that I need to have a human baby soon is because the damn cat will only play "So Big!" (as in, [said in a cuddly-wuddly voice], "How big is Cooper? How big is my big blonde boy?" To which he bellows in the way that only a 21lb. brain-damaged cat can bellow) for so long before attacking me. Again.
But, alas. I am so not pregnant. I mean, I am as far from pregnant as one might possibly be. And I tell you this, as a woman who just learned it herself. And while that pisses me off immensely, given the freakin' injustice of it all, and the horrid invasive procedure aspect, at least I can have me a nice glass of chardonay with no guilt attached (I, unlike most Brethren carry no tea-totaling guilt...nay, I flaunt my drinking to the world. Look at me, world, I just bought me the big ass bottle of Sutter Farm chardonay on sale at Kroger, and goddammit I can drink it for a good seven days before I have to stop again!). And, of course, there is the solace that I have not just one, but two cats and one dog who still call me "Mommy," in their own wee little yowling and yipping cat and dog ways.
However, I have also learned lately that the thing I hate oh-so-much is when people get the sad look when asking about the fertility stuff. I cannot do the sad look. The, oh-you-poor-thing-with-the-barren-womb look, the one where they gaze just a little too long into your eyes as if saying, "I know how it feels to be so utterly devoid of hope...so empty."
Hold hope for our future or get outta Dodge, friends. I need no sympathy...empathy, yes. Sympathy, not so much. We'll have our little Ella and/or Grayson in time...and while the decision about whether she'll/he'll arrive straight from my womb or on a plane from China or Guatamala has yet to be determined, there is room for plenty of hope.
And, the reality is, that my life feels pretty graced as it is, so we can wait.
And now, Cooper sits perched next to my monitor (really, I didn't just write that to make some high and holy literary point, and bring this essay to full circle...he does, just sit here watching the cursor move on the screen...which makes the screen a little hairy sometimes when he bends in a little too close), so my calling as cat-mommy beckons.
"Here, Cooper, Here, boy... Tell Mama how big you are...you're SO Big, aren't you?"
For tonight, at least, I have a baby, even if his only discernable gift is eating Cat Chow and pooping in a big litter box (at least most of the time). But really, diapers are messy anyway.