Constance the What??

Constance the 1st asked (several weeks ago, but I'm really late to this party as per usual!) about conceiving children accidentally-on-purpose. Oh, god, don't think the thought doesn't cross my mind on a daily basis!

Jim was an on-purpose baby. Jack was a TOTAL ACCIDENT on both our parts (the birth control failed us). My husband spent the remaining seven months (I was a bit slow on the "you're pregnant!" uptake) huffing and puffing about how this happened because I wanted it to happen. Yes! My willpower is so incredible I can make birth control fail! (Wha...?) But once Jack was here you couldn't find a daddy more head-over-heels in love with his little boy. He even said, "wow! This is not so bad! We should have more!"

I can't get him to admit he ever said that now, of course. Because now he wants to wait. Now is not a good time, he says -- but the good time? It will never, ever get here. I know my husband.

I am verging pretty close to stopping all use of the birth control (because naturally at this point, the onus is completely on me). I wouldn't do it without telling him -- I do have some limits -- but we'd go into Natural Family Planning mode as outlined in Take Charge of Your Fertility. Then we'd have a baby in nine months. Ha! Oops...I must've misread the cervical fluid, honey! Honest! Total accident.

Tell me I am being crazy and paranoid, and I will happily believe you. Go on. Say it. Please. I prefer crazy paranoia to "what your gut is telling you is right".

I have this friend, you see, who blogs. She's a much more prolific blogger than I am. Usually I enjoy reading her posts. Usually.

It's just that every so often she'll write something that seems pointed in my general direction, a result of something that I said on my own blog or maybe something I wrote in an email -- along those lines, you see. If I say, "um, was that about the XYZ I talked about?", she'll often say "yes" -- but I don't always ask, because there are only so many times you can ask such a question without feeling like you've landed in crazy paranoid lady land. And by "pointed", I mean it's like being prodded with a sharp stick: you are wrong about XYZ, and here's why in excruciating detail.

So what do you think?

Baby.

I want a Baby.

Have you seen Constance the 1st's baby? I swear every time I see his sweet mug, I spontaneously ovulate.

I would love to have three, four, five, six children. To be chin-deep in babies. Although maybe not literally.

John, that dunderhead, doesn't want more children right now. I am wondering if I can just sort of wish myself into having a baby, even though we are currently using birth control.

Baby. Baby baby baby. Baby.

I've just never been much of a cusser. When I was very young, I landed in hot boiling oil for saying "gosh", so for many years, "gosh" was my rebel word.

Gosh! Because, we're told, it's watered-down version of God and that would be bad. I guess. One of them there Commandments.

Growing up, my classmates assumed that I avoided the four-letter lexicon out of choice and they, almost uniformly and despite the fact that I kept changing schools, didn't use them around me because of that. This had the effect of ensuring I didn't actually know any four-letter words. You really do not want to know how old I was when I first (a) heard the word "fuck" and (b) learned what it meant (a preceded b by a number of years).

I have no strong feelings about talking blue. Talk blue all you want. Except I can't normally talk blue as my husband will protest ("Constance What!?!") and my children are too young and on my blog, I once lost readers over the word "crap". When I got the comments about crap, my only thought was CRAPTASTIC.

So it's under the breath "goddamn fuckity fuck fuck fuck" if I ever feel the need to let loose at home which is actually pretty frequent as little Jack is really very good at finding new ways to piss. me. off.

But everyone in my life? Still thinks I'm squeaky clean.

Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.

This has been on my mind a lot lately.

I am, to be completely honest, deeply ambivalent about religion -- not just my own, but religion in general. I have no need nor desire to badmouth any faith, and it makes me uncomfortable and unhappy to see others do so in the name of being "open minded" -- yes, it does sound oxymoronic, doesn't it? Accent on the "moronic". But I've seen it happen so many times that it's like the tired old joke your numb nuts cousin drags out at every family reunion.

Anyway. Ambivalence. That's me. I have, for many years, been a fringe participant in the online community of my own faith. I've been around long enough to know that this year's hot button topic will be next year's dead horse. It's very cyclical. Still, I am bothered by this year's trend: stating that if you have an online presence at all, it should be useful. Do not "waste" your time writing about your life; there is no benefit in being a mommy blogger or whatever it is you write about. To write about yourself or your opinions is arrogant and egotistical, and we are nothing if not engaged in a war with the ego, and a personal blog means your ego is winning.

So my ambivalence deepens.

What can I say? Maybe they're right. Probably they're right. But, err, does it matter? If you think my blog is a waste of my own time, then, by all means, quit reading my blog.

(The subjects in this post are related only in my own mind; I know it's off-kilter and rambling.)

To announce that I am ambivalent on my own blog would be tantamount to announcing my new heretic status in some circles. I've encountered this in a number of faiths and I know it's not unique to any one faith. But you're all in -- or you're all out. God gave you a brain and you exercised it to find this, The Right Path, but now that you're on the right path, please kindly turn off your brain now.

Well. I'm sorry. My ego says I can't.

I changed the template. Again. I have sort of a problem in this area -- it's better to pretend not to notice. I hated the spy one. HATED. This template was originally pale green, but I think the pink works better, don't you? I found it at eBlogTemplates.

I love my husband and we are, for the most part, good together. Sometimes, though, I just need to release a little steam and that is not at all possible at my regular blog. It's....complicated.

I guess like all the Constances, there'll be odd gaps in my stories, bits and pieces which have been left out because they are too revealing. I want to be honest and say things I don't otherwise say but I don't want to "out" myself, either. I'm really paranoid about that, to be honest. If you recognize me or think you recognize me...OUT OUT OUT as Constance 1st says, or at least do me the favor of not pointing out the fact that you know me. I promise I'll keep your secret, too.

I have a husband. We'll call him John. I have two children: Jim and Jack. Jim's the oldest. Jack's the youngest. We live on the outskirts of a large American city. That's a good enough basis, I think.

I can never leave well enough alone so: new template. I thought it fit! I'm still working out the kinks -- I know absolutely nothing about XML so it may not get any better than what it is, already.

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Welcome to my blinding pink apartment in the city - girly and oh-so-secret. Like the first Constance, I have often had cause to regret letting *anyone* know about my original blog, so *no one* (outside of C. 1st readers) will know about this one. Not even the ones that usually hear every single bean.

I chose "Constance the What??" because I'm really not too sure how many Constances there are now. It was better than my original idea -- Constance the X, like an algebra equation, because X (where I meant X as an unknown quantity) too often means XXX and there's nothing very XXX about my life. Bland suburbia, that's me.

I'd better stop before I'm found out by a particular family member. Also: am facing several days offline or more, so my absence does not mean I've already given up but just that I can't blog.