I've Got A Feeling

Three and a half years ago Lt Hubby and I decided that we were done having kids. D. O. N. E. With the then upcoming deployment and the four already existing dudes, we conceded to the fact that our plates were full enough. But without making any of those decisions "permanent", we apparently left the door open for unseen options, fates idea of a practical joke, or otherwise divine intervention to have its way with us. Thus, in two years we found ourselves with two new babies being added to our clan; one courtesy of a pre-war rendezvous that ended with me peeing on a stick, and the other courtesy of someone else peeing on a stick. Either way, both moments of stick-peeing resulted in a very real "Detour Ahead" realization and left me very grateful that I had kept all-things baby from the first 4 dudes.

I've since learned that keeping baby stuff only tempts fate to exercise its own free will...once bitten, twice shy! And I refuse to be "bitten" by any additional ill-advised rogue male spermies. Hence, Operation "Sort, Donate, Purge" needed to happen sooner rather than later.  Since there is no time like the present, I submerged myself into the daunting task. I've saved and used and reused all the baby gear, clothes, and equipment from the original dude 14 years in the making. It. Is. Time!

I was more than ready to say adieu to all this "stuff"...or so I thought. It seems that touching, holding, caressing and reminiscing over items that cuddled, swaddled, and clothed my 6 babes with the intent of purging...FOR...EV..ER (this must be said like Squints from "Sandlot") was emotional, nostalgic, and borderline painful for this mama that is 100% done having babies. I mean...I think I'm done...I'm pretty sure I'm done...yeah, I'm done. You see, my house is overflowing with kids and kid stuff, my vehicle is a borderline clown car masquerading as a Taxi, and I have to be able to feed, clothe and educate these 6 somewhat demanding, time consuming people! And someday I would like to hang out with Lt Hubby without swollen ankles, injured perineum, suspicious lingering kid odor or a demanding kid calendar battling for our time, energy, and attention. We. Are. Done!

Something strange happened, however, while surrounded with baby clothes that my smelly stinky dudes once wore in their most innocent, dependent, delicate state. My uterus skipped a couple beats! It actually ached and seemingly longed for those quiet stolen moments that I alone got to experience of my unborn baby's movements. It was my own selfish moments of the most heart wrenching unexplainable love that I will ever experience. And I'm never going to get to have it again. In that moment of letting the realization of done-ness sink in deep...my entire body mourned for this apparent "loss"...and yearned to capture those memories. 

But...We. Are. Done! No part of me really wants to do middle of the night feedings, explosion baby poops, or contractions! Hello?! Labor sucks...really sucks, and I don't ever want to do it again. But try to tell my uterus that when faced with purging the baby stuff, and you will be faced with a real vagina problem! It seems that my body feels the need to procreate...or at least practice the art of potential procreation! I'm horny as hell, and it was spurred on by Operation "Sort. Donate. Purge."  I keep trying to get Lt Hubby's "attention" to quench my apparent burning loins! This is so unlike me! I equate it to a black widow trying to lure her next victim. Lt Hubby better watch his back because I'm sure it's a trap (by the way, you need to say "It's a trap" in the same way as Sheldon from Big Bang Theory...it makes it funnier!) I fear I may sink my teeth into him in order for myself to seemingly conquer this unexplainable quest! I'm out of control! I've never found Lt Hubby more irresistible! 

Since I am apparently unable to control myself I need to call in the girl posse. I need to be restrained and quarantined until this "feeling" passes...or dies! Send in the boycotters, "Hell no! She won't blow!"; the army needs to fulfill their call of duty of no man left behind and rescue this soldier...he may very well be my next POW. I'm sure his punishment didn't match the crime, but since I'm certain he isn't going to complain too loudly, someone needs to save him from himself. A man being tortured by his horny, seemingly-needs-to-procreate wife probably can't be trusted alone with his own judgment anyway. We need reinforcements!! Consider this our S.O.S (Stop. Offering. Sex!)

Does A Bear Sh*t In The Woods?

Traveling is fun! I enjoy hotels, airports, and road trips. I don't, however, get to partake in a weekend adventure very often...what with the masses of people I'm responsible for carting around, it is less leisure and a lot more work leaving the alternative of staying at home the more appealing option. My older two boys seem to be more and more involved with activities that require us to pack up and leave town, and since mama is as mama does I pack my posse and follow my athletes wherever the wind takes them. And the wind has taken us "east river" each of the last three weekends. We've gotten to pack everything but the kitchen sink, load my mama-mobile, travel great distances and stay in hotels. Each and every time the kids are overly excited and giddy about the untold adventures and events that a trip promises. And secretly, I'm pretty excited too, except for a small part of the adventure that I manage to keep on the down low.

Sporting events and hotel fun aside, I do harbor one teeny, tiny personal issue, if you will, when it comes to traveling. I tend to be a party pooper....well, quite the contrary, I actually leave the "pooper" part at home. The good, the bad, and the ugly of my dilemma is that I am an at-home-only kind of girl. Call me crazy, but I save my crowning moments for my own personal throne, and it only becomes problematic when we are...well...away from home! Traveling and all of its fun can be slightly overshadowed when the "unmentionable deed" ceases to happen. Case in point, three weekends of baseball travels also mean three weekends of  "traffic backup on the interstate"! I think you know what I'm saying, but for those of you who are struggling to read between the lines...I can't poop anywhere but at home, and my ability to "free the chocolate hostages" comes to a sudden and complete stand still!

I'd like to think that I'm not super high maintenance, but apparently in this particularly demented arena, I am! However, as a side note, I think more people should practice the art of at-home-only pooping. Leave the "stalling of the brown sedan" to the likes of solitary confinement behind locked doors in your own abode! I actually think more women subscribe to this theory than will admit, however, or at least that is how I choose to view the world. It is highly uncommon that a public women's bathroom emanates with the odor of the unmentionable deed, but when it does (or God forbid someone christens the throne  and "launches a corn canoe" whilst I am in their presence!) I am completely offended! That particular realm of affairs needs to happen AT HOME! I have several lady friends that feel as strongly, if not more so, about this as I...that's probably why we are such good friends...and we have discussed (in alarming detail, I might add) the art of self control and waiting to make this business transaction until you are safely at home. "Drop the kids off at the pool" on your own time and leave the rest of the public bathroom users out of it! If I had my druthers, I'd request you to withhold from fumigating afore mentioned bathroom as well. I don't want to be privy to your gaseous state...respect the patrons surrounding you and suck it up ladies!

Public sewer-snake-dropping aside, I can't even perform the "daring do" in our hotel room! First of all, quarters are way too close and enclosed for that kind of nonsense to be happening. No one should be subject to anyone else's butt odor! Second of all, I always seem to try to occupy the throne after one of my minion who always succeed in secretly barricading the one-way street! I'm left with plunger in hand cursing all poopers in all of mankind! What horror to be told if I would actually succeed in releasing a "chocolate banana" only to have it refuse to leave the premises! I would have to do the walk of shame to the front desk and request maintenance on our toilet!! Is there any worse torture?! Nope! So "hold it" is my traveling mantra. By the end of our 8 day Disney World trip, I was up a jean size, uncomfortably bloated, and bordering Defacation Inability Induced Toxicity (oh it's an illness...trust me!) which results in irritability and mood swings! Disney magic can only last so long when trap doors have to remain locked. 

Truth be told, I don't even want Lt Hubby to know that I occassionally "drop a load"! That's not sexy at all! I have him trained and under my spell that my deposits come in chocolate covered strawberries, and until this euphoric bubble is popped, that's my story and I'm stickin' to it! I rarely excuse myself to "talk to a man about a horse" when Lt Hubby is home. And as long as I can control his mind, I'll have him believe that girls don't poop!