Don’t Drink the Water
It feels like pregnancy is a contagious condition. If one woman is pregnant in my circle, it means that at least two more are pregnant somewhere else.
It usually starts with someone at work. Another woman in the same department will become pregnant, and then another department will announce that one of their team members is expecting as well. Based on previous experience, no more than four or five ladies will be pregnant at the same time (and only a month or two apart).
This summer I feel like pregnancy spread like the Swine Flu and required me to elevate the condition to epidemic status.
It started off with a department head and an admin, their due dates only a month away from each other. A Human Resources manager became pregnant a few months after they did. So far, so good – everything is following its usual pattern.
Then Annika of NoirBettie.com announced her upcoming pregnancy. A delightful surprise, to be sure, but it broke from my pattern. It was strange, but the Law of Averages allows for situations like this.
My friend Lynette dropped a bomb when she told me she was pregnant. “Are you sitting down?” were the first words out of her mouth before she announced “I’m pregnant!” The conception, after doing some quick math, happened right around the time I last saw her in LA. (And no, I’m not the father.)
At this point it was a 50/50 deal; I didn’t have to panic just yet.
Just a couple of weeks ago it came to my attention that a manager in Sales and a manager in Catering just recently discovered they were pregnant.
Stephanie (who started me on “Year of Photos”) of STV Live just posted that she’s pregnant.
Michelle Duggar from “18 Kids and Counting” is pregnant with her 19th child.
My pattern has totally been thrown off whack.
Seriously, people. It’s a pregnancy epidemic. The emergency color has gone from orange to red. My natural reaction is to avoid water (I can live off of vodka and mixers, right?) as a precaution. All sheets will be sterilized. All hugging contact with members of the opposite sex must have at least three inches of space away from my reproductive area.
The saddest part of this is that I am eagerly awaiting yet another visit from my bitchy Aunt Flo.