Last night, David and I watched the kids of a good friend of mine. I have been craving another baby; much to David’s dismay. David came neutered when I picked him up from the pound, so there is really no reality of this ever coming into fruition. Still, I hear the gentle ticking of my biological clock whispering to me that babies are good things and that I should have another. That is, until last night when every egg in my body, my uterus and my fallopian tubes committed suicide.

I love children, I do. These two children, in particular, are amazing. However, five hours of being responsible for someone whose ability to communicate relies solely on the shrill shreik of Satan has left me wanting to double bag David’s shit and stick a candle lighter up my vagina to burn off any parts of me that would facilitate the ability to create another child; no matter how minute the possibility.

I will stick to dogs, thank you, for even dogs can wreak chaos.

David is convinced that Bam is a practicing Catholic. On the mornings that he and I are “otherwise occupied”, Bam poops on the floor without fail, as if to punish us for having sex outside of the holy union of marriage. Then, post-coital, the dog likes to come up and stick his entire person in between us as if to say, “I’ve had quite enough, thank you! Return to your respective corners.”

And on that note, I’m going to pry Bam out of David’s crotch and take a nap in his arms while Luke and Lex slumber.