My bionic nose

Oh hi, so I'm pregnant. How awesome is that, right? It seriously is.

I'll just come right out and say that no one is coming to our house to film a home pregnancy test commercial. There's me, completely oblivious to any possibility of pregnancy, going to my in-laws' and drinking all kinds of cocktails in the weeks after conception, because that's what they do there. When in Rome and all. Marinating the poor thing. Oh well, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger at that age, I'm told. Then there's me realizing, oh, it might actually be, you know, THAT, and there's Jeff all, my life is OVER. No one has ever had two children, EVER, except ME, and it's like really, really hard. And I'm all, pfft. Shut up dude, what you don't LOVE me? That's IT, right? Now I KNOW. I'm pretty sure I said, fine, too. And then there's how I didn't even get the first test right because I peed on it when I didn't actually have to pee and at like midnight so it was a test where the TEST WINDOW didn't light up or activate or whatever. So not only can I not manage my fertility, but I cannot pee on a stick! I am, however, a wonderful mother. Ask anyone.

And then there's the next morning where I actually got the dumb thing right, and seriously here no one would film it because it was like 6am and I hadn't slept much and looked like crap and it was dark anyway. And I'm not even sure Jeff is awake, but I get back in bed and I'm all, are you awake? and he's all, yes of course I'm awake, dumbass, and I'm all, it's positive, and then we just sort of lay there and I'm all, don't you dare freak out like you did last time, except I was really only like that in my head, what I was probably really like was like, how about some coffee, then we sort of just went to work, kind of in shock. Taking it all in and such.

But it ends okay, because, fast forward many weeks, past me procrastinating calling the doctor, because what can they do anyway? Have me pee on one of THEIR sticks? Bah. But finally I went, and there it was, all wiggly and cute and heart-beating and all, and then we grinned and held hands and thought it was really cute, more kind of like it's supposed to go when adoring, stable parents find out they miraculously get the honor of doing it again. So now I am of ADVANCED MATERNAL AGE, except apparently they don't call it that anymore, but now they call me an ELDERLY MULTIGRAVID. How times change. These crazy kids in obstetrics and their fashions, I can hardly keep up with them.

Well, so there we have it! Clean out your casserole pans for April and start the dinner train! (It's kind of pathetic how I immediately think of how everyone should jump to attention to begin taking care of me. Classic youngest child. Yawn.)

And I can smell everything anyone ever did within a mile of me. The dust, it's killing me. And Taco Bell, it's the best place EVER. And Cheerios. I'm like Sniff, in Hugo's Richard Scarry story "Sniff Catches the Robber" (Hugo is AWESOME, by the way)--

Sniff is a detective.
He helps people find things.
He helps catch bad people.
He thinks with his head.
He smells with his nose.

And holy crap, isn't this amazing? It so is. I'm over the moon.

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