I have come to the conclusion that I am going to be pregnant and miserable for the rest of my life. All signs pointed to my son coming into this world early, but then I remembered who his father was and realized that I am completely screwed and now going to be out numbered. This kid is going to have to be forced out. June 5th, exactly 10 days after my last due date they are going to induce me (which is VERY painful from what I have been told as Pitocin is not fun) and he will wait until after midnight on June 6th to enter this world. Because he is JUST LIKE HIS FATHER!
My husband does EVERYTHING in his own time, and if he is comfortable, FORGET about suggesting change. Most times it has to be forced on him or it has to hit him on the head that it is for the best before he will concede.
For example, how I believe he decided to marry me finally after 10 years is that he realized that I was fed up and had given up. Not with the relationship, but with the idea of ever being married.
We were at a wedding for a very good family friend and a lot of my family and friends of my parents were there who had known me all my life. As usual everyone was asking the dreaded question: “When are you two getting married?” and after 10 years of trying to come up with witty excuses to not feel like a complete idiot for giving away the milk for free and now being stuck in a limbo where he won’t shit but he also won’t get off the pot, I finally said exactly what I thought and felt was MY truth at the time…NEVER!
And with that one word I walked away leaving a stunned crowd of people and from what my aunt said a shocked and hurt man. Let’s just say 3 months later he was on bended knee and I was engaged.
And this is who my son is going to be…The doctors are going to have to force him out before he will leave the confines of my broken body, because why should he want to get out? He’s living the high life in there! It’s warm, he gets food delivered to him, he sleeps when he wants and there is plenty to play with…Just ask my bladder which he insists on kicking the shit outta on a regular basis causing too frequent trips to the ladies room.
Who cares that he is causing my feet to swell to a size that I didn’t think was humanly possible? Or that I am not sleeping and can’t get comfortable, that my back hurts and I can barely walk to the bathroom, let alone my car. That I am still vomiting and hot and sweaty and know that the only relief from ANY of this is squeezing something the size of a watermelon out of something the size of a cherry and FEEL the ring of fire rip me from who-ha to arse…AND I AM WILLING TO DO THAT! I am BEGGING FOR IT! But does he care…no! The outside world is of no concern to him.
But here is where my son (and my husband can attest to this) is so very wrong in his thinking. You see, I have the power to make him VERY happy or VERY miserable (again, ask my husband). You see both men have me wrapped around their fingers to a certain extent, BUT I also have a breaking point. And when I reach it, LOOK OUT cause there is nothing on God’s green earth that can save you. I know you inside and out and I CAN and WILL go for the jugular. And it may not be today, tomorrow or 10 years from now, but one day I will make my son pay for taking his damn sweet time entering this world and making me miserable in the process.
So son, 16 years or so from now when there is a killer party and you just HAVE to be there or a game you just HAVE to go to, or friends you just HAVE to go away with, I’m going to say “No” with no reasoning…just no. And maybe you will find this blog posting one day and you will figure out why.
Payback is a bitch and Mommy’s is serving it for supper that night…enjoy! 🙂