The Rundown...

So. There's nothing quite like being told by your trusted doctor that coming off of the Depo Provera birth control shots will give you a 6-10 month delay in your return to fertility only to find out a month and half later that you're pregnant. Apparently, shit does indeed happen. Estimated due date: April 24, 2008. And the countdown to the end of the wild and crazy times of my youth begins... now. Oh, who am I kidding. My youth was about as wild and crazy as Tuesday night bingo at the senior center-- a little truth that has a lot to do with my decision in regards to said KnockedUpness, to be honest.

Okay, so I'm sure you're near salivating for details. Or you're only mildly curious and I'm just too egotistical to comprehend how this news could be considered anything less than earth shattering by the rest of the free world. Either way.

Me: 19. 20 at the time of baby birthin', so will not be considered "teenage mother" and relegated to wandering local Wal-Mart in house slippers, with dirty faced baby on hip, looking utterly tragic and buying store brand white bread. Currently resides with baby daddy slash "oh-fuck-it-let's-just-get-married-since-we-were-going-to-end-up-doing-it-
eventually-anyway"-fiancee in a tasteless little three bedroom apartment with the afformentioned's roommate. Will be moving out shortly after christmas into new, roommate and Kurt Cobain poster-free flat to start proper adult life with husband and baby.

Him: 22. Inexplicably level headed and responsible for a former frat boy and avid fantasy footballer. Has financial advisor and eats lots of fiber. Spends good portion of his nights propping up snoring, gassy baby mama so she can breathe and can often be found trudging to the store for jars of relish and rasberry seltzer water. Works 70 hours a week to pay for everything and still has the good humor to call unshowered, nappy haired, bathrobed and pukey woman, "beautiful". He's a saint and I'm one lucky bitch.

As for everyone else (heartbroken parents, dumbfounded friends, and the like), well they're pretty much irrelevant. Kidding! They're all terrifically supportive and loving and excited and blahblahblah. They're all also responsible for furnishing our nursery and showering me with gifts. I love them bushels and pecks.

Anyway, now that we've been formally introduced, I invite you all to pop in from time to time and have a laugh with me (or more probably, at me) while I make a fool of myself and a mockery of the noble art of housewifery and motherhood with my decidedly ridiculous behavior and affinity for salty language.

Kisses,
a.