The debate on Operation Baby 2007 rages on. It's the most controversial topic since Lin Lo and Mischa Barfton started sporting those suicide wristbands. (Broken perfume bottle my ass.)
I was doing my work on Blogging Baby today (AKA hogging the computer) while The Dog cleaned the kitchen. Nate was happily playing by himself.
"Are you really ready to have another kid?" my handsome homebody asked. "Honestly?"
"Honestly, absolutely. I'm as ready as I'm going to be."
Translation: No, but if I show you that I'm as afraid as you, we'll never get this show on the road and my ovaries will dry up like prunes.
Ugh. Here we go again.
"Well. You shoulda thought of that earlier this morning when you decided to have sex with me without a condom!"
Translation: Fertilize me or fuck off already.
"I know. I'm regretting that."
Translation: I really should stop thinking with my balls.
Say what? Some men are so clueless about the female reproductive system. Really, really dumb. I can say whatever I want and he'd have no idea if it was the truth. "Um, we can't have sex because I'm super-fertile right now." (The headache excuse is so 1986) or "I still have my ... you know..." If he did the math, he'd know there is no way I would menstruate for 2 weeks! But the mere mention of anything ovulatory (Did I just make that up? Prolly.) has him tune right out.
Anyway, I'm not ovulating right now, so the chances of getting pregnant -- contrary to what I was taught in Catholic school -- are pretty slim. But I kinda wanted to rub his face in it, because I'm tired of his waffling on the issue.
"I just feel like if we do it, I can say goodbye to my brain for the rest of my life!"
Translation: I will never be able to make a feature film if we have two kids, because you will have me slaving twice as much.
Why so dramatic? Oh wait, the truth is coming...
"I just don't think I can handle picking up after four people!" He was angrily wiping the counters as I continued to type. "I thought I could be the housewife, but I can't."
Translation: I don't like doing the woman's work anymore darling.
Ugh. Why are modern marriages so frustrating?
"Do you hear me complain about cooking for everyone?" I retorted.
Translation: Don't even fucking try to act like I don't pull my weight around here.
"I cook sometimes too. Not nearly as often as you, but I do it."
Translation: I cook sometimes, but you NEVER clean.
Can we just get a friggin cleaning service in every other week already so he shuts up? How long have I been wanting this? Does anyone in Toronto have any recommendations on services they've used? I'm torn between Molly Maid ($60 a time) and Enviromaid ($80 a time but with enviro cleaners). What sayeth you Internets?
Wait, the fight's not over yet. "I feel like you are pissed off that I'm spending my time establishing a career when I should be doing your dishes."
Translation: I need to make you feel bad about something. I'll stun you with a feminist angle.
He didn't like that. And so on, and so on.
A few hours later, when he was leaving for work and saying his goodbyes, he turned to Nate and said, "I love you bud." To which Nate responded, "I wuv ooooh!" The Dog's eyes glistened and his face softened. My ovaries smiled. One point for us.
So what if the kid is parotting everything we say these days? I slipped him a fiver and some Pocky anyway.