Okay, okay, so I can only guess that my cryptic, conflicting comments about procreating are being received as nothing less than annoying. For that I apologize. Let's just say that I got overly excited about proclaiming my near-readiness to have another baby. That, mixed with the opportunity for a great rhyme, and, well, you have me announcing things I soon regret. I new it would cause somewhat of a stir, I just had no idea how much, and I grossly underestimated the added anxiety and pressure it would put on me. I know it doesn't matter what anyone else says or thinks, but suddenly I felt like I'd carved it in stone and I wanted it back up in the air where it belonged. It doesn't change at all the probability of me getting pregnant this year, it was just me panicking to relieve some of the pressure I was feeling. Somehow, in my quest to lessen my anxiety about having another baby, I managed to bring more upon myself. I think only I could do that.
Oh, but I really am going to write a novel. Not kidding.