life's like that. 

I'm turning into my mother.  I went to the bathroom the other day at work.  I was in the stall and let out a big ""aaaaaaahhhhhhhh"" of relief.  right. out. loud.  Then I started laughing uncontrollably. right. out. loud.  I'm hovering there, hand on the wall, tissue in hand wondering if I'll topple over if I try to wipe and unable to control my laughter.  I can only wonder what people were thinking.  No one said anything as they flushed or washed their hands.  For some reason it brought to my mind that scene from Carrie in the girls locker room when they started throwing maxi pads at her and that killed the laughter.  You know, those were some fat pads.  Did you know they still make pads that thick?  What's that about?  I don't know about you, but I don't have an extra two inches of space between my body and my underwear.  I don't want to walk around feeling like I've got a couch cushion between my thighs.  Sometimes when I'm in the feminine hygiene aisle, I wonder what kind of self-abusive person buys those.  I wonder that her life is like.  I wonder what other weird things she does to punish herself and make life less pleasant.  One day I may write a story about her.  I think I'll name her Norma.

We went and saw Igor.  Don't waste your money.

I've been noticing more and more women with tattoos on their necks and behind their ears.  I can't believe they don't know how trashy they look.  And don't get me wrong, I love tattoos.  When I retire, I plan on sleeving my arm and getting a Harley.  It will be so sweet.  But I hate homemade looking tattoos with unfortunate placement.  I'm a big believer that nothing should go below the wrist, below the ankle or above the collarbone.  Everything else is fair territory.  Please remember people: Good tattoos are not cheap and cheap tattoos (make you look like an escaped convict) are not good.  Spend the money- it's cheaper than laser removal.

Ok, I think I'm done for now.  Back to my boring life.  I'm gonna go grab my husband so I can have my way with him.