Bad tummy today. I know there’s something going round the boychild’s school BUT me being parannoid, I can’t help imagining What if I got pregnant again?

Dreaded words in my lexicon.

What if?

I just don’t think I would be up to it. Carrying an 8 pound ball in my tummy, carting out my rancid preggie pants (that were practically walking off my body themselves by the time I’d finished with them, I’d worn them so much) and munching on cheese and chutney for breakfast is not a period in my life I want to revisit.

Of course, were I Gwynnie Paltrow, I’m sure I’d welcome another child into the world with glee. Another pregnancy would be filled with organic veggie shakes and macrobiotic dancing. Varicose veins would be zapped away by the latest, ecologically-sound laser technology, and hemmoroids would be treated by an Indian Ayurvedic guru who would simultaneously teach me how to levitate. Oh, and I’d have hot and cold nannies tending to the other two while I take bed rest, watch reruns of Mad Men and drink myself into a nightly stupor with endless glasses of Chateauneuf Du Pape.

But I’m not Gwynnie (thank God! Ha! Defense mechanisms in full force!) and I think getting preggie again might just send me right through the doors of an insane asylum.

But hey, the fact that I’m even having sex at this point is a miracle. To be able to even worry about this sort of predicament makes me feel vaguely proud.

What about birth control, you ask? Yes, I hear you mum. Tut, tut. Your generation fought for the right to take the bloody pill, and here I am, playing Russian Roulette with my ovaries. Truth is, the pill makes me crazy and I really didn’t fancy having a plastic contraption shoved up my privates so soon after the trauma of childbirth. And let’s face it, who needs birth control when you’re following the post-partum, George W. Bush inspired regime of no sex before or after marriage.

Just to ease your fears, sweet hubby has agreed to investigate getting a vasectomy (snip, snip). He called the snipper today, in fact, freaked by my tummy rumblings, to see if it’s covered by insurance. What a sweet man. Willing to snip for me. I’m touched.

Reeling in my overactive imagination, however, I’m quite sure this tummy nausea is just rumblings of the stomach virus that’s been making the rounds. Or a result of all the butter I ate last night (deeeleeesh recipe I made last night:  roasted Delicata squash from Babble’s Family Kitchen).

Stay tuned.

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