It’s happening. All of my friends are having babies. This time last year, there were a few. Three years ago, nada one. But now the list is ever growing. By about one person every two weeks. I’m up to 13. I couldn’t joke about this if I wanted to. No April’s Fools here, folks.
I’m not a big fan of baby showers, but I still go to be supportive, be with loved ones and eat cake. It used to be that the guest of honor was the only one expecting. The shower I went to last week had 3 moms-to-be. All baby bumping it like it’s their day job (which, of course, kind of is when you’re expecting). I have photographic proof.
Three of my girlfriends, all cradling their bumps. So cute.
I have to admit, I love seeing my friends with the baby bumps. They all look so beautiful and healthy and I know they will be excellent mothers. I occasionally rub on the bumps we have trotting around the office too. I never thought I’d be one of those people but I get a kick out of it. Everyone my age is embarking on a new phase of their lives and it’s exciting.
But Internet, I’m here to tell you that you will not see me doing this.
At least not on purpose.
I’ll keep celebrating with my friends, taking photos of their kiddos when I visit, offering little presents to their little ones, teaching them how to pick their nose and ruffle their parents’ feathers… I’m game for this. I love how I can pay my Monkey a dollar to do almost anything (she’s such a good sport). I can’t wait to see the babies turn into kids. I’m dying to see my own nieces and nephew turn into adults – they’re so smart and beautiful and kind.
But I don’t have the urge to do any of this on my own. None. Even though my DAd begs me to bear him more grandchildren [because four isn’t enough]. It doesn’t sound like fun. I don’t know why. That’s just how I am.
But I’m not here to talk about me. I’m here to predict the future, to practice preggonometry and do some estimations.
Based on the last six months (roughly 26 weeks) and the fact that I know of 13 lovely ladies who are expecting, that’s an average of one preggo every two weeks. Basic preggonometry tells me that six more of my friends will be shopping for onesies by summertime. That means a lot of baby showers.
That also means a lot of cake.
I have not heard the term “preggonometry” and Google doesn’t recognize it so I’m going to go out on a limb and say you’re welcome. I love new phrases.
I’d also like to point out after using the phrase “FarmTard” (my little nickname for Harongody, a very large, corn-fed Notre Dame basketball player who’s head is big and eyes are very close together), I noticed the hubs and others began using it. I coined that phrase, dammit. Credit is due.
I did not, however, coin the term “boo”. [Example: These pants make my butt look big. Boo pants, boo.] Thanks to Thurmeo, half of Jefferson County uses both “boo” and “keeper” in his defined terms. Thank you, Thurmeo, for your contribution to society.