Don’t you dare!

          Don’t you dare!

Ever since Lilly declared to me on the eve prior to Hallows Eve, that we are going to have another baby boy, she has been relentless in pushing the matter further. She has been demanding we have a baby, and she has been implementing her vile methods of persuasion through the usage of angry sarcasm, deceitful lies, and cruel and unusual threats. I don’t respond to violent speech well lady!

Two days after her initial revelation of wanting another kid she pushed the matter again. She seems to have already put a lot of thought into the details of getting pregnant. It has been coming increasingly apparent to me that she had the logistics all worked out prior to her confession.

My boy was crawling around the bedroom floor, maneuvering this way and that, putting his mouth on undusted corners and sticking hairballs of cat and Lilly’s hair in his mouth with gooey fingers. “Uhm, someone needs to dust around here.” Lilly likes to use the word ‘someone’ a lot, in reference to me. Or her best is, ‘everyone/no-one around here’. Which of course is just me again. Such as the following gem, ‘No-one around here ever unloads the dishwasher!’

“Look at him just scooting all over the place like that.” She exclaimed with glee.

“Yeah, he’s all over the place now. That’s why we’ve been hanging out downstairs the past couple of days. I’m afraid if he gets out in the hall he’ll bounce right down those stairs.” He just recently started crawling, so every few days he reaches a new level of mobility and strength.

“I don’t think he would survive the fall.”

“Sure he would. Yeah he might break a few vertebrae, perhaps a femur or two, but he would survive.” She gave me that ‘don’t you dare even joke about that kind of shit’, stare. “Okay so he would only walk away with a concussion or get knocked out.”

‘You wanted him to be mobile so bad…,” she felt obligated to remind me of this.

“Yeah, but mobile and capable. Right now he’s not very able.” For months I have kept saying that raising my boy will finally be fun when he can run around with me. Well, I had really said when he can wipe his own ass. And even more specifically, “when he can surf with me.”

“When do you expect that to happen, by the time he’s two at…”

“Soon as he’s wiping his own ass I suppose.”

“At least two then,” Lilly affirmed.

After going back to putting on her morning face from the bathroom mirror she said “it’s coming to the point where I get my last birth control shot.” She started those three month shots after we had The Boy.

“Don’t you dare,” I emphasized this much louder than needed for her to hear. I wanted her to really hear it, with gusto.

Lilly popped her head back in the room for this one, “well, it’s coming soon. I want to get pregnant in March,” as quickly as her head was there, it was gone again.

“What’s the significance of March,” I said with much disdain, as if I had just been betrayed.

“Cause it takes nine months. We need to have our other son by the time Mr Pants is two.”

“You’re trying to kill me aren’t you? I think you are. I think you found out how to kill me, now you want to implement your sadistic plan.” Yes, I do talk like this sometimes. After a brief pause for dramatic affect, “did you forget that I am the one staying at home with them? I am the majority shareholder when it comes to the raising of our offspring. So I own %51, you have a %49 stake. When it comes to decisions around here about how many ankle bighters we have cluttering the floor, I hold majority.” I was speaking to deaf ears. The next thing I hear is a blazing hair dryer emanating from the bathroom. You can see how serious she takes me when I speak like that. The sad thing is, I thought I was.