“So, honey,” looking at the kids, “how’s uh, ‘Brewster,’ today?”

Eyes raised, “Brewster??”

“You, know, your, uh, thing. Would you give me a break,” looking at kids, again, “I’m speaking in code!”

“Aha, that’s Brewster? I was calling it ‘spasmosis,’ as in spasms meet psychosis. But, eh, I didn’t notice it, not so much today. I figure that the whole week that it was ‘active’ was the week after ovulation, and wonder if, my body seeing there was no need for a dead egg to hang around, went all spazzy, so as to say, ‘move right along?'” Shrug. “Mmmmm, good burgers, huh?”

“Yeah, they are good… Damn, I was kind of looking forward to proclaiming that my swimmers had defeated the iron cross!”

And that, folks, was the conversation that mostly said, “We’re not pregnant? Hmmmmm….I love you.” Also communicated was the caveman sense of satisfaction a man gets when he knocks a woman up. I’ve always gotten a kick out of that one, [pun half-heartedly intended] for some strange reason.

I don’t know that we’re entirely ready to shut that door yet. I do know that it ain’t going to be yanked open by us anytime soon though.

****Edited to add:
A solo trip with the kids to the grocery today left me slamming that door shut – saying, “Oh, HEEEEEEEELLLL no!”

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