Mavrick and I are 100% sure we know the day we conceived our future little darling, Mavbling. And I know with 100% accuracy the moment that I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, without pissing on one stick, that there was a bun in my oven.
Let me take you back to December 12th, 2009. It was Coffee’s White Elephant Party, and I and a large portion of my girl friends (no boys allowed at this party!) were drinking staggering amounts of wine and having a grand ol’ time.
Mavrick, not one to sit around and knit while I am out drinking with the ladies, went out with some of his friends, and I got dropped off at that bar after the party. The night went something like drink, shot, drink, shot, shot, start fight, drink, play Alanis Morisette on juke box, sing You Outta Know at top of lungs, fall off stool, go home, stagger upstairs, pass out face-down, fully clothed, wake up hours later wondering why your jeans are still on, and why is your boyfriend pissed at you?
You know, our typical Saturday night.
Sunday morning, I had to deal with an angry Mavrick (why he was mad at me is not even the issue. I am sure it was stupid, and not even my fault. Actually, I’m not sure of that at all, but that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.). And by ‘dealing with’ I mean stomping around and ignoring him, because all women know that they best way to get a man to not be mad at you anymore is 1.) blow job, or 2.) confuse him (I went with two).
We eventually made up over our morning drinks and breakfast sandwiches. I am not kidding about the drinks. I had coffee and Bailey’s, he had a *barfbarfcoughbarf* Caesar.
We retired back to bed around 1, where we put on football and had sex three times in an hour and a half time span. I guess the combo of hangover sex and make up sex, easily the two best forms of sex ever to be invented, had us in a particularly frisky mood.
We did not use condoms. Because Mavrick went to CMU and is good at math, he devised this system wherein based on my menstrual cycle, ovulation, and the full moon, we (he) could identify ‘safe times’, and a ‘danger zone’. Safe time meant all systems go, danger zone meant all systems still go, but pull out. WHICH WE ALL KNOW WORKS SO WELL.
Save your lectures, people. I am already knocked up.
So this particular three-times in one day sexfest was on the end of the safe time, heading into danger zone, but not there just yet. At 2:30, hungry from all that sex, we decide to head up to Cain’s, our favorite watering/feed hole, to eat and watch more football. (I’m sorry, but food, booze, sex, and football is THE PERFECT SUNDAY). We order one beer with our lunch. We order a second beer with our lunch. I go the ladies room, come out, and Mavrick has what appears to be a giant glass of water in front of him, but I know better, because a.) Water is for pussies, and b.) There are limes floating in his glass
It’s now 3:30. Well, what the hell. The 4:00 games are coming on. Might as well stick around. Bartender, make me a double.
It’s about this time, based on my calculations, that Mavrick’s sperm began the long and arduous journey to my egg. In my mind, they are both drunk, making the trip even more difficult. In my mind, the egg keeps fucking around in the fallopian tubes, refusing to just fall out, because she is having ‘fun’, and the sperm makes a wrong turn somewhere around my cervix, and refuses to ask my birth canal for directions, thusly just drunkenly swimming in circles.
SEVERAL HOURS LATER: We are still at Cain’s. Still drinking doubles. At this point, the 8:00 game has come and gone, and we are now shooting snake bites, playing the juke box, and falling on each other, or, as we were calling it that night, dancing. It’s midnight.
The egg finally dropped, but not before drunkenly slurring to my uterus “You gotta ruin allll my fuuun. Hick”. The sperm, after hours of missed turns,
sees the egg up ahead of him, like a bright, glowing Taco Bell. He swerves left and right. Not to avoid anything, but because he’s drunk and can’t help it. He finally gets to the Taco Bell egg.
Sperm: “Shello. I’m new here. What’s yer name?”
Egg: *giggles* “I don’t know. I forget” *lifts skirt over head* *twirls around* *falls down* *gets back up*
Sperm: “I wanna be inside you.”
Egg: “Okey dokey smokey! You look lika nice guy. I don’t do this with all the sperm, I just want you to know that… hick”
Egg, Sperm: *bumpbumpbumpbumpbump* SUCCESS!!
Our drunken Sunday rolls to an end soon thereafter, and I head home to sleep it off. A few weeks go by. Christmas is upon us. Mavrick goes to him mom’s in Kentucky, jr. is off with his dad, leaving me, two dogs, a box of wine, and the Discovery Health channel all to ourselves.
I am watching this show, I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant. They interviewed a doctor, who said that sperm could live in the human body for FOUR MOTHER EFFING DAYS. I looked in the general direction of my vagina. I looked back up at the TV, a look of abject terror on my face. Mr. Smartypants McCMU Grad did not take this into account when he calculated our safe times. And while I probably should have known this information, I did not. But I was also not the one claiming to be a CMU grad, so there’s that.
Regardless, I knew. I knew the way I knew that sweet glass of merlot I was drinking was probably going to my last for while. I was pregnant. I tried to blow off the thought, oh, I was just being paranoid. HA HA HA. But the thought would not leave me. So the Monday after Christmas, a full two days before my period was due, I go to Wormy’s office to take a piss test. I don’t even think the pee hit the stick yet, and the goddamned thing was coming up positive. I think it just smelled the pregnant, rolling off of me.
And thus began the next chapter in my life, a little chapter I like to call Holy Fuck I’m Pregnant.