Watch out, Octomom!

I think I need to see a doctor.  I need a prescription for a condition that has recently taken over my mind, but it seems the only prescription that seems would be effective is a baby.  That’s right, I’m suffering from Baby Fever.  I’m enjoying every minute with the baby I have now and I obviously love my preschooler, but I’ve just always felt that I wasn’t done having babies.  I’ve always wanted more than two.  And this is where it’s starting to get complicated: Do I only want three?  What about FOUR?  It’s complicated because my husband “thinks” he’s done with two.  I mean, he says pretty confidently that he is, but I know he doesn’t feel as strongly about it as he conveys.  Haha.

Here’s the thing.  He is so adamant about not having anymore kids because I’m so convinced that we are.  We’re both pretty stubborn people so the middle ground is hard for us to meet sometimes.  But you can’t meet in the middle when it comes to having another baby.  You do or you don’t.  He’s secretly is 50-50, but has to be stubborn about it.  You see, I’ve been talking about it forever and he’s been rejecting it, only sooooome of the time.  It usually goes something like this:

Me: “Would you want to find out the sex of the next baby or be surprised?”

Cory: “Definitely be surprised.”

Another random day…

Me: “We need to put some of this baby stuff in storage.”

Cory: “Why not sell it?  I don’t know what baby you think is going to be using it.”

Yes you do J

I confronted him about it, just bringing up the fact that I think he argues so strongly for the “nay” side because he can’t say “yay” unless it’s on his terms.  And it can’t be on his terms when I’ve already set the terms and I’m not budging.  I’ve always told him he just argues for the sake of arguing, and he’ll be the first to agree with that.  But he says he fears the hectics a third child can add to the mix, but really have you met our first child?  He's three children in one right now so really, what's another?  Also, the cost!  Kids are expensive.  I get this, but really are you ever financially ready for the first baby?  The second?  No.  You can never be financially ready for a baby unless you’re a TV star making $3 million an episode, but then you’re Charlie Sheen and you have a whole other set of problems to worry about!  (If you don’t know what I’m talking about, take a look at this!)

I say, let's deal with the chaos now to reap the benefits later.  I want more than two kids and I want them to have more than one sibling.

We’ll be “ready” for Baby #3 when it’s time for Baby #3 to come.  That’s definitely not now which is why I’m not planning it to happen now and Cory says that he doesn’t want another baby now.  Like most guys, he’s more think-in-the-moment (and in the moment he’s completely stressed out with the kids we have already haha) whereas I’m thinking a couple years down the road.  And in a couple years down the road, I will be pregnant with Baby #3. J Then a couple years after that, if Baby #4 comes along then wonderful!  Watch out, Octomom!

Now, I need to go visit the maternity ward at our hospital so I can cuddle some newborns.  Hopefully they won’t call security.

Bathroom Drama

Remember THIS:

If you read this post you do.  I believe I ended that story, of my husband demolishing our bathroom ceiling and pouring water out of the exhaust and chopping excess tubing with, "most times everything works out just fine...I hope I don’t eat my words."  I'm eating them.  I'm feasting on them actually.  It's an all you can eat buffet.  In other words, our exhaust, if used in its proper manner, will most likely set our house on fire.

For example, as I was drying my hair after a nice, hot, steamy, relaxing shower, I hear a pop and see an orange ember fall carelessly from the ceiling.  FAAAAAANTASTIC!  "Why, WHY, WWWHHHHYYYY is this happening???"  I interrogate my husband.  My handy-dandy "fix it" man.  "Oh, um, crap, well, must have been the water I poured out.  I mean, I think maybe some of it got into the motor, possibly...maybe..."

Ooooh, okay.  I get it.  Completely understandable...  ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!?  You THINK water MIGHT have gotten into the MOTOR and you never thought to maybe NOT plug it back in to suggest that it can and should be used in the manner that it is intended to be used?!?  Needless to say the exhaust has been unplugged.  We now tolerate a steam covered mirror and cold drafts from the bathroom door being left open during showers.  FIRE EXTINGUISHERS are boldly written in all caps on our shopping list marker board right under NEW EXHAUST FAN!

Sometimes I wonder about my husband.  Can't live without him, and we might all die with him.  But we love him! J

Can We Fix It? ...Um, Yes We Can?

I live with Bob the Builder.  His alter ego is Cory, my husband.  He’s taken on several projects around our house: finishing our basement, ripping up our carpet and laying wood laminate, knocking out some walls and building others.  Most times the project starts out somewhat like this, and I freak out a little.

No big deal, just our exhaust fan hanging from the ceiling.  It started dripping water every time we would take a shower and have it running.  Umm...not good??  Let's just cut out a chunk of the ceiling to investigate what's wrong.

This picture doesn't do this situation justice.  The garbage bag is full of black (moldy??) insulation AND water that poured out of the exhaust system when my husband dropped it down out of the ceiling.  There's drywall dust and pieces everywhere too, and if you've ever done any sort of house construction, you know how ANNOYINGLY EVIL drywall is!



My husband got into our attic to work on our predicament.  After several minutes of spouting off instructions, passing tools back and forth and catching more water in the trash can, down came some of this tube stuff.  Don't we NEED that?  Who knows.  I guess we'll see!



Most times everything works out just fine.  (Most times, my contractor dad is here to guide the job along!)  It’s been several days since this little task and I believe we’re in the clear.  I hope I don’t eat my words.