Blog Fail!

I haven't posted in a while. Part of the reason for this is because I am a slacker.

And because I had a baby.

You know, like you do.

Which isn't to say we've added to the nerd herd. I was a surrogate gestational carrier (a people incubator) and delivered a child for another family. Surrogacy: it's a hoot. It's always interesting to run into someone you haven't seen for eons and have them say something like, "Ohmigosh, when are you due? You two must be so exciiiited!?" and have your husband put on a very straight face and say, "It's not mine."

Priceless.

So yep. I had a baby.

Actually, to get things straight, I had a dinner party, and then I had a baby. Because hosting a dinner party while in labor is all the rage these days. In fact, anything involving Thai food, pumpkin cheesecake, and pretty ladies is always going to rank as "all the rage" in my book. (Note to self: obtain a book in which there can be a section entitled "all the rage".)

I'd planned a dinner party for my 25th birthday: a small gathering of ladies, and a large gathering of things that I could devour. The initial plan was to broil some steaks, make a fancy salad, concoct some fabulous dessert, and end the night with a wine toast (grape juice for me, what with the whole gestating thing). Classy!

Instead, at some point during that day I went into labor. I'd been in the hospital a few days prior and was monitored, put on bed rest, peered at by many folks with a wide variety of acronyms tacked onto their names, and introduced to a plethora of beeping machines. All went well, and I was sent home to noodle around and continue onward with the baby-baking.

On the day of the party I am uncomfortable. I've been in labor 3 times before this and decide I should head back to the hospital. I arrive and don one of those terribly attractive paisley printed gunney sacks with that oh-so-chic slit in the back. If assless chaps had a love child with a floral 50's apron, it'd be a lot like a hospital gown.


I park my pregnant self on the exam table. An hour of monitoring and intermittent prodding it I am declared "jumpy". "These contractions are too short to bring a baby," smug midwife says, smiling. "Go home. Don't worry about it."

So home I head hoping to make it in time to my own dinner party. No dinner has been cooked, but whatever. Classy is overrated. TAKE OUT THAI FOOD! That's the plan. Also, wine, grapes, cheese, salads? Pish posh, bitches. Salt and vinegar chips and Keebler cookies for the win!

Friends arrive, many laughs and good times are had. The night progresses. I start making weird faces, and leaning on walls, and saying things like "damn uterus".
Friends say, "Go to the hospital!"
I say, "But smug lady at the hospital says I'm jumpy."
Husband says, "Go to the hospital!"

Homemade cheesecake is sitting on the table being delicious and tempting. It says "Don't go. Stay with me."

Cheesecake nearly wins.

But I head into the hospital. Taking medical advice from cakes is not a sound practice.
(Note to self: add "wicked legit life lessons" section to the book.)

"Har har," says smug doctor. "Your fetal fibronectin test was negative. Meaning you've got a less than 1% chance of going into labor in the next 2 weeks. And you were just seen by another hospital? Yep... well, I guess I'll just do an exam but it's not going to make a diff- OHHHH! Agh! Nurse! You stay right there. DO NOT PUSH."

About 10 minutes later, boom. Baby!

Apparently my uterus and I are equally unimpressed by smug doctors.

So there you have it... the rambliest excuse for blog-fail ever!

PS- Everyone is doing great. :)

Come out, come out, whoever you are!

On National Coming Out Day:

Go forth and get your gay on!
Bring homosexy back.
Play for the other team.
Be a switch hitter.
Have queer eyes for straight (or not) guys.
Show 'em how your manual Trans mission works.
Make that 3 dollar bill WISH it were as queer as you.
Or be the kind of straight arrow that loves the gay blade.

Because I could resist: What kind of undead need this holiday most?

+5 internets if you get my cheese-ball joke.