She Went And Got Herself Knocked Up
How it happened. This is pretty detailed, so stop reading now if you are offended easily. I am not responsible for your feelings—regardless if you keep reading or not. And, frankly, I don't really care.
Did you guys know that if you have sex without a condom or birth control that you could get pregnant? Ha, ha . . . I did! Here is my baby-making story—unfortunately without the baby-making music. If I could figure out how to get baby-making music attached to this article, I would. But hey, I'm pregnant, and I don't have to do anything for nine months!
So you've probably heard all those sayings that when our brave soldiers come back from war, they knock up their wives pretty damn quick. In my case, it was three weeks exactly! I quit birth control right after he left because 1) I wasn't having sex (and birth control sucks anyway—let alone when you aren't getting any) and 2) I wanted to have a baby as soon as he got home.
I decided not to do the temperature thing. You know, where you measure your temperature every morning for like ever and wait for it to spike like .03 degrees? Some ladies have time for that. Me, I'm lazy. That is why God invented those fertility/ovulation tests. It's like a pregnancy test, only it lets you know when you are most fertile and when—in laymen's terms—you should let your guy nail you all he wants.
What sucks is, I wish I knew all of this in college when I was popping my pills and making the guy wear a condom. Sexual low-point for me. You are technically capable of getting pregnant only 36 hours out of every month.
Anyway, so every day after my period (yeah, sorry guys . . . we're going to talk about that a bit), I started taking the fertility/ovulation tests. When I got a positive, it took everything in me not to scream. I calmly trashed the positive test and walked up to my husband politely and asked if he might be interested in having sex with me at that very moment, indeed that very second. Guys, this is a request that I'm guessing you don't get as often as you like, so you won't be surprised by my husband's reaction—which was, "hell yeah!" I didn't want to scare him by screaming and jumping his bones right there, so I thought this approach increased my chances of his playing ball. Now if that isn't the best phrase for this situation!
Alas, the deed was done.
Two weeks later, as we were brushing our teeth to go to bed, I decided to take a test. Why not, right? I had missed my period, and I was sick of not knowing. So before I started brushing my teeth, I took the test, and while my husband and I were brushing, we noticed that it was telling us we're pregnant. We started laughing and promptly went out and got more tests. You can never be too sure. We called our families, everyone gave their "opinions," and we began our journey.
My boobs starting hurting, and I got really tired for a few days but learned that drinking a cup of coffee won't hurt so the exhaustion is gone. My husband is watching me like a hawk, and I don't have to do anything around the house . . . he's such a great guy. And today was the final let-go-of-my-college-years when I decided to take out my belly button ring. Pretty tacky to have a mommy with an outtie and a belly button ring, huh? Besides, I would imagine it hurts like hell. Nothing like having it taken out, though. I was in the shower, and I had my husband pour alcohol over it, but the alcohol got into other places as well while we were cleaning my belly button, so I had fire crotch for like five minutes. Don't try this at home, ladies. Go to the doctor and have your piercings removed. It's not fun.
All in all, a great pregnancy story. Not at all the touchy-feely pregnancy stories you may hear from others, but that isn't how my relationship goes anyway. We screw things up and laugh about it. We make mistakes all the time, and that is what I'm looking forward to because with those mistakes come the laughs. My friends are excited to see how this pregnancy changes me, and while I know there will be a lot of changes, in the end I hope my kid grows up happy; regardless of how messed up I am, I hope this kid has fun with it.
I was having a discussion with a friend, and we got on this topic because her husband is currently on detachment. During her husband's detachment, her baby got a bad ear infection and then promptly found out that the baby was allergic to the medication to treat the infection. She made a comment that she couldn't depend on her husband, not because he wasn't dependable, but because with the military nothing is set in stone, even if it is set in stone. I once knew a couple who had orders to move to a state across the country, and while driving to their new duty station, they got a cell phone call telling them to go somewhere else. If this isn't a kick in the balls, I don't know what is.
Overall, marriages are a team effort. At this brief I had for the spouses of deployed service members, they joked about common arguments that couples have their first few weeks of being together again after deployment. It's called the "Who Had It Worse" argument. You want to know who had it worse? We did, because when we had it hard, no one listened, we were just expected to deal with it because this is what we "got ourselves into." Officers' wives club and enlisted wives' club drama aside, military wives stick together in times of need because no one else will listen to our bitching. And the bitching that our husbands do while deployed (yes, men do have PMS too) usually are heard by us at home. So it's not that we don't appreciate what our hunka men are doing over there, we just need to be able to bitch about it sometimes because war is terrible, but a sick baby screaming bloody murder can be just as stressful. And since our men can't tell us what's happening over there, our world is all we know and, frankly, all we care about at the moment.
Let me first explain that the Officers' Wives Club is a group of women who join together "voluntarily" to support each other in times of major life changes, deployments, etc. In no way, shape, or form is this club mandatory, but should you decide to participate, you are required to pay dues for ugly gifts that will normally just go in the nearest garbage can. 
A few days later, Madeline, who sounds nice in her first email, promptly turns into Joan Collins and sends out another email that went like this:
a bunch? Regardless of all the problems with this scenario, whether she has forty dollars or one hundred dollars, a gift can still be purchased. Madeline just wants to get a really big gift. That's her problem. Personally, I'd leave a lump of coal on her doorstep or even a flaming bag of dog poop, but that's just me. My lovely friends still have to deal with this Nazi big-panty-wearing gift-giving psycho, so their response will be slightly different.
Vibrators, a glorious gift to women but a terrible tragedy if you find out that your batteries are out of juice and you don't have any replacements anywhere in your house. And, of course, you have looked everywhere. I even tried to take the batteries out of my tv remote, but they didn't have enough juice left in them to power me up. Tip from me to you: vibrators work the best on brand new batteries. Trust me, you don't want to use old batteries, because just as you are getting there, you find your vibrator slowing down. Not good!
I'm not having, and then I get mad. On the phone the other night, I brought up some random bit about whip cream and chocolate syrup. It totally came out of left field and my husband's pause from being shocked just pissed me off. The poor guy isn't having sex either, and I'm mad at him for it. The cruelty of it all, I swear.
Here is a sticking point with me. Being in the military is a career for some. This career requires that you move every year or every few years, which the government gracefully pays for. Your wife, if she works, must either try to figure out a way to transfer to another office or quit all together. This means at your next duty station she has to start basically all over again with her career if there is even a job to be had in her field or profession. She gladly does it, though, because she loves her husband.
works on his. Yes, I was creating distance that otherwise was unnecessary, but why is my happiness worth less for a choice that I made than my husband who also made a career choice?
school had maybe 200 students ranging from seventh grade to twelfth grade. We knew everything about each other and sometimes that was good and sometimes that was bad. As you can guess, I was a raging "brat" unlike my friend who was more sensible.
What we learned that day and throughout growing up is that we were petty, but who isn't? We realize, however, that as petty as we were back then, our lives were ultimately changed by being military brats. We were forced to leave our friends more often than most children our age, and we were also forced to accept each other. We had to sometimes live without a parent when that parent went to war. We got to experience a culture unlike our own. Open-mindedness is born through experience. I think my friend would agree.
You go to a function that is “voluntary” (In the military nothing is voluntary) and “everyone” is there. Some random wife that you’ve seen only once gives you a hug and says hi in a way that makes dogs come running. Not only are you now embarrassed for her but you are looking around to make sure you don’t get bit in the ass by some 
This morning I got up to do my morning one-mile jog and one-mile roller blade lap with my two dogs (a golden retriever and a lab). After my jog I got all geared up to take the dogs on their lap but couldn’t seem to get them to stop freaking out. I try to let them poop before they run because we all know how it feels to have a prairie dog and you can’t do anything about it. By prairie dog I mean, fuck it you know what I mean, and if you don’t, hold it for like two hours and you’ll know what prairie doggin it is. Anyway for some reason I couldn’t get them to poop and when I finally did they both went berserk on me. This wouldn’t have been so bad except I already had my roller blades on. Yeah I’m stupid I know. 
I was like, “No, but my husband is.” All innocent right? Inside I’m screaming at this wench and imagining wringing her neck. Sure, she was being nice, but I almost barfed all over my Antonio Milani black pumps. By the way, if you don’t have a pair of great four inch black pumps, stop reading this now and go buy a pair. Really, go NOW! Anything stupid you’ve done as a woman is totally null and void if you have great shoes. So this lady says to me, “No, silly, if your husband is in Z367, that means you are too.” By this point, I’m feeling really sorry for her and wanting to educate her on how to be shrew, but I realize this woman is totally happy with her life and why should I make her husband’s life miserable by informing her of the women’s rights movement? He’s a lucky bastard. I wish I had a wife like that. Who am I to mess that up for him? Haven’t we all heard ignorance is bliss? Bullshit concept, by the way, but whatever works for you.
Being a military brat raised in Europe, I thought I’d be an old hand at the lifestyle. But now, being a military spouse has opened my eyes to the true meaning of how to deal with shit that I’d rather not. My husband and I have been married for two and half years, and while we consider ourselves a strong couple, oftentimes there are situations where we have to remind ourselves that we both dedicated our lives to the military. He dedicated his life by signing up and fulfilling his dream of being Goose from the movie Top Gun. And I dedicated my life, thinking, “Its not so bad, I’ve done this before”. What the hell was I thinking?