I’m a Gumball Machine

I thought I was a Walking Baby Oven, and my answering machine message says our house is the McLoughlin Baby Factory, but a recent Anonymous commenter on the blog said something about people like me spitting out kids like a gumball machine.

At first the comment pissed me off, especially since they live near me and are one of my Facebook “friends” (thank you, Sitemeter!) and went on to say some pretty rude stuff. They obviously don’t know me at all. But I’m letting the negative comments roll off me because I think that’s my Life Lesson this time around: to not worry so much about what people think of me and to be my damn self (cussing and all).

Anyway, the more I thought about and pictured the gumball thing, the more I laughed. I wish my husband could quit his job and work for The Kerrie Show full-time like Dooce.com’s husband did (can you say $40,000 per MONTH?) because I’d ask him to do an illustration of me as Human Gumball Machine.

While I’m pushing in the delivery room this fall, I’m pretty sure I’m going to say something to my doctor like, “Somebody put a quarter in my mouth. Is the gumball almost out?”

My friend Ellen said, “When you call me from the hospital to let me know the sex, just say it’s a pink gumball or a blue gumball.”