When I was 11, I woke up super early on Christmas morning. Halfway through the complete orgy of presents and excitement, I threw up.
When I was 14, I realized I was not a loser. I had quite a few friends, and really felt like an awesome person for the first time in my life. I could not wait to have my picture taken for the yearbook; I felt it was going to change my life. Halfway through homeroom, I threw up.
Notice a trend?
This entire week, I feel like I am on the verge of running to the toilet or just grabbing the wastebasket under my desk. After months of wanting a new baby, I have finally gotten Jason on board, and now I have to wait until I have stopped surfing the crimson tide.
The anticipation is KILLING me.
I bought new nighties. I have force fed vitamins to Jason. I have avoided caffeine like it was poison and faithfully eaten my well-balanced diet. But as for actual Baby-Making…we still have two days to go before the beginning of 20 Straight Days of Sex.
(For the record, our conception plan is the following: vitamins; exercise; well-balanced diet; and 20 straight days of having sex once a day in the doctor-recommended positions.)
This has been the longest week ever. I just want to get ta the procreatin’.
And, as irony would have it, Jason has been unspeakably randy. Like, how we used to be before Violet and Marriage and “You wanna watch Buffy for 3 hours, then go to bed early?” stole the sex drive.
I told him to save it up. I am not wasting his strong swimmers.