I'm just warning those of you who are unaware of, or squeamish at, the talk of female "plumbing issues" to turn away now. That said:
WOOHOO! Aunt Flo arrived with a vengeance this morning and I have to say that I've never been more happy to see her bloated, red face. Except for that time in the summer of 1987 but I digress.
See, since Scott had his "procedure", I've been on the pill. No problem. But in late December I took my last one. Instead of renewing my prescription, we threw caution to the wind and err... went commando before the doctor-suggested 3 month post-procedure "commando" window.
Now don't get me wrong. I'd not be broken-hearted if we got pregnant. If it was going to make me miserable, I'd have tried harder to ummm... take care of things. You deal with what life hands you, right? But the idea of being all done with diapers and sleepless nights was verrrrry compelling. And the idea of being blissfully alone with Scott in as little as 13 years? Siiiiiiigh.
A psychic once told me that I would have 4 kids. A boy, a girl and a boy close together then a big space and another boy. YIKES. I was so sure all month that this was the big space. I mean she was right about the sex and cluster of the bunch I already have, right? And if 7 years isn't a big space, I don't know what is. Again I say YIKES.
Anyway, all's right with the world now that Aunt Flo is present and accounted for. Even though she brought her annoying companion Uncle Flatulence. Scott errr.... removed a "sample" last night and it's now winging its way to the lab via Canada Post (this conjures up a lot of thoughts about what people are capable of sending through the mail) so I'm sure all will be well from now on. Which saves you, my loyal readers, from ever again having to put up with a TMI post like this one. For now, anyway.
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