One, two, three…. fuck me.
Since the subject of children has come up on multiple of my fellow bloggers, I will be the lamest of you all and say Now it’s my turn! to touch the everloving subject.
Background time: My mom had my sister when she was twenty-three I believe, she then later married my father and had me at the age of thirty-nine. So there is an age difference of sixteen lovely years. My sister lived with my grandmother so therefore I lived as an only child and at times, see myself that way. Now, as for my brother. My dad is thirteen years younger than my mother for one. Before my mom was in the picture, my dad knocked up a lady that I know nothing about and ta-da! Joshua. Until I was fourteen, I was unaware that I had a brother.
So… I have “half-siblings” and then there is me. The awkward second/last/only child.
When I was younger I figured, Hey I’ll have a kid, one kid with whoever my husband is, and we will be happy. I got older and then decided I wanted two kids. I will pat my husband on the head [that rests on his neck] while saying That’ll do pig, that’ll do. Well I had to go and screw up my plans. Three is it, mainly because once again my boyfriend has managed to brainwash me. He is lucky that I love him too much to argue.