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Fortunately I was sitting when I received the news. Even the doctor was unsure how to deliver it. “I don’t know if it’s good or bad, but you’re expecting again, and there’s a good chance it’s twins.”
As soon as I informed the other half of the guilty party, I called to make two appointments. One for an ultrasound to ensure there was only one sprog swimming around in there (and I laid good odds there were. Where on earth would I find room for two aliens in my five-foot frame?) and the other with the urologist.
The same receptionist took both calls. I set up the appointment for the ultrasound, also fondly known in our house as the ‘modeling session’.
“I also want an appointment for my husband to see the urologist.”
“Mrs. Smelker. You just found out you’re expecting.”
“Yes. But it’s my fifth, and maybe sixth. Now that I know what’s causing it, I want it stopped!”
“We can fit him in next week,” she quickly assured me.
“Mom, I think I’m going to throw…” Oh. Too late. I sigh as I go to the bedside of number three, who is quickly joined by numbers two and four who compete to see who can be the furthest from the bathroom when they start projectile vomiting.
What is it about beds and sick kids? I believe there is a force field that surrounds a sick, vomiting child forcing them to stay under the covers, no matter what. But it magically lifts at 7:00am on a Saturday morning, when kids come gallivanting out of their room, to blast some “Spongebob Squarepants” cartoons right in the ears of tired mothers who need their beauty sleep. Goodness knows Oil of Olay isn’t doing the trick.
“Ah. Good morning Mrs. Smelker. Back again I see.” Being on a first name basis with the ER staff has its benefits. Who else would send me flowers at Christmas for being their best customer? The Smelker boys have seen the inside of an ER more than they have a classroom. Personally, I think the boys should just dispense with school and go straight to their MD’s right now. Heaven knows I’ve paid enough towards it.
I realized I had reached breaking point when a fresh-faced, beautiful blonde, 20-something stopped me on the church sidewalk last week, as I shepherded my troop towards the van, making sure that number five didn’t push number four into the fishpond, and that number one could tear himself off his blasted cell phone for one minute, and catching number three’s fist as it tried to connect with number two’s head.
“Oh. How lovely. Five children. I want to have a big family too one day, because you know, the Bible says in Psalm 37:26, ‘Children are a blessing.’ Are you going to have any more?”
And I didn’t even care that I shattered the pretty young thing’s bubble by muttering, “No thanks, I’ve had about as much blessing as I can handle!”
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