Here I sit. It's 1:07 PM and there are only 3 other people in the building. We are, for the first time in 10 years, closing early today. A freaking miracle!
Last night Joey and I went to Morton's for our big blowout and had a very lovely evening. What wasn't so lovely was the damn red wine headache I woke up with this morning. Blah. Anyhow, a few glasses into the bottle and we began discussing our plans for next year. And of course, the subject came up.
Yeah. Procreation. A possible Builder Baby.
Apparently, The Husband had gotten the distinct impression that I didn't want any more kids, so he was going to tell me in a few weeks that he was willing to get The Big V done so that I didn't have to keep taking the pill or get my tubes tied.
Uh, wha? Was it really that obvious?
I think this is a subject better discussed sober, however it seems like it's back on the table for the umpteenth time since I started blogging. And why, I wonder, can't the two of us ever seem to get on the same page at the same time?
The past few months have given me a little more perspective on the subject, and let's just say that the subject has never been entirely closed. However, it seems as though we will have to make a decision in the next few months one way or the other and stick with it.
Have I mentioned that I hate making decisions about my own life? Give me a problem on a jobsite, a product that won't work, numbers that don't crunch, and I handle it with aplomb. But start talking about ovaries and ovulation and I totally freeze up.
So here I sit. Wondering all of the what ifs. Can you still be a bad-ass and carry a diaper bag? I finally found an eye cream that I love, but will it help hide the endless sleepless nights? And damn, I freaking hate maternity clothes.
I do know one thing. There will be no conception prior to our Vegas trip. Because if there is, that will be one pickled baby comin' out.