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Warning: Sex will get you pregnant

Two professional women: both married with kids and both juggling clients, reports, potty training, packed lunches, chores, dogs, cats, errands, husbands and …”what was that you said? SEX?”
That three-letter word that once was so frequent, so liberating, so yummy has been sidelined in a sea of life, work and snot.
It is time.
Time to put sex back on a pedestal by injecting some extra spice into our relationships.

Warning: Sex will get you pregnant

It’s pretty good that we got 25 missions handled before we had to take a break.

That’s what I tell myself. However, I have a better excuse than Duch for my absenteeism from MDI of late.

First, I accepted another job.

Then, six hours after signing an offer letter for that job, I made the announcement that I had a new job at a family dinner.

Mr. Lee’s sister replied, “Oh, I thought you were going to say you were pregnant.”

Thirty minutes after dinner, I was at Tom Thumb buying a pregnancy test because the last time someone accused me of being pregnant at dinner, I rode a plane home from San Francisco and discovered number three was on the way. The accuser was a client who was curious when I was the only one at dinner that didn’t order a drink. He asked me if it was the usual reason, and I, confused, said, “Why, because I’m an alcoholic?” To which he replied, “No, are you pregnant?” I laughed and said it was the third reason, “I’m a Mormon.”

After landing in Dallas, I dug a leftover test out of the cupboard while Mr. Lee tried to get the kids to bed, exhausted after two days without me and being tasered and maced at the Police Academy. Without warning, I walked in at 10:00 p.m. and announced Lee 3 was coming. He was not amused.

Later I learned that he walked into class the next day, sat down next to a fellow officer and said, “You’re not going to f-ing believe this.” He used the real word, and loves Lee 3 A LOT now (at times).

But, I digress. I had accepted a job, and someone had accused me of being pregnant. I checked out at Tom Thumb after entering my phone number for the “rewards points” that may come with a generic pregnancy test that you had to get an attendant to unlock at 9:20 p.m. It is, ironically, connected to the wrong name. The best name. As I left, the cashier bid me adieu with a good luck and a “Thanks, Mrs. Lee.”

I stopped in my tracks. Yes, inadvertently, my fake name at Tom Thumb is Sun Min Lee. I have the receipt to prove it.

I came home and tested. And…it was negative.

At least until I walked out of the bathroom and told a stressed out Mr. Lee, “That’s good, because the timing would have looked really bad with the new j-uuuuuuh.”

A faint line appeared.

Shit.

I took another the next morning. Another faint line appeared.

Two days and four tests total later, and I had accepted it. We’re pregnant.

And apparently, I’m carrying a demon spawn because I. Feel. Like. Hell.

I survived three pregnancies without anything you can call morning sickness. My closest bout was when I forced myself to eat 10 pounds of meat at Texas de Brazil because my sister was paying and I felt I needed to. I later threw up out of sheer limited capacity. Other than that, I’ve had easy pregnancies.

That is, until I conceived a child through using a belt on my husband. This is my warning, ladies.

1. Sex will get you pregnant

2. Violent sex will get you pregnant with demon spawn that will make you feel like hell

But, I am really excited. We’re due in July, and the Duchess is already telling me how my weight will be going up after hers starts going down in February.

For now though, you ask? I look waaaaay better than her. At least I weigh less. Maybe.

And after I get my prescription for Zofran filled (I don’t have my new insurance card yet), I promise we’ll be on to 26.

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