Here we are again, slugging back four 4oz cups of water at the water cooler in the doctor’s office. Walking back to the room with tiny packets of castille soap and small plastic bottles to dangle precipitously under my body in hopes of capturing the elusive and ironically-named clean catch urine sample.
I’m knocked up. Again. For the last time. For fuck’s sake.
And all this can be blamed on Kansas City Chiefs’ safety Bernard Pollard, whose shoulder connected with the left knee of New England Patriots’ QB Tom Brady in game one of the 2008 football season, taking out Brady and dashing SuperBowl hopes for the team and fans.
As it was, not giving a damn about either the Steelers or the Cardinals, I did NOT don my Patriots jersey with pride first thing in the morning on SuperBowl Sunday. I, instead, decided to sneak into the shower with my husband.
There I was, innocently washing myself, when we decided to engage in a little pre-game warm-up while the kids were happily playing Littlest Pet Shop in their room. If it were the Patriots, we would be WATCHING the pre-game on the TV. But it was Cardinals v Steelers *yawn*.
Thus it is that through the miracles of mysterious hormonal normalization in women nearing 40, spontaneous ovulation, and bending over to get the soap, we now have a little blastula that I shall name “Oops.”
Stay tuned for more juicy gossip. I’ll be in my bunk, trying not to throw up on “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” and sending bad thoughts to a certain KC Chiefs safety.