"God, no!" I said hastily.
"Are you sure? Are you guys . . ." my mother said. "Is everything . . . working . . ." she tried again.
"Mother," I hissed. "Everything is fine! I can't be pregnant! I am on the Pill!" She should know. She's the one who put me on the Pill when I was 12 because I had horrific and irregular periods.
"Well, when was the last time you had your period?" she asked.
"I don't know," I said. "I only get them a few times a year now and I always forget when the last time was."
I started to think. When was the last time I bought tampons? Yikes, it had been a while. But I couldn't be pregnant. I was on the Pill!
A few weeks later I strapped my huge hooters into a new giant bra and headed out to show houses to a new client. It was early evening and I was literally falling asleep at the wheel. "John," I said. "I'm so tired tonight. You need to talk to me and help me stay awake or else we're going to end up in the ditch!"
John was a bit nervous, and then he was downright freaked out when I threw up in the bushes of the next house we visited. "What the hell?!" he exclaimed when he saw me duck around the side of the house so I could vomit in private.
"Sorry. I couldn't help it. It just came over me," I said, shaken. Ever the professional, I popped a piece of gum in my mouth and unlocked the door.
That night I received an email from John:
Jen, I was thinking about your symptoms [he did not know about my tender boobies] and I did some research. I think you should see a doctor right away. I think you could have pancreatic cancer. Sorry. And good luck. I could be totally wrong. Are you available tomorrow at 5 so we can see that house again where you puked?
Cancer? I hadn't even thought of cancer. Since I was so positive I wasn't pregnant, I naturally assumed it was cancer and started planning my funeral. It was going to be beautiful. I wanted everyone to share a funny story about how I touched their lives and made it better. I wanted doves released at the end of the service as a sign of hope and new beginnings. Oh, and I wanted to be cremated and have my ashes sprinkled in the yards of all my loved ones with just a scoop of me saved for Hubs to keep on his mantle for all time.
The Hubs was still young enough to find another wife. He could move back to New York and forget me (except for the bit of me on his mantle, of course). He'd be sad for awhile, but imagine how many women he could land with his tragic tale of losing his beloved and beautiful wife in the prime of her life? He'd be hotter than he'd ever been. My premature death would be the best thing that ever happened to his sex life.
Yup, I was pretty sure I had cancer. Or maybe you're pregnant, dummy, a voice inside my head said. Nope. This was my own Love Story. I was dying. I'm pretty sure you're pregnant, you moron, the voice said again. I attributed the voices to the cancer moving into my brain.
Finally, when I couldn't ignore my symptoms any longer (or plan a more beautiful funeral) I told the Hubs late one night while we laid in bed, "Hubs. I have something to tell you," I whispered.
"What's up?" he asked.
"Well, you know how I haven't been feeling well for the past couple of weeks?"
"Yeah."
"Well, my client, John. Do you remember me talking about him? Four bedrooms, 3 baths, 3 car garage big enough to park his boat in and a finished basement for a pool table?"
"Yeah, I know him. He also wants a big yard for his dog, right?"
"Yes, preferably fenced, but that's not a deal breaker. Anyway. John did some research and he thinks I have cancer . . . or I might be pregnant."
The Hubs was silent for a full minute.
"Is John a doctor?" he finally asked.
"No. He's an engineer," I replied.
The Hubs was silent for another full minute.
"You're kind of wishing for cancer!" I accused him.
"I wouldn't say 'wishing'," he replied. "I'm just thinking that cancer might be a hell of a lot easier to deal with than a baby. I mean look at us. We're not fit to be parents. You've been 'sick' for 12 weeks now and all we've done is ignored it and hope it goes away. You don't have cancer, Jen. You're pregnant and we've been too stupid and lazy and irresponsible to even deal with that. How will we take care of a baby? No. We'd better hope it's cancer."
The next morning I peed on 10 sticks and all 10 confirmed that I did not have cancer.
Jen is the anonymous blogger throwing hilarious punches peppered with a liberal dose of f-bombs on her blog People I Want to Punch in the Throat. Jen is also the author of Spending the Holidays with People I Want to Punch in the Throat. She has been featured on The Huffington Post, Babble, and Headline News.
* * *
The various awards that she's received include such keepers as BlogHer 2012 Voice of the Year, Circle of Moms Top 25 Funniest Mom Blogs 2012 and 2013, Circle of Moms Top 25 Book Author Moms, and Cutest Blog Award (this one was sent to her accidentally and has since been rescinded, since her blog looks like shit).
She is wife to The Hubs and mother to Gomer and Adolpha (not their real names - their real names are actually so much worse).
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Introduction
The Naked Starfish
I Love Disney World.
Eat Poop, Laugh.
Kids and Cleaning: Just Kill Me Now
Love, Tears, and a Few Scattered Ashes
Why I Belong in Coach
In the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Penis
A Cougar is Born
The Poop Diaries
So She Thought She Could Cut Off My Stroller
The Treachery of Toys
What You Mock, You Become
The Big Reveal
How Moving Made Me Want to Become a Carnie
Pregnancy Secrets From the Inner Sanctum
Embarrassment, Thy Name is Motherhood
A Stranger in the Land of Twigs and Berries
The Other Mommy War
Don't Stop Believin'
Potty Training and Prostate Exams
The Tale of Two Vaginas
My Awkward Period
Elite Grocery Moms Club
Babies: As Easy as 1, 2, 3!
A Pinterest-Perfect Mom, I am Not
Bubble Baths and Shaved Legs
Parenting is Taboo
The Husbands Who Cried Wolf-itis
The Mom-Chauffeur
Lumps, Hand Mirrors, and Elephants: My Nightmare Down There
The God's Honest Truth About Breastfeeding
Because I'm the Vagina Boss, That's Why
Wanted
Grown Up Words in a Pint-Sized Mouth
Giving The Milk Away For Free
And Then There was That Time a Priest Called Me a Terrible Mother
It's Not a Toomah
I Just Want to Pee Alone Page 15