We're Bringing Sexy Back aka Why Emma Won't Get a Sibling

So we have decided to try and give Emma a little brother or sister and this week is the week to try.  Last night we were getting ready for bed and we were reminiscing talking about how when we first met we couldn't get enough of each other.  Oh, wait.  This blog may be a little TMI so if you are easily offended or family (Theresa this means you.  Stop reading.  Do not read this to Grams) or not interested in TMI then stop reading here.  Okay, you've been warned. 

Anyway, I asked Paul how to get things started.  I mean between bedrest and a deployment we are a little out of practice.  He laughed and said he couldn't remember.  He said we used to make out and kiss more with tongue.  I said yeah, but that seems like a lot more work now.  Now instead of just getting all wrestly with it we fight over who is in the middle of the bed because whoever is in the middle gets to be on the bottom.  Although last night the fact that I ate an ENTIRE pizza won out.  No one wants their spouse throwing up on them in the middle of nookie (which is not breastfeeding like my mother thinks). The following conversation then occurred while things were getting started.

Me:  Maybe we should go to an adult store.

Paul:  What would we get?

Me:  I don't know.  A game?

Paul:  What kind of game?

Me:  One that tells you what to do and stuff. 

And then I farted.  On him.  We laughed (naked mind you which is so not sexy when you're sporting a Santa belly like I am.  Talk about jiggling like a bowl full of jelly.) until we had tears streaming down our face.  We were hysterical.  And then Paul said, "Well, you did just eat all that pizza." 

And this is why Emma won't ever get a sibling.