Oh, and I’m never eating Mexican food again.

The mere contemplation of the possibility of my having a limb amputated makes me twitchy and ill. Of course, the direct and undeniable loss of a limb would be devastating. But, I think the real fear originates and dwells in a different thought.

The idea that a piece of me could be removed by someone who is utterly detached from the event makes me feel like I’ve been submerged in ice water. I have problems with detachment myself and just cannot wrap my head around how someone can be intimately involved in a situation and yet completely unaffected by it emotionally. It’s just not in my constitution.

Take the surgeon who preforms amputations. Here they are cutting and sawing and tweezing away a part of your body. Then sewing, cauterizing and closing up the remains. And then they remove their surgical gown and gloves, scrub up, walk away, go home and eat a sandwich. Never to think of you again. Just another day on the job.

It’s terrifying.

I feel obligated to preface this with the disclaimer that I don’t assume to speak for anyone else and I don’t intend this to be advice to others. It’s simply a few things that work for me.

1. My husband does his job and I do mine.

I think this is an area that is more obvious and concrete in marriages where both people work outside of the home, but one that gets murky and potentially dangerous when one person is a full time homemaker. I consider my primary job responsibilities to be: the care and feeding of our children, myself and my husband; the care and maintenance of our home; the management of our finances and bill paying. My husband’s primary job responsibilities occur at his office and they involve patients and charting and billing and a bunch of other stuff that’s none of my business, and I prefer to keep it that way. He also earns a paycheck and has it direct deposited into our account. He doesn’t ask me to do a pap smear on his patients and I don’t ask him to do the laundry. It’s a clear little division of labor we have going on.

One thing I have seen over and over again amongst other stay at home Moms I know, is they expect or want their husband to take over with the kids or the house as soon as he gets home so they can “have a break.” Yeah sorry, but I don’t think it should work like that. Otherwise, when does he get a break? It’s not going to take too long of his working all day only to come home to a messy house, a frazzled wife, a crying baby and nothing ready for dinner for him to no longer *want* to come home at the end of the day. Yikes! That doesn’t sound like a good design for marital and familial happiness now, does it?

With a little bit of organization and planning, and a good dose of effort and initiative, I can have things together and serene so that the evenings are a time of relaxation and fun for the whole family. My days are structured and scheduled, not unlike a workday at an office, and I get my shit done. That way, we all get to play and enjoy the evenings.

Same goes for the weekends. During the week, I try and get all the errands and major housework out of the way, so we’re not running around with every other crazed family on Saturday and Sunday trying to cram everything in, and instead we can focus on fun. On Fridays I make sure to change the sheets on the bed, get the laundry done, stock the kitchen with food, get the house clean and make sure the babysitter is lined up on the weekends we have date night. Then for the rest of the weekend we are free to pretty much do what we want and just do simple tidying and maintenance work.

2. Making myself attractive to my husband is important to me and a priority.

I don’t really care if other people think I’m hot [although let’s be honest, it’s nice when it happens] but I do care very much that my husband finds me hot. I don’t have an expectation that I have to be perfect 24/7, or ever, really. But I do want him to be proud to be seen with me, to think he’s lucky to be married to me and to get a big ol’ boner because of me when we’re having sex. To be, you know, blunt.

In order to make it happen, I hit the gym and I hit it hard several times a week, and I eat a healthy, moderate diet. I also get my hair cut and colored like clock work, and get my mani/pedis, wear makeup and I don’t schlump around in stretched out “yoga pants” [that never see the inside of a yoga studio] and ratty T’s. In other words, I keep myself up to the degree that I did when we first met and he fell in love and lust with me. I don’t expect to never age, either. But I do intend to strive to be the best looking 36 [or 40 or 50 or 60 …] year old that I can be.

I think it is not only tragically unfair but also very dangerous to let yourself go, to stop caring about yourself and to stop putting in an effort for your spouse after you get married. Unfortunately, it is also very, very common. I can’t begin to tell you how many times I have seen it on the playgrounds and heard women talking about cutting all their hair off and not wearing makeup anymore because they “don’t have time.” My only response? Make time.

Oh, and I always make sure my underwear is tip top and I always wear something cute to bed. Always. Always.

Marriage is work, have no doubt about it. But, I love my job.

When you are trying to conceive and anxious for it to happen, the pregnancy test takes on a huge importance and an almost ritualistic quality. Surprisingly enough, I learned this time around that Dollar Store tests are very sensitive and just as accurate as the much more expensive varieties found in drug stores. And they have the added bonus of costing only one dollar — so that’s how they came up with that clever name for the store!

I resisted the temptation to become a “Pee on a Stick” addict because I found the negatives too disappointing and I don’t like to cry in the bathroom first thing in the morning. Instead I would anxiously wait until my period was officially due and then begin the ritual of unwrapping the small sterile little tray, the plastic disposable dropper and then voiding first morning’s urine into a plastic cup.

The first month mh and I were trying, my period was due the day after Mother’s Day. I jumped the gun a bit and decided to test for the first time on Mother’s Day morning, convinced I was pregnant and thinking two pink lines would be the perfect Mother’s Day present. Instead, it came up negative. I didn’t cry and I wasn’t too disappointed because I was still convinced I was pregnant and that it was just too early to register. Admittedly, there may have even been some blaming of stupid Dollar Store pregnancy tests.

At brunch later that morning with mh and The Little Man, I ordered a Bloody Mary extra spicy but was sure to order it Virgin because of the little bean. We sat by the fireplace of the restaurant as it poured buckets outside, and I looked at my two precious boys and for a split second I realized that even if I didn’t get another baby, I would still be the luckiest woman I know and so happy in my life. And then I smiled at the thought of the little tiny baby growing inside of me and how much richer my life was about to become, and then I tucked into the steak and eggs.

Three days later there was a pink spot on the toilet paper when I wiped, and a few hours later my period had unmistakably and undeniably arrived. I cried when I told mh about it when he arrived home from work. He took us out to diner and I had a glass of wine. It didn’t taste all that good. That night as we laid in bed talking before going to sleep, I realized how foolish I had been thinking I would get pregnant that first month of trying. I’m 34, and yes I am very healthy and have one of the lowest stress lives imaginable and I have conceived and carried a baby to term before without issues or complications, but to think it would happen immediately was vain and foolish. So, I relaxed and decided to just let it happen if it was going to happen.

Memorial Day weekend we went camping and according to the dates from the ultrasound, Baby B was created sometime that weekend. Conceived in a tent. It’s fitting somehow. And instead of the positive test being a Mother’s Day present for me, I waited a day to tell mh the good news on Father’s Day.

We told The Little Man right away and he immediately declared that he wants Baby B to be a boy, but either way he’d still be happy to finally be a big brother. The Grandmas and my sister all want a girl. mh and I just want a healthy baby with all it’s parts, whether they be girl parts or boy parts. On October 7 we find out one way or another, and we are expecting our latest family member to make it’s grand appearance on February 14. Our little Valentine.