Born Again

Today, I bought big underwear.

(Not what you were expecting after that title, huh? Hold on, it gets wackier.)

Today, I bought big underwear again.

It’s true.

Big, big underwear.

Bikini underwear, but big bikini underwear.

You know, I’ve been scratching my head for the last four weeks or so, trying to come up with a lovely, touching, soft-focus, inspired and inspirational post announcing the fact that I am, once again, up the pole, carrying-the-bass-drum, gib-bellied, gone-to-seed, in-the-pudden, storked, up-a-gum-tree…


with squirrel, laden-in-the-lederhosen…

You know....




I’m pregnant.


Ah, me.


17 weeks into this with an itsy-bitsy person kicking my cervix from the inside, making me leap out of my seat and pee my pants, and still I have to repeat it to myself several times a day:

I. Am. Pregnant.

Well, I can’t say that this didn’t come as a shocker, my husband and I both pushing 40 (actually, he was pushed two weeks ago), both with college degrees, neither of us frequent oyster-eaters or averse to long hot baths. And still, we can’t figure out this birth control thing, or so it seems.

Or, rather, maybe we have figured it out, but for cosmically comic reasons as yet not understood by either of us, we have no luck with the $365 million Powerball Jackpot, and yet win every time when it comes to

Method and Actual Failure

Spermicides only 21%
Periodic Abstinence 20%
Withdrawal 18%
Cervical Cap 18%
Diaphragm 18%
Condom 12%
IUD 3%
Oral Contraceptive Pill 3%
Injected Depo-Provera 0.3%
Female Sterilization 0.4%
Male Sterilization 0.2%
Levonorgestrel Implants 0.04%

Now, I’m not saying which method we did or didn’t use (look to somewhere in the top to mid-ranges) but doing a bit of algebra…let’s see…method used times frequency of shaved legs and red wine divided by children throwing up in our bed and cat peeing on the comforter…dit, dit, dit…carry the screaming fight over who left the cap off the orange juice to the power of sleep deprivation headaches…oh!…subtract dishes in the sink and that drooling remark about Salma Hayek’s chest/Colin Firth’s smoldering eyes….

So what, you’d figure that even the actual failure rate would be halved and then the square root deducted, what with the number of times my husband sleeps in the guest room so that he doesn’t rattle my teeth at night with his snoring?

And no, our kitchen table is only for Oneida place settings and pot roast.

But, as in any conundrum I puzzle over, this being beaten by the fecundity odds over and over again makes one thing become fundamentally clear to me:

Math is hard.

I don’t care what the Pope says.

And here I am again, turning green at the sight of cantaloupe and watching my belly button turn inside-out.

Can I tell you something else again?

I’m getting excited again.

Really. I know this blog entry started off all big underwear and squirrels (gol, the British are odd ducks, aren’t they?), and you’re starting to think “what’s a cranky, unappreciative girl like you doing with the luck of faces like these again?”

And you’d be right. I’m cranky.

Have I told you that I’m craving tomatoes and yet for each tomato I eat, I suffer from extended bouts of agita and acute flares of geographic tongue? Geographic tongue, you don’t want to know. I’m not even going to put a link up for you. Just trust me: tongue, pain, blisters, hurt, much, ouch.

And what about hummus and onions? Oh, how I want to eat my ever-increasing weight in hummus and onions. Even on a good day, a helping of hummus and onions will send me around the house like a butt-puttering motor boat. Now again…you don’t want to know. When I’m out in public now, I don’t even fake cough to cover-up the gurgling, boofing noises the putt from my butt.

Oh yes, and then there’s the three months of acute all-day sickness again. Morning sickness? Bah! For sissies. Me? I spent the first three months, every waking moment and even some extended nighttime dream sequences, feeling as one would feel upon finding a five-day-old mug of warm curdled milk behind the sofa and upon dumping the chunky, stinking glops in the sink, finding a drowned vole in the bottom of the mug. That kind of nauseous. Or is it nauseated, I can never get those two clear.

And to top it all off, to celebrate my three month cleansing diet of ginger tea and Ovaltine?

A 15 pound weight gain.

At first, my midwife told me to aim for, let’s see, 30-35 pound grand total weight gain? Well, we both took a look at the scale last go around, had a good laugh, and decided to share a doughnut pie.

Anyway…there you have it. Me cranky again.

But unappreciative?

Well, to be honest, I had thought about joining a gym this coming September when my FORMERLY youngest would be entering KINDERGARTEN (emphasis MINE, MY, ME, ME, ME.) Or, after finally stripping the hallway wallpaper (eh-hem…), perhaps taking a morning class in - oh, I don’t know - pottery or speaking Hindi or mud wrestling. Maybe volunteering at the YMCA handing out towels in the men’s sauna or interning at the local landscaping center and spiriting home a few free rhododendron-seconds on the sly-like to fill out the sandlot that is my front lawn.

I had thought about my 40TH BIRTHDAY this coming August and about how I was planning on celebrating by drinking a fifth of melted Dutch chocolate with a consecutive chaser of the 40 bottles of wine that I fully expect all of my friends to collectively send me, and then dancing bare-breasted, abs of steel, on every cocktail table in Central Pennsylvania.

My knee-jerk was…yes, I admit…I didn’t want to buy the big underwear. Not even the big thong underwear that are supposed to be sexy.

Maternity thong.

There are two words that will never go together up my butt.

But, as the days extended into trimesters and the all-day milk-curdle voles began once again drowning themselves in the basement sump where I didn’t have to see them…

As friends began noticing my bulging bump and whispering a tentative “Are you? Oh! Oh! I was afraid to ask because I didn’t know whether you were pregnant or just eating too many doughnut pies and I didn‘t want to ask and then have you gouge my eyes out with a low-fat Triscuit, justly-so …Oh! Congratulations! Again!”

As I felt the first tumble in my stomach that wasn’t the result of too much hummus and onions….

It’s amazing how these little Love Critters start to win you over.

And just by sticking their freshly-formed toes into your pancreas a few times a day.

How does this happen again?

It shouldn’t figure.

Math is hard.


I’m pregnant.

Due August 5th or thereabouts.

An old kapusta remade delicious again.

A new, wee halushki, born again.

I can’t figure it myself…

And so for now, I’ll punt the inspirational part of the post to be figured by the exponentially inspired Badly Drawn Boy.

It’s got a beat, and me and this baby are dancing to it.

Again and again.

Born Again

Maybe there's a reason why I'm born again
There's something rare going on under my skies
You got to chill out, find a reason for your soul again
And judge the miracle by feel, not size
Infinite the reasons why I'm born again
The modern innocents have soul on their side
Try to capture reasons why I'm born again
The more I look at it the less that I find
But I wont bail, they will be a reason for my soul again
Another miracle has seasoned my mind
Maybe there's a reason why I'm born again
There's something real going on under my skies
I'm born again
My soul again
I'm born again
Find my soul again
Born again
Born again
Find my soul again
And I'm born again
My soul again
Born again, born again, born again, born again.


Reid said...


Unknown said...

You had me at big underpants.
Actually, when I read "big underpants" I got some kind of intuitional rush and guessed right.

anne said...

Ok...I already knew but, CONGRATULATIONS!

See...I was able to get it out without the OHMYGOD preamble.

I'm gong to be an auntie again! Woohoo!

Also making note of the Method and Actual Failure list for "the discussion" with daughter.

CJ said...

Hey, maybe your new model will have a penis. If not, my thoughts go out to your husband in about ten to twelve years when you have THREE teenage girls AND their mom all PMS'ing!!

Best of luck!!

Anonymous said...

Ha. That was great. When you said big underpants, I thought of these new underwear I saw "modern brief" - and I had to laugh because they were total granny panties - nothing MODERN about them.

And, as for the lottery, I've gotten preggo 2 out of the three months this year so far - but alas, not a baby to show for it.

I too was hoping for a big drinkipoo on #30 in May - and it looks like maybe I wished a bit too hard.

Many congrats - and I'm a former "hangerouter" in H-burg. I went to Etown :)

nadzent said...


You and hubby got the magic touch fo' sho! Congratulations to you both.

I am hopping on the Big Undie Band Wagon myself, though not quite there yet. Give me another month or so.

Let's set a drinking date for sometime in spring 2007? Is that enough time for breast feeding (this is new to me)?

Anonymous said...

Jozet --

I remember you from the long-ago June 01 board on PP. (My oldest is a 6/01 guy.) I saw your comment on Julia-Hippogriff's blog and wondered if it was the same Jozet (how could it not be?). Anwyay, just dropping a line to say Congrats on baby #3! Nice to "find" you again.

Momma Star said...

Congrats again!

But you know, if you're going to go on about the miracle of life, you could warn a person. I swear I just ovulated.

And there weren't even any Clooney pics. ;)


Amy said...

Big underpants. You sure know how to get a person's attention.

Congratulations to you and the family.

I'll save you some shots in the freezer. They'll hold.

Puffin said...

little ones are such a blessing...congratulations!

Anonymous said...

Jozet...Karen posted a link to your blog on our Junebug board and I had to come pat you on the back for jumping back in with both feet! Congrats! I miss reading your writings so I think I may just need to add your blog to my faves.

and Salma Hayek isn't really that pretty (wink)

Imzadi said...

Official congratulatory congratulation extended unto you and yours.

I always thought the world needed more Jozet...

or wait was it cowbell?

Anonymous said...

CONGRATULATIONS!! Your blog entry is too darn hilarious! I SO understand the "geographic tounge"!! I have it from time to time with stress, but pregnancy...Ow, Ow, Ow! I'm so thrilled for you & your family.

Hey - do you know the odds when I have a IUD & DH has had a vasectomy?? That'd be hilarious wouldn't it?!

Om.powered said...

ooohhh Yay! I mean Yay again! Or maybe Yay again again? I forget?

So will this be Tripleta or Thirda or maybe Tertiary? :D

Happy gestating, baby!


Jeannine said...

Congratulations on getting up the nerve to come out, lol. Well and the baby too but you knew that a'ready.

To ride in on om.powered, I think you should name the child Trey. A good southern name, Trey.

I promise you, later born babies are just a gift. A total gift.

Incidentally, am I the first one who has noticed the really terrifying resemblance between the photos of you & your sister and the one of your kids? Your youngest even has your sister's expression, it's amazing.

Anonymous said...

Hi Jozet! I am a fellow Junebug Mommy and just wanted to say CONGRATS and I have always loved your writing style! :) The Junebug 2001 moms are still around, link here for you or any others out there

Anonymous said...

Hi ya~~

Congrats!!! Fellow PG 01 and Junebugs 01 wishing you all the best!!!! ~Kim (momof3inbc) - aka kimnbabe

Unknown said...

Congratulations ... I was off in the Wonderful World of the Giant Mouse and missed your post when it was first posted. But enough about me ... YAY! for you! I'm jealous, actually. I don't really want, want, WANT another baby, but if one was mysteriously sprung upon us ... I don't think my first tears would be of stress and sadness. Alas ... I think we're through with two.

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