I’m Sorry

Most blogs… or at least any blog with some amount of class and/or dignity… has a “WELCOME!” page. Assuming it’s your first time to that blog, you can click on the WELCOME link and get an idea of what you’ll be in for, should you choose to keep reading. I can tell you right now, this ain’t a blog with class or dignity… so let’s skip the Rainbow Princess Fancy Pants WELCOME and skip right to what I’ll likely be saying anyways… “SORRY”.

If you’re here for longer than two nanoseconds the odds are good that I’ll either offend you, gross you out, or accidentally hyperlink you to some sort of porn website (which I actually did once, via email. Which I sent out in mass to my CO-WORKERS including my boss. Yep. True story.).

So if I did inadvertently offend/gross you out/get you flagged on your work computer… I’m sorry.

Unfortunately, I am a tad bit bumbling. I’m the one who stubs my toe on the ottoman and ends up breaking my foot. I’ll accidentally delete important documents after spending all night perfecting them. I’ll make the inappropriate joke (with no harm intended) about dinosaurs or something, and the world’s most uptight paleontologist will probably be standing five feet behind me. I’m both the proverbial and literal bull in a china shop.

Maybe more like… Ferdinand the Bull in a china shop?

I like to think (hope) I have a good heart. I’m loyal to my husband and son, family and friends, and all my Bleeps (my blog peeps, those dear patient, TOLERANT and hilarious people who’ve read my stuff and by some miracle have come back for more). Incredibly socially awkward in person, I crave the online interaction where I can say something stupid… and then be able to delete it. (Or at least rework it until I sound almost like a normal person… or at least what I think a normal person might sound like? It’s a lot of guess work for me to be honest.)

I started blogging in 2009, after I had struggled with infertility for four years. I needed a place to inappropriately joke about a very depressing subject. Miscarriage after miscarriage, I think my “dead baby” comments were making my elderly relations very uncomfortable. I mean… just because I liked to think about creating an army of zombie fetuses to deal with my debilitating sadness doesn’t necessarily mean Great Aunt Penelope wants to hear about my plan for global domination when she asks “so when are you guys going to have kids?” (again).

The blog, named Busted Plumbing in honor of my “broken pipes”, was born and I spent the next year talking about cervical mucus, ritual fertility sacrifices (like MAYBE one or five homeless people, tops), and felony rampages resulting from hormonal imbalance. Of course, I did good things too… came up with “green” ways to reduce, reuse, recycle my used “OPK” sticks (like pregnancy tests, you pee on them to determine if you’re ovulating)… trust me, after five years of trying to get pregnant I’m pretty sure there’s a whole landfill dedicated to things I’ve peed on.

So, I put it all out there.  My first post honored Chuck Norris, and when you start with Chuck Norris… well it’s pretty much all downhill from there, right?  There were soap opera’s involving my hostile cervical mucus, and even some diversions like that time I got a fancy dancy haircut in Manhattan (spoiler alert, there was drama).  But I was trucking along–venting, laughing, lamenting.  It was all fun and games until I got pregnant.  AGAIN.  But something weird happened this time.

It stuck.  And then there was a heartbeat.  And then there was a gender (boy).  And I was all, “holy crow how do I write an infertility blog and be pregnant?”  So then it became a pregnancy humor blog.  Cue the fart posts, the poop posts (one where I even make a Hiroshima joke… too soon?),  and yes… even more mucus talk (might be my most favorite post title of ALL TIME).

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