So this is a new feeling.
I’m combining the paralyzing fear of having a miscarriage with the paralyzing fear of what will happen if I DON’T, i.e., a baby. I’m learning all new ways to be afraid!
The reaction to our news has been entertaining. Everything from the way-too-honest, “Your body is going to be ravaged beyond repair,” to the joyfully naive outbursts of “Yaaaaaaaaaaaaayyy! Another baby and it doesn’t matter at all how close in age they will be because … BABY!” There are also quite a few people, particularly men, who are confused why an old married couple with a 7-month-old baby would be having sex at all. My editor may or may not called me a slut. I’m filing paperwork.
But my favorite might have been from Dennis Laycock, who said that Mr. Duggard called and that he had a message for me: “It’s a vagina. Not a clown car.” Dennis makes me laugh sometimes.
I’ve been obsessively researching the odds of how this happened (I think it was something like sperm + egg = baby) and I’m not saying that my husband knowingly got me pregnant without my consent. All I’m saying is that the other day he looked over at Molly barfing and rolling around on her blanket all by herself and he said, “Molly needs a friend.” And that he is wholly calmed by this news. Like he expected it. That’s all I’m saying.
He also says things like, “I don’t know what the big deal is. It’s not like we’re the first people to have two kids.”
These things sound reasonable and have made me decide that I’m no longer afraid, but rather excited.
My inner crank says, “Took you long enough, bi-yatch.”
So … Now that I’m looking forward to my fate of two VERY YOUNG children in two VERY SHORT years, bring on the devastating miscarriage, Jesus! J/K. Please don’t do that.
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