Nine Months

Freedom was so close, I could smell it. Ten more years of hard labor and I was a free man. My youngest would be 18 and on his way to college or the military. Then I stuck my foot in it (Freudian slip?). Yep. That's right. You heard it here first. The Trashman is going to be a daddy again.

Jen took a E.P.T. today, you know one of those where you get two pink lines for pregnant and one pink line for not pregnant. Well this thing had 22 dark red lines and PREGNANT written all over it. So another little trash or trashette is on the way. She is only about a month along because I know when it happened. It was the last time we had a little time to ourselves. That will never happen again, at least for another 18 years anyway.

We sat the boys down to let them know what was going on. Trashman III didn't have any problems with it. Trashman Jr. was a whole different story. It went something like this:
Trashman: "Boys, we have something to tell you."
Trashman Jr. (rolling his eyes): "What now?"
Trashman: "Your mom is going to have a baby"
TrashmanIII: "O.K."
Trashman Jr. : "NO. NO. NO. I don't want another sibling."
I didn't even know he knew what sibling meant.
Jen: "Well, it's going to happen and there is nothing you can do about it."
At this point Jen left the room to do something.
Trashman Jr. : "Dad, can't we just get a puppy instead?"
Trashman: "It's to late now. What's done is done."
Trashman Jr. : "Yeah, but don't you have to do something to make mom pregnant?"
Trashman: "I already did that."
Trashman Jr. (with in horror) : "Why did you have to do that?"
Trashman (laughing): "Sometimes a man gots to do what a man gots to do."
Trashman Jr. (disgusted): " EEEEEWWWWWW DAD."
Jen came back into the room.
Jen: "I don't want to hear anymore about it. I could use some support."
Trashman Jr. (with more sarcasm than I ever heard in my life): "Well, congratulations."

What surprises me most is the morning of the crime (when Jen got pregnant), I had yakked out a fresh one. So I figured we could do the do and be safe. I never thought in a million years I could pack that much punch. Turns out I may be carrying a derringer but it's a .50 cal. derringer.

Now, I need to get her close enough to the stove to chain her to it, throw away her shoes, and she'll be right where I want her.