Not that I ever really thought I might be…well, maybe for just a second.

I know I just blogged about Dallas’ vasectomy. And he’s been gone for 125 days. (That sounds weird, I’m faithful – cue Journey)

But here are the facts:

Hooha problems - Spotting, cramps, blahs. I had a procedure done in 2010 so I wouldn’t have to deal with this crap anymore. It worked for a while, but it’s slowly coming back. I was told to use back up birth control despite the procedure. No problem, Dallas went under the knife out of love for me/fear of another set of twins.

Fatness - Don’t give me any crap. Seriously, I run five days a week and have GAINED weight. Not gained like after a big meal gain, solid real weight. I weigh myself every morning, naked and dry after the morning business. Then I double-check the scale by weighing the boys. It’s not wrong. I’ve gained. How does that happen and why am I doing all this stupid running anyway?

Bloat - I have abdominal bloat. Could that be a baby or two? (Or worse, frick on a stick, I’m 37 – there could be hundreds in there!) I spent a lot of Dallas’ money to have a flat stomach, what’s with the pooch?

Christin came over for coffee this afternoon and I told her the problem. She’s sensible. (It’s kind of annoying – but she has lots of other good qualities so I let it slide.) She reminded me that muscle weighs more than fat. I don’t really believe that.

She reminded me that I bought jeans in a size smaller than the last pair I bought. But we all know sizing doesn’t matter, just ask the amazing Julie C. Gardner. She also asked what my stomach looked like, which made me remember this awful picture.

Which made me wonder if the pooch was beer or baby.

Christin insisted we go get a pregnancy test. She actually recommended we go buy a pregnancy test at Walgreen’s, then take the test in the bathroom at the daycare before picking up our monsters. I declined.

Repeatedly.

Then I went to pick up the twinkies. When I walked into the daycare there were two identical car seats in the waiting room. In them were two adorable five-month-old twin girls. One of the caregivers said, “Look Mrs. Rainey! Doesn’t it make you want to have another set?”

I cried inside a little.

Then I went to Walgreen’s. I hid the test in my purse before getting in the car. Taryn was with me – she would have had a panic attack.

I peed on the stick.

It must be all the wine and cookies. They act like a baby in my digestive system.