It was 56 degrees here. Damn near freezing! People had scarves on. Everyone broke out their skinny jeans and furry boots. I got to wear my new cashmere sweater! There's something about wearing a $200 sweater with $29 jeans bought 3 years ago that keep sliding down my butt and shoes from Payless, but whatever.
So LK and I took the brats to Chick-Fil-A (oh how I love thee) and Joann's (because I never did learn my lesson about taking groups of kids to craft stores) and had a nice afternoon out. At Chick-Fil-A we saw a brand new, itty bitty, red, wrinkled, fuzzy, squinty eyed newborn. Awwwww. It's amazing how my heart flip flops for those ugly, fussy little people who emit foul liquids from every orifice.
Lately, it seems that everyone I know is pregnant. Well, everyone I know online. And Renee's live in nanny (who may or may not be illegal, depending on how you look at it). I know some "real" people who just had new babies too. Of course as the mother of a 16 month old, who hangs out with other mothers of 16 month olds, I'm around a lot of conversations about trying to conceive and pregnancy announcements.
As absolutely PSYCHOTIC as it is, this makes me want another baby. Blech. I know, I don't even really like kids that much and I don't want a whole bunch of people living with me, even if they are people that I made. I know it is total insanity and that if I actually got a positive pregnancy test right now I would probably cry and scream at Mr. Ashley for doing this to me once realization settled in.
Even so, last month I sort of thought I was pregnant (although that was 100% impossible. It would have been the next immaculate conception, which would have been pretty cool) and was a little disappointed to discover I definitely was not (even though I knew I really couldn't be). Sometimes lately just for fun, I look at Mr. Ashley and say, "Let's have another baby!" and he laughs and shakes his head. Thank God he does, because in general our conception process goes like this:
One of us: Hey, wouldn't it be fun to have a baby?
The Other: Oh, that would be fun!
One of us: Really? Oh let's!
The Other: Okay! Yeah!
20 sweaty minutes later
One of us: You know, I've been thinking. Maybe right now isn't the best time to have a baby.
The Other: Yeah, I know. I was thinking the same thing. Let's wait until ____.
One of us: Yeah, that's a good idea.
The Other: One time probably won't take. We're probably fine. We just won't do that again.
One of us: Yeah, I agree.
and 10 months later, along comes a kid.
Mr. Ashley knows that this is just my crazy hormones talking. That there is just something in a woman's body when her youngest baby enters toddlerhood that makes her forget that getting that baby there was more or less a total nightmare, and tricks her body into thinking she needs another one.
This is when I worry for those women that are going to have as many babies as God tells them to have. No offense, but if my hormones are dictated by God, then he really wants me to eat a ridiculous and unhealthy amount of chocolate. He also makes me act like a total crazy bitch sometimes.
Also, I see where the undereducated welfare abusers go wrong. Aside from the physical miseries, it's kind of fun to be pregnant. The attention and the excitement and the interesting-ness of it all. Then you have a new, sweet, snuggly little person everyone likes to ooh and aah over and all kinds of tiny, cute new stuff. Next thing you know, you've got 7 kids by 7 daddies and you can't afford daycare and people are saying you should be sterilized.
Anyway, I don't know if I'm going to have another kid or not. The plan was always two, but the plan was always 1 boy and 1 girl and little kid screwed that one up. I really want a girl. My entire life I was just certain I would be the mom of a girl. I love tutus and dance recitals and baby dolls and bikinis and dresses and all of that jazz. I have known her name since I was 12 (Bailey, after my grandfather) and can completely picture a curly headed, munchkin faced crossbreed of me and Mr. Ashley. So stinking cute. He really wants a girl too.
However, there is that pesky problem of that 50% chance that this imagined 3rd child would have a penis. Actually the more I think about it, I can completely picture myself as the mom to a herd of boys. I've always been a guy's girl (not a slut either) and I love the dirty, silly, tough but vulnerable thing that makes boys boys (and I'm not talking about penises either).
So to prepare myself for this possibility, I try to imagine 3 boys and although the thought exhausts me and I'm not even sure where we'd put another one, I think I could handle it. Maybe. That could just be the hormones talking. Or the fact that I've come up with a name I love. As with little kid, I've informed Mr. Ashley that if the imagined child is a boy, I get to name him whatever I want as a consolation prize. I told him little kid's name when I was pregnant with Big Kid and it took him that long to warm up to it. I fought him on the middle name up until delivery (I won).
So if I have a 3rd boy he will be....Cash Alexander. I love it. I know some people will hate it and that's okay. I'm aware that it sounds like the name of a drug dealer's child. I know people will roll their eyes when they hear it. But when he's a gorgeous successful grown up (because I make Exceptional children, otherwise I wouldn't even consider a third), it will suit him perfectly. Besides, when people ask him who to make the check out to, he can say "My friends call me Cash."
So I pretty much just want to use the name. Good reason to have a 3rd huh? I love baby names.
The other day on the boat though, I had both boys in my lap, Big Kid tucked under one arm with the towel over his head (as usual) and little kid laying in the other arm with no towel touching him (as usual), sucking on my arm as he slept, and I felt content with the thought of having two and giving up on a Bailey or a Cash and just embracing the idea of having one for each arm. My two fun boys who I already know and love. Become the ultimate soccer mom and enjoying less drama and a more reasonable clothing budget as a result.
Besides, that would mean I could get a boob job sooner and be the head bitch in charge around here forever, with no competition. I could also get to that gorgeous, tan and toned, rock hard size 2 body I deserve a lot faster. I wouldn't be outnumbered or have more toys to pick up or one more loud mouth to listen to.
Who knows what I'll do. I really do love those names. I think we've come right back around to me needing a bigger house and a nanny. Isn't that the answer to everything? Maybe I could just get an illegal pregnant nanny and pretend her baby is mine when I want to? And make her name it what I want? I think that is The Renee's plan, but don't tell her that I told you that.