I was all set to write a long, descriptive post about my trip to the proctologist (who wouldn't want to read about a pregnant woman's experience getting her buttcheeks spread by a Mullet-sporting doctor?).
Then D&W told me about Jenny McCarthy's book, Belly Laughs: The Naked Truth about Pregnancy and Childbirth, and how McCarthy not only covered hemorrhoids in seat-gripping detail, her story was a million times more horrific than mine.
Damn McCarthy for stealing my thunder.
Now I have nothing left to write about.
I guess I could write about how tomorrow marks the beginning of my last two weeks at work before I begin my maternity leave. And how I have chosen to take six months of unpaid FMLA leave so I can spend time with Diddlydoo and Junior (isn't Mulletville Corp awesome? Zero days of paid maternity leave. Zero). And how that decision has been keeping me and Chuck awake at night because it seems incredibly irresponsible given Chuck's precarious employment status.
And yet it is the only decision that is right.
We've talked about it. My God, since Diddlydoo was conceived. It's all we've talked about and planned for. We've decided we can survive anything for six months. Chuck can sell his functioning body parts to science and hell, I can finally fulfill my dream of becoming a cocktail waitress while the kids are in bed. We'll shear sheep. Pump gas. We'll make it on love, baby.
It will be an adventure. A gift. An uncharted path.
It will be scary.
But I have wanted to get off this ride of being a full-time working mother for two years.
So here I go.
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