1 + 1 equals 3

I haven't felt like blogging much lately. Partly because I've been a little disturbed - my parents have taken to my blog (which is nice) but because my mother is a luddite and refuses to use a computer my Dad prints out my blog for her to read. It then tends to take up residence on their dining room table where it can be read by anyone. What's the difference between that and the free for all that is the net I hear you ask? I'm not really sure but it feels weird and there's something a bit uncomfortable about seeing my narcissistic inane ramblings printed out in solid form for all to inspect. Someone needs to write something about blogs out of their natural enviroment I think - it's just not right.


Anyway - the other reason I haven't blogged is because I have been invaded by an alien. A strange creature that has drained me of my ability to think clearly, the ability to eat and the ability to watch anything quality on the television. Yep - I'm pregnant.

I should have known when we're at the Dubbo zoo and I kept crying at all the animals. I mean I love animals but even I thought it was weird that I was reduced to tears by the sight of some scaly looking goannas. I should have guessed something was awry when I called the rather well known publisher of a rather well known publication to conduct an interview and couldn't remember her name, the name of the person who had suggested I call or what I was calling for. I should have known when one morning Ed suggested in a mild tone that maybe I hurry up a little to head out for breakfast and I stamped my foot and screeched at him "I'll get ready in my own time YOU can fuck off!". Hmmmmmm the signs were there. The final sign something was awry was the morning I misplaced my handbag and later discovered that I stashed it in the ornamental hedge in the backyard. Things were just not normal.

A quick check of the diary went a bit further to confirm my suspicions and finally after a bit more denial I trudged off to the chemist in search of a stick to wee on. The first person I encounter on the street was a hugely pregnant woman waddling down the street wearing a t-shirt that said "knocked up". I buy the wee on a stick to see if your pregnant kit and like an embarassed teenager buying condoms I feel obliged to purchase a few other items to hide it amongst like breath mints, hair clips and a bottle of shampoo.

At home I sit with the package burning a hole in my handbag and wait for Ed. He arrives and I head off to the bathroom to do the deed. I swear that big bold blue line was already forming before I had a chance to leave it to wait and in my panic to get Ed I almost wrench the bathroom door off its hinges - there's no way I want to be in the bathroom alone with that blue line.

We contemplate the line, and parenthood together. "Ohh....wow....ohhh" is what we say to each other a lot wildly swinging between excitement and the weight of our new adult responsibility. Just to be sure we try the other stick and there it is as bold as anything a big fat blue line that screams - "oh yes - you are knocked up for sure lady, good and proper!".

Right then. Come June 8th or thereabouts Eduardo and I are going to be someones parents. Am I responsible enough? I mean I can't even drive a car!