Still, my super-sized sons wreaked so much havoc on my uterus that I was medically cut off at 3 boys. Don't get me wrong, I am grateful. But somewhere in my mind, little Sean and Michael will always be missing at the dinner table (or even little Riley or Margaret or Emily because it's not like I wouldn't have loved them).
I've tried to talk my husband into adopting a couple more kids. His response?
No. We're good.
So when my doorbell rang last night and I spied a car zipping away, I thought that maybe this was it...finally, an abandoned baby left on my doorstep to love and cherish all of my days.
When I opened the door, I instead found this:
|Feel free to marvel at the glorious poo-colored carpet.|
I've already checked with my usual suspects of people who drop funny things off on my door, and nobody has yet to fess up.
On the bright side, it is a boy.