Friday, 27 December 2013

Just because Facebook says you're pregnant doesn't make it true



This is exactly how rumors get started.
Scott took this picture and posted the following on Facebook: Congratulations to the expectant Marissa and Jeff who are engaged to be married.

I may have a case for accidental strangulation.

What did you just do?
What?
They're not expecting a baby. They're engaged.
That's what I said. They're expecting to be married.

Seconds later, the notes came flying onto my Facebook status congratulating me on becoming a granny again.
Shut the front door.
For the record, this will not be a shutgun wedding. Marissa and Jeff have been together for five years. I think they know how the whole reproductive thing works. They are careful, they are responsible, not like Marissa's dear old ma, or grandma, or the millions of other women in this world who become in the family way before wedlock.
Marissa's too smart for that.
Me, I can't say the same.
Me, I had two children before I got married. I had to get a babysitter to get married.
I met Marissa's father, fell for the old bastard like an aging redwood, and thought: Hmm, I'm nearly thirty, maybe it's time to have a baby.
Slam, the deed was done.
From my lips to God's ears.
Then I had another one thirteen months later. My life was living hell for three years.
It was the end of my life as I knew it, the nail in the coffin of my rather successful career. To be honest, it was Nightmare on Hazel McLeary Drive.
Then, Marissa came along. Then the old bastard who was responsible took flight.
Then I was a single mom.
My life only became better when I met Scott who didn't get me pregnant again but helped me look after the three eaglets I already had.
Don't get me wrong, I love my children. I wanted my children. But I didn't have half a clue what a child was.
As my wise brother once said: Rose, just because you thought it, you shouldn't make it so.
Actually, he didn't say that. He told me I should learn how to stop getting pregnant.

I really had no experience with children. I only had a couple of cats. None one of my plants lived past the third trimester.
Because I hadn't planned for children, I wasn't prepared. There was no manual, though if there had been, I would have read it. I did read Dr. Spock, What to Expect When You're Expecting, and a few other tomes from experts on breeding who don't know anything about it cause they're men.
I wasn't a natural mother. I didn't like children, not really. I was a terrible babysitter, but that wasn't my fault. Some of my clients served me beer. That's what you do in St. Catharines, feel sorry for the babysitter cause you're going out to get hammered, then leave them a six pack.
The kids I babysat went to bed at seven. I was lit by eight.
I digress.
Marissa will be an awesome mother when she decides to be, and it will be her decision. She won't be like me, just think a thought and let it happen. She will be married and spend a few years working on her career before she makes the big decision.
Jeff will never leave her because I will hunt him down. So will his mother who also had three kids in the old-fashioned way. Meet a man and let him make you pregnant.

Marissa has me to thank for her good sense.
I WAS a terrible role model.
She will not go the Way of the Rose.
She's a planner. She's mature. She's responsible.
And hopefully, one day, she will look at her wonderfully perfect little bi-racial baby and say, don't be like grandma. Grandma's crazy.
But then that baby will be exactly like me.
Crazy. It skips generations.

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