So, it turns out I’m pregnant. We’re really hoping it’s not twins again. John is slowly getting used to the idea. I swear I don’t know how it happened! I mean, I KNOW how it happened, but, y’know. A happy little oops. You know what I’m most concerned about? Fitting five kids in our van. I so don’t want one of those mammoth ugly vans. They reek of utilitarianism.
APRIL FOOL’S DAY!!!!
That’s the best I could come up with.
Not only am I not pregnant, but I am adjusting to the idea that I will never be pregnant again. It is a bittersweet adjustment. On the one hand, I can’t wait until all four of my little boo-bahs are in school, so I can hop right back into bed after I ship them off on the big yellow bus. Or, I might get a job. One or the other. The sleeping scenario is much more appealing to me, of course.
On the other hand, babies are cute. At least, my babies were always cute.
Now that we’ve pretty much decided that this is the end, my only friend, the end, because all of the children are insane, we are faced with the task of deciding what to do with all of our baby crap. Or rather, I am faced with what to do. John would be happy to dump it all off at the Salvation army, and wouldn’t give a second thought to the tiny bobby socks, those one-piece playsuits with giraffes on them, and that little bib that says “I Drool, Therefore I Am.” I’m perfectly content to keep all of the clothes, our bouncy chairs, the crib bumpers, and the rattles and teething rings in the basement forever. JUST IN CASE. Our grandkids could use them. Or maybe a little baby will just arrive on our doorstep one day with a note that says, “I saw you with your kids at the park and I think you’d make a great mom for my baby. I’m just not up to it right now. Take good care of her.” (Do you ever imagine what you’d do in this scenario? It’s a perfectly plausible scenario, I think.)
Or, I could donate said clothes and baby accoutrements to friends and family. However, my many pragmatic in-laws aren’t reproducing as quickly as I would like. My sister has declared they are finished after just two kids (the nerve), and my brother and sister-in-law are working on their “careers” or some such nonsense. John’s brothers are taking their sweet time in the baby department, as well. I don’t know what they’re waiting for. No time like the present. Especially with the now-affordable health care for everyone. Their excuses are tiresome.
If you haven’t seen where I’m headed, I’ll just put it out there for you. Garage sale. Which is either a fantastic idea (according to some) or the worst idea ever (according to most.)
It means, of course, that strange babies will be wearing my kids’ stuff that I got at garage sales that other strange babies wore. Am I really okay with that? Will I be able to sell my daughter’s first little sundresses, or will I have a change of heart at the point-of-sale? (I worked in retail for a while.)
A garage sale could be fun. We could make a little bit of money, and Caleb and Ben could have an adorable lemonade/ brownie stand. No time like the present to start molding little capitalists! And to teach them not to be hoarders, like their mother. And father, for that matter. He has t-shirts in his drawer from high school.
A garage sale would help me move on, I think. A symbolic letting go of the baby years.
You should probably come. Only 1.50 for a brownie with chocolate chunks and chocolate frosting. (Remember- four kids to put through college.)
April Fool’s Day! (Brownies will only be 1.25 a piece.)