It’s official. I’m pregnant. With child. Bun in the oven. Knocked up. Almost 10 years later, on July 6, 2011, I will return to my misadventures in child rearing.
I never thought I’d be having another baby at this stage in my life. Having never wanted any kids, I shelved my dreams of running off to California to follow in Jack Kerouac’s footsteps to live my life on the beach, writing poetry and stories of my adventures, and instead embraced my new life as a mom. I raised, I reared, I disciplined. I have not yet conquered.
Eight years to go until freedom.
That is no longer the case. I guess that’s what happens when you have unprotected sex with your live-in boyfriend. You’d think I would have learned my lesson from the first two.
In all seriousness though, I am pretty excited about the baby. This time it’s different and I’m ready. With my son, I was 17, in my senior year and not the least bit ready. So naturally, I hid the pregnancy for about four months, at which time my mom saw my changing body and confronted me because ‘every mother knows’. I then had to deal with the stressors of being just another pregnant teenage Mexican, something which I’d worked very hard to avoid. Apparently not hard enough. No Mtv’s “16 and Pregnant” offering me money to tell my story. Nope, it was more like my orchestra teacher trying to keep me from performing so as not to influence the kids who looked up to me to get knocked up. I had a pink mohawk…I doubt I was much looked up to at the time. Not to mention the fact that the purveyors of my high school were already having unprotected sex and abortions long before I joined the ranks of the sexually active.
When I was pregnant with my daughter, I was in the midst of my roaring 21st year where I’m pretty sure I was drunk more often than I was sober. My ex and I were separated at the time and merely started sleeping together when his mom died of lung cancer. It was a very melancholy period and I decided that some vodka was in order…and apparently some sex. Note to self: it’s never a good idea to console someone with your vagina. It opens up a huge can of worms that’s better left tightly sealed. But alas, the universe had other plans for me. I was in a state of denial. I did not want to be pregnant. I was having way too much fun spreading my wings, so to speak. I mean, I had just gotten so good at drinking, no boy could drink me under the table. I was a champ at beer bongs and beer pong and waterfalls, oh my! I was dating, well, dating for a constantly drunken 21 year old girl whose favorite pastime was to prowl college parties for hot, young collegiate. The very last thing I wanted was another baby. Especially after my best friend gave birth to her baby four months before my due date brought back the memories of my previously painful and traumatizing birthing experience. Shortly after though, I said ‘see you later’ to my party ways and got ready for baby number two.
I am now a very strong believer in the everything happens for a reason school of thought.
This time, though it was, surprise, not a planned pregnancy, I’m at peace with the fact that I will now have three mini-me’s. I didn’t have to hide it from anyone. My party ways have long since left me since I no longer have the energy to get all gussied up for a night on the town, or rather, a night full of beer and instead traded it for nights in watching zombie movies with Jason and my pipe. So I don’t really feel like I’m missing anything, though I’m sure my friends are probably having way more fun than I am. I doubt that they are having as many crazy adventures as I am though. My life is never boring, that’s for damn sure. What with a 13 year old boy with out of control hormones and bouts of emo-ness and a 9 year old girl who thinks she’s in her 20’s and is learning how to skate board, breaking her first bone recently. An ex-husband who’s, well, a hand full. My mother living in my back yard and a sister who lives two houses away from me which grants me a bevy of teenage boys running in and out of my house and a cat who seems as though she is constantly in heat and who I’m pretty sure is trying to kill me. Yup, I’d say my life is never boring, as much as I would sometimes like it to be. So I feel as though I’m ready for this. Upon hearing the news Jason immediately started wondering if we would be able to ‘do this’. “Yes,” I replied, “It’s just a baby. No big deal, I’ve done this before.” With that being said, I will admit that I am a little scared. It has, after all, been almost 10 years since I’ve had a baby. Contrary to popular belief, it is not like riding a bicycle.
So I happily lay my fat, pregnant ass on the couch all day when I’m not working watching movies and eating food I know I shouldn’t be eating even though I crave it constantly. I’m pretty sure the baby will come out looking like a cheeseburger. I’m keeping a list of names I like and cleaning the house constantly when I have tiny bouts of energy that are few and far between. I’ll tell you what, being pregnant at 17 and 21 is a huge difference to being pregnant at 31. I’m older, more tired, more surly and have more aches and pains than my 66 year old mom. Plus, I don’t think I can handle bigger boobs. What’s the size after DD? Because that’s where I’m headed, and that is never a place I wanted to be. Ah, such is life.
Everything really does happen for a reason. And then there were 3.