Tag Archives: large families

So There Goes YOUR Theory, Sir

My endocrinologist means well but is the oldest person on the planet, with the oldest views in the universe.

Endocrinologist: “Remind me– this is your first baby, correct?”

Me: “Yes.”

Endocrinologist: “Wonderful. And how many do you want to have?”

Me: “At least 2. But maybe more, who knows.”

Endocrinologist: “Well, if you want more than that, remember you are 36.”

Me: “I AM?! Well that is brand new information!”

Endocrinologist: “Yes and the clock is ticking. My wife and I had 4, but we started in our mid-twenties.”

Me: “Ok, well. My mom had 4 and started in her mid-30s, so….IMG_5606.png

Endocrinologist: “REALLY? And how old was she when she had the youngest?”

Me: “Almost 41, I believe?”

Endocrinologist: “And everything is ok with him?”

Me: “EXCUSE ME?! That is extremely offensive.”

Endocrinologist: “I apologize…”

Me: “I will have you know that Zack is the LEAST of our family’s problems.”

I’d Stay In There if I Were Her

Apparently our baby can now fully recognize my voice and maybe even the voices of the regular characters in my life.  Here are the thoughts I imagine she is having as she processes information from the outside world:

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  1. My mom has a lisp. Christ.
  2. My dad keeps saying he hopes I look like my mom. I guess he thinks it’s bad to be something called “prematurely bald” and have something called “stumpy Corgi-legs.” I really hope I look like Mom too, because if I do, Dad said he’s already planned a gift for me on my 16th birthday. It’s called a “rhinoplasty,” and it’s very expensive. I can’t wait to open it! I have the nicest dad.
  3. My mom’s favorite chair is the oval-shaped white one with the hole in the middle that makes a whooshing sound when she stands up. She sits on it all day. Sometimes I wonder if she has time for a job.
  4. My mom has a best friend named Sauvignon Blanc. For some reason, this friend went away. I know this because my mom talks about how much she misses her, pretty much all day every day and sometimes even in her sleep. But the exciting thing is that her best friend will be back, quote, “the second this thing (that’s me!) comes of her vagina.” She says they’ll reunite right there at the hospital bed. It’s nice that Sauvignon is coming back just in time to welcome me to the world.  She sounds like a good, dependable friend. I get why my mom relies on her so much.
  5. There’s only one other kid in my mom’s family, and they named him “The Boog.” I am fucking terrified to be named by these idiots.
  6. I don’t know what a couch is yet but it sounds like something you binge-eat and complain on.
  7. My mom isn’t thrilled about what I’m doing to her body. I know this because whenever my dad politely asks to take a picture of her, she makes a noise that’s kind of a mix between the frantic wailing sound I plan to make once I climb my way out of here, and the sound of a tortured, vomiting animal. She reassures me that she still loves me, she just wishes she had $100,000 so that she could pay for me to destroy someone else’s body and sanity, but then still get to take me home after. It’s something called a “surrogate” and she does a lot of research about it because she’d, quote, “rather manually drill holes through her eye sockets than have to go through this again.”
  8. My mom is pretty fucking dramatic.
  9. My dad’s job is to bring stuff to my mom when she points at it. Sometimes this pointing is accompanied by a whimper or a grunt, but rarely by actual words.
  10. My dad’s other job is to tell my mom about investments, 401Ks, budgeting and savings plans while my mom sits quietly. She’s so quiet while he does this, in fact, that sometimes I think she’s asleep.
  11. Mom loves to be asleep.
  12. There is someone in this family named “Uncle Jeremy.” I don’t really know who he is or what he does or where he goes, but I already understand that at some point down the line, I will be responsible for providing him with food, booze and a place to stay.
  13. Uncle Zack takes four years to say one sentence.
  14. Aunt Steph is the one whose voice never changes. She might be the happiest person in the world, or the saddest. I cannot tell.
  15. Big Steve has all the money. My mom is the best at getting that money. She will teach me, and I will be even better at it than she is.
  16. This family has a tiny pet bird with a very soft voice. Its name is Charla. Cha Cha for short.
  17. My mom has this thing called a blog, where she writes down all her thoughts and feelings and everyone in the world can read them. She seems to love to write and to share her writing but I don’t know, man….seems like this might mortify the shit out of me someday. I think that because I’m family, though, she’ll be careful about what she says, and she won’t purposely embarrass me. But the Cha Cha bird says these are “famous last words.”

 

Family Communication, Part 5

(loosely related to other Family Communication posts, all with the running theme that this family barely qualifies as a family.)

There was a faint rumor (aka, Steph mentioned it once) weeks ago that Mom and Dad were going to come to NY next weekend for Dad’s birthday, and the whole family was going to go to dinner. Naturally, no one has heard anything since. So I decided (like a fucking Lerman Family amateur) to check in with the siblings and see if anyone had information…

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As usual, no one knows a goddamn thing.

So I decided to go to the source, and brought Mom and Dad into the conversation.

Which just goes to show that in 35 years being a member of this family, I have learned zero things.

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9 years later…..

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P.S. Steph literally did nothing.

 

 

That is BRAND NEW INFORMATION

On the phone with my mom…

Mom: “So I guess Dad and I are never getting our car back, huh?”

Me: “Ummm, incorrect. I sent Dad an entire email detailing how Zack is going to drive it back to Maryland next weekend.”

Mom: “Oh, Dad didn’t tell me.”

Me: “Shocking.”

Mom: “Well, next time you email information like that, just include me on it, because Dad doesn’t tell me anything.”

Me: “Ok.”

Mom: “Actually, you know. There’s a secret way you can include me on the email, so he can’t even see.”

Me: “There IS?!?!?”

Mom: “Yes it’s called a blind copy.”

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