If you had told me eighteen months ago that I would be pregnant
AGAIN, less than a year after my youngest had been born, I would have laughed
in your face. And possibly hit you (but that would have been the pregnancy rage
hitting you, and I’m sure I would have felt badly about it. Sort of).
If you had told me eighteen months ago that not only would I
be pregnant AGAIN less than a year after my youngest had been born, but that it
would not be an “Oops!” baby (or the more PC term “surprise!” baby. It’s okay,
I understand. Can I introduce you to my third born and resident "oops/surprise" baby?), but rather a planned and
hoped for pregnancy, I would have immediately cut off all contact with you because
I have a policy about not letting crazy liars speak into my life.
