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Marriage and Babies and Love Oh My!

anti marriage

Look at that thing. What an eyesore.

I have determined that I am missing the get-married-and-have-babies gene. While other girls were fantasizing about veils and vows, I was seeing how many objects I could sling from my ceiling fan. Or, I was possibly making my stuffed animals bungee jump from the stairwell balcony. I was creative like that. Here are some other conclusions that lead me to this revelation about myself:

– When someone tries to pass me a baby, I lose all knowledge of how to use my arms.

– I usually don’t know what to say around babies so I just keep repeating, “Aw” and “He’s adorable”. That’s usually when they tell  me it is a girl.

– Veil? More like fail.

– I think wedding dresses are ugly. I’m a monster, I know.

– When they showed us a video of a human giving birth in Biology 101, I burned down the entire building. So much for becoming a doctor.

– I’d rather buy myself a diamond ring and call it a day.

– I get self-conscious simply walking down the grocery store aisle with no one even around. Me? In a wedding? Talk about Run Away Bride part two.

– I got talked into baby sitting one time. Somehow the kid ended up playing with a knife. I think that speaks for itself.

– I threw a baby bird egg on the cement once just to see what would happen. Not a good sign.

– If I marry some dude I think I run the risk of him stealing my long johns. That’s not happening.

– Don’t cats try to kill babies? I have two cats. Do the math.

– If I marry I will surely divorce. That means someone gets half of my stuff. This blog is part of that stuff. My blog would then turn into 25T or oFly. That’s just ridiculous.

becca cord signature


Baby Shower Pinnuendo

Following closely to the theme of my last post, I present Baby Shower Pinnuendo – a post that has me questioning why I can’t get my mind out of the gutter as of late (I think it could possibly have something to do with me recently following Kyle Mew’s blog).

Maybe you will remember a while back when I explained the oddities of planning two very different events at the same time. One of those events was Booger’s baby shower. Nearly half of my life savings and one very confusing stint in the baby isle later, the baby shower preparation is over. This coming Saturday, all of my efforts will hopefully come together to make one baby-rific party, despite me still really having no clue what I am doing.

As I finished putting together game supplies this weekend, I desperately accidentally began drinking a margarita. It may have contained an extra shot. What you will read next, is the result of mixing these two activities.

Pink diaper pin

Clipart is always one step a head

Read the rest of this entry

She Made Me an Offer I Can’t Refuse

the gosmother

[Let’s pretend that this is an appropriate photo for this post, and you can just call me whatever the female Vito would be called. Or, just let me pretend I look this cool. Alright, I am a horrible phony. I haven’t even seen The Godfather. ]

You know what I have seen though? A bunch of ultra-sounds and baby bump pictures. Yes, the infamous Booger is growing a tiny human these days. While I never expected we’d planning her reveal party for the sex of the baby this weekend, I also never expected to get so amped about baby stuff in general. And probably the least expected, but most incredibly exciting part of it all… she offered me the position of godmother.

Here in the south, godmothers are generally called the nanny and the godfather is the paran (I don’t think I can give an accurate phonetic spelling, so just pronounce that with your best French accent). When Booger called me to ask what I would prefer to be called (Godmother, Nanny, Aunt Becca), the whole life changing event became more real in my eyes. I can only imagine how she feels.

All of my friends know me as the one who was never overly concerned with settling down or marriage and definitely not procreating. The slightest thought of child-birth always triggers the “NOPE!” section of my brain. Even as a child, I never fantasized about my wedding or was much for playing with baby dolls that were promised to realistically defecate on me. I was more in to putting Ballet Barbie in her convertible and playing make-believe as a restaurant owner. No lie, I had boxes of faux meal receipts that I organized to keep tabs on my imaginary diner’s success. We had the best hot dogs. All the regulars said so. Read the rest of this entry

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