Consider this scenario, oh ye bloggers, and learn:
So, one day, you and the husband are sitting around, tapping away at respective laptops when you notice that said husband is transfixed by something on his screen. Transfixed. Staring at the screen. Staring, blinking, and then leaning in to get a better look.
You watch, for a minute. You wonder what he’s looking at. Can’t be YouTube, because he hasn’t got the sound on, and what’s the fun of that video of the cat playing piano without the sound? And he’s not really the Internet porn type. Strange e-mail maybe? Unusually bizarre spam?
He’s not speaking, just peering at the screen of his laptop. You shift, slightly, inching yourself along the sofa so that you can catch a glimpse of what it is that he’s looking at. He looks at you, you look at him, and he looks back at the screen.
You lean over slightly, and see a familiar green checkered background. He’s looking at your blog. He’s looking at this:
He looks at you, and says, unnecessarily, I’m just looking at your blog…
You say, mmm hmm?
And he says, and I’m wondering what this means?
What what means?
What this means. (turns laptop so that screen is in full view.)
You fix him with a blank stare. You know what that means.
Ovulating? Why yes, I am ovulating. We discussed this.
That’s an OPK that you’re looking at, there.
Not a pregnancy test.
You think that, if – or when – I get pregnant, I will tell the Internet before I tell you? Dude.
Because, please. I might be tempted to just go ahead and trumpet the news to the Internet, but I really would tell my husband first. And family, and a few close friends. Then the Internet.
Because we don’t want to give anybody a heart attack.
(Sorry, honey. Hopefully all of the sex makes up for the near-coronary.)
Thanks all for the wonderful encouragement on this new and terrifying endeavour. But, please – is it really terrifying? Someone – only one, mind you, but still – left a comment to the effect of do not do it! you can’t handle it! it’s hell!. Which, grain of salt and all, but still. Way to freak me out.
Expanding the brood isn’t that bad, is it? Cuz, you know, the first one has been a breeze… I’d hate to think that this motherhood gig would get, you know, all hard and shit…
Easy like Sunday mornin’, bizatches.
(PS, please, go! Visit the Basement!)