A slightly confessional bit.

WARNING: Nothing has happened, so I don't want any of this "Whew, for a while I thought..." stuff. There may be some slight (but diplomatically phrased, I think) TMI.

*****

As a card-carrying Papist, there are certain moral obligations which I derive from my theological mindset. Praying for Badger when she goes in for that test to see that nothing evil and lethal is lurking somewhere near her, uh, bottom...that's one such less-well-known obligation. The fish thing during Lent.

There are a few other more famous (and famously controversial) strictures to which Chez Joke hews close.

As a consequence, we are aware that there is something of a chance that one day, maybe, we may be called upon to haul out all the old baby stuff and give it one more lease on life. It wouldn't be the most convenient thing ever, especially given that she's just discarded her 30s...but this goes with the territory we've staked out.

Most of the time, this isn't a practical worry as we have very Ladyhawke schedules, and thus it'd take St. Gabriel the Archangel making an official announcement for us to really believe our merry band would actually increase in number. But not all tides are slack and so, this week when TFBIM's...uh...red envelope failed to arrive on schedule (it's wildly punctual) we sort of looked to ourselves and wondered.

Then it was delayed some more. And now we really wondered.

But what struck me was that I had not worked myself into a blind panic. While still not ecstatic about it, I was surprisingly cool with the possibility, you might say. By the 3rd day of the delay, I was starting to think of names and what options would be viable for the nursery. (I'd hate to give up the den.) Then the call came early this morning:

"For the love of all that's holy, get me two [brand name analgesic] and some water! If you find morphine bring that instead." And I knew; it might have been lost in transit but it has arrived, late, sure, but with a vengeance.

And you know what?

I was actually a tiny bit disappointed.

-J.

Comments

Badger said…
Aw! Well, if you can keep my ass in your prayers (you're off the hook until spring of 2009-ish, BTW), I can keep TFBYM's and your, er, pertinent bits in mine. So's that whatever youse two want to happen (or not) there will happen (or not).

As for Mrs. Joke, please offer her a warm "welcome to perimenopause!" on my behalf, and tell her the morphine is in the mail, along with her membership card.
Poppy Buxom said…
I always wondered how you managed to be so uber Catholic and only have two kids, and now I know.

Instead of fwomping, you watch Ladyhawke. All the time. While other people are fwomping. And it's not even a sin. The Holy Father is OK with it. Pary on, you animals!
Poppy Buxom said…
Whoops, that "parTy."
blackbird said…
I'm a card carrying member of the pm club, and we are anything but Catholic, but I wonder every month.
Talk about mixed feelings.
blackbird said…
How did I miss the news on Badger's ass?
Joke said…
Poppy, for the purposes of this discussion, you can certainly go with that.

bb, not MISS so much as "slipped your mind." Miz Badge SPECIFICALLY compelled the Papal minions to get right on the case here.

Badge, before I was Nice Catholic Boy, I often prayed along similar lines, but with remarkably less altruistic intent.

-J.
MsCellania said…
Well, as one who used to regularly recite HAIL MARYs and DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN HOLY FATHER DON'T LET THAT PEE-STICK BE A +! club, I know the disappointment of which you speak. It's a meloncholy-tinged sign of relief, but a sign of relief all the same.
And might I also add that it may not be perimenopause, but an extremely early miscarriage that the FBYM is experiencing? If it continues in copious amounts, watch her carefully - I've been in those shoes too and ended up in hospital after passing out from blood loss.
So, rattle those rosary beads over that one! (Along the lines of "Things can always get worse" so favored by Catholics...)
Joke said…
Nah.

Just the usual thing, just 4 days later.

But apparently with Hellish cramps.

-J.
h&b said…
Babies are so nice, I can imagine the little lull you let yourself fall into...
My float said…
Whew for a white I thought...
Kim said…
You know, considering how much fertility the good Lord has showered down on me and Chef, Oscar was the only planned offspring we have produced. And you know, as the shock and 'how on earth will we manage' mindsets grew with each addition, that same disappointment swelled when I would bleed in each and every pregnancy in the early stages. I hear ya.

Doesn't take long to start thinking of names and working out where to put it really does it.

Am thinking of you and yours.
Joke said…
And we're at the phase where some of our friends are still "having issue" so babies are no rarity in our orbit.

(A pal of ours had her first son when she was -- oops! -- 45. Stop and let that sink in a moment.)

And babies are VERY nice.

-J.
shula said…
Well, I must admit that I was disappointed when they told me I wasn't having twins after all when I was pregnant. And I was single, homeless and broke at the time. Go figure.

Pondering the Possibility of Parenthood is a Paradoxical Process.

(not said very well, I admit, but look at all those Ps!)

And I'm still getting my head around that fact that you practice the Rythmn Method and only have TWO KIDS. Your girl must be built like a swiss watch.
Joke said…
It's a bit more sophisticated than that. In the old days all you could muster to help was a calendar.

These days the calendar is still valid, but now we have star charts, finely calibrated tidal projections, sophisticated algorithms.

-J.
Stomper Girl said…
I know in my head that returning to nappies and wakefulness and carrying a hefty lump on one hip for pretty much the whole day would be an enormous pain in the arse and upheaval but I still get the little tinge of disappointment.

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