Boss.

It’s a little past midnight, Rob just called to ask what size of sneaker Riley wears, and I’m debating going to the kitchen for a snack. I feel like, the second I leave the room, Riley will wake up and go crazy searching for me, which has been going on a lot at this hour. I’m not sure if he’s suddenly more clingy because he senses that another baby is coming, or because I’ve been less available lately, or because he’s rebelling against toddlerhood and would rather stay my little baby for as long as possible, but I’m simultaneously tickled pink and getting salty at the thought of carrying him around forever.

These are my thoughts right now: I want to turn on the light to study, but we learned in class that sleeping with a light on increases your risk for a specific kind of cancer, and seeing as Riley is half Rob, and Rob’s mom’s side is riddled with cancer, I don’t want to risk it. I wish I remembered which kind of cancer lists “sleeping with a light source turned on” as a risk factor.

In truth, I feel myself slipping in my schoolwork. I’m not caring as much about getting high grades, and it definitely shows. I feel as though I’m not on top of my studying – not as much as I usually am, anyway – but when I step back and compare my studying habits of today to those of three months ago, I honestly feel like I’ve improved. Maybe the stuff I used to do just doesn’t cut it anymore, what with all the other priorities that clog my mind at any given moment. Or maybe the exams just got harder. (I’m leaning toward the latter.)  All I know is, my grades have fallen a bit and I’m positively aching to leave school the minute I step foot there. Point blank: I’ve been really salty when I’m anywhere but home. I just want to stay home, turn on the air conditioning, read, hang out with Riley, and focus on myself and my pregnancy for a bit.

Micah has been kicking like crazy, and I noticed that he kicks even more when I’m at school. My brother says that it’s because I’m the most stressed when I’m at school, which means my body temperature goes up, my blood pressure rises, my respiration rate also rises – pretty much all of my vital signs soar. This, in turn, causes Micah to go, “What the fuck, Mom? Get your shit together.”

Honestly, guys, I’m really wondering if I’ll make it to October. It’s not that I don’t think I can accomplish all of my goals – give birth to a healthy baby, bond with him for a week and a half, peel myself away from him to return to the grind, balance motherhood with work and school, launch a big promotional campaign for my editing business, learn about the dynamics of having two young kids, keep up communication with Rob, stay in touch with loved ones, manage a household, do lots of editing, take a full class load without failing any classes, have my first semester of hospital duty, and manage to SLEEP – cuz, strangely, that stuff? I know I can handle all of it – except for that last part. Sleep? Forget about it. Sleep and I are going to be distant acquaintances until October.

I tell myself that the next semester starts on June 14th, and then there’s approximately four months from that point until I’m on vacation again, and that four months is no big thing. But, really? Really, what I foresee in my near future in my hair a mess, my eye bags down to the floor, my appearance all kinds of unkempt and dissheveled, and my self-esteem plummeting because of that fact. Basically, I don’t see myself having any time for Me. For the myriad of responsibilities that I have to everything and everyone else? Yeah, no sweat, I’ll make the time. But for myself? Nah. I just wouldn’t be able to keep up the juggling act if I had to take care of Me, too.

I’m aware of how awful that sounds, and I really don’t intend on playing the martyr. I figure, in October, I’ll turn 27, and I’ll get a haircut and color, and buy myself some new clothes, and start doing aerobics on the regular, and I’ll feel better about myself. In the meantime, I’m fine with letting my grades slide from “uber-spectacular” to “better than average” if it means keeping my sanity intact.

That small bit of reprioritizing – giving my ego a rest from feeding on my “I got the highest grade on the exam!” high – is making all the difference. These days, I’m enjoying the hell out of every second that’s not spent in the classroom and making the most of my time in the classroom (usually by writing lists and making studying outlines). I’m learning to finagle the system to my liking, and that makes me feel like everything’s going to be okay.

Getting un-stuck from my rut.

I’m always busy, so it might sound strange that I feel like I’m stuck in a rut. Thing is, it’s easy to feel that way.

All I do each day is be responsible. I go to class, study, work, plan, budget, take care of the fam, take care of the household, keep in touch with my folks and in-laws, have daily Skype dates with Rob, and write. If I’m lucky, I get to write an email to a friend. But that, right there? That’s my typical day. No silliness, no craziness, no real drama. Just action. All. The. Time. And though I know that it’s all for the best and will pay off in the end, right now I just feel blah. My aura is a boring off-white. I need… something.

*****

Fast-forward three days. I find out I might have gestational diabetes, and all of a sudden, life is a little less boring. Not to say that I’m exactly excited or at all happy by this turn of events, but it forced me to change up my diet and routine. I’ve cut out all non-whole grain carbs from my diet; I force myself to exercise for an hour every day; and despite the annoyances caused, I drink a minimum of two liters of water per day.

Maybe it’s the newly-found adrenaline rush. Maybe it’s the uber-healthy food. Maybe it’s the fact that other little things have fallen into place in the past 24-hours. All I know is, my rut? I’m not stuck in it anymore.

Reunited and it feels so good!

Not with Rob, sadly. But almost just as good: with the internet! Man, I’ve missed you guys!

Quick recap: I’m now 26 weeks pregnant, gaining waaaayyyy too much weight because I spend most of my days sitting in a classroom, and kicking ass at school. I’ve mellowed out on the editing, since I haven’t had a working internet connection in almost two months, and though I’m committed to finishing all the projects that have been sidelined, I’m also wondering if now is the right time to go full-steam ahead with the business. I spend a minimum of 10 hours per day/four days a week wearing my school uniform, and that number’s going to grow in the next 15 months. Micah’s due the first week of August (though if a recent dream means what I think it means, he’ll be arriving sooner than expected). Plus, in this whirlwind of events, I’ve gotten my old writing mojo back. Can’t say I’ve been writing up as big a storm as I’ve been studying, but it feels so. unbelievably. good to get the old tingles just by putting a story down on paper.

NOTE: This new story just happens to be crazy-influenced by my time here in the Philippines, so writing it makes me feel extra purposeful. This is extremely important since all of my friends back home have been making huge life changes that I’m not around to share in, and I need to be constantly reminded why I’m away from them. I shed a lot of tears over all the awesomeness that I’m missing out on.

ANYWAY. It’s summertime in the Philippines, which usually isn’t cause for me to bat a lash. I’m almost done with my 2nd trimester of pregnancy, though, and like I said, I’ve been gaining way too much weight. [You’re supposed to gain 25-35 lbs throughout the whole pregnancy; I’ve already gained 40 lbs and I’m only 2/3 of the way done.] This means that I’m positively sweltering in the tropical heat. Like, I take a cold shower, and the second I step outside of the bathroom, I’m drenched in sweat.

Riley’s as much a as sweetheart now as ever. Thing is, though, he isn’t talking yet. He’s 20 months old, and honestly, even though I know that most kids are talking by this age, I’m not really worried – and that makes me wonder if I’m not being proactive enough. That’s the way it goes, though, right? Either you’re too involved or you’re not involved enough with your kids. *sigh*

…..

Funny feeling in my gut today. I just want to sit on a deserted beach somewhere, under an umbrella, and watch the waves crash.

That old swagga.

I’ve been sick for a week, and generally just feeling yuck. My head hurts all the time, my new ob-gyn (LOVE her!) has told me to squeeze more light exercise into my sched, and all I keep thinking is When the hell will I be able to breathe through my nose like a normal person?

This sucks, y’all. Not only am I behind on my editing gigs, but I can’t even cook or eat with any kind of gusto. I mean, I can’t smell or taste, and ya know, that kind of puts a damper on things. Not to mention, Rob leaves in exactly a week from today and I’d like to get all romantical before he’s on the other side of the world.

*le sigh*

On an angrier tip: Did I mention that ALL.OF.MY.ACCOUNTS were hacked into once again? Even my bank account and my Paypal account, folks. I’ve decided to limit my internet use until I can buy myself a decent laptop with all the safety trimmings. Hopefully, it won’t be too long till that’s the case.

School ends in three weeks, editing is about to jump off into new heights (once this damn cold/flu thing goes away), and I’m about to get all designer/fashionista up in this joint. First stop: A new haircut.

I’ve been growing out my hair for more than a year, and it’s the longest it’s been since I was in high school. It’s past the middle of my back, folks! About four inches above my ass! And as much as I love it, I also must admit that I don’t know what the hell to do with it. I start my clinical duty in a month, and because it’s so long, I’m mandated to put it all up in a bun every shift, and ya know what? That’s just not enough sexy for me.

So. I’ve decided to perm and cut it, waaaay short. Selena Gomez-short. I was actually inspired by a family movie that Rob and Riley love; one of the characters had a similar cut, and Rob said I could rock it.

Also? Saw some cute-as-all-hell summer dresses that of course don’t come in size prego. I’m gonna buy them anyway. Maybe get some cloth and get someone to make prego variations for me? (I’d do it myself but don’t have the time.) I also MUST invest in some sexy and comfortable prego-sandals. In case you didn’t know, the wrong footwear can mess up your back somethin’awful – especially when you’re pregnant – and I just don’t feel like having to deal with pain for the sake of looking good. Not when I’m 20+ heavier and chasing a toddler in the tropical heat.

I called the embassy and confirmed that Baby #2 is definitely going to be American, so we’re not going to be visiting NYC this month. I WILL, however, find out if Baby #2 is a boy or a girl, and that’s very exciting.

And also on the expanding-the-fam tip? Someone kind of offered me a baby this week. It’s due in May and its mother is a 16-year old who really doesn’t want to be a mom quite yet (as I’m told, at least). The person who told me this heard on the grapevine that I’d like to one day adopt, and though that’s true and I would love baby/child who found its way to my doorstep as if it came from my womb, I don’t want to be the catalyst to make it happen. I put the bait out there by putting out word that I’m totally willing/able to adopt a baby, but I’d rather just help a new mother along and hope that she changes her mind about motherhood. Maybe she ends up loving this kid in all the right ways, and it’s exactly what she needs to become mature and responsible. Maybe her pregnancy saves her, makes her stronger, helps her to see love in the world, and becomes her light.

Or maybe she gives birth, neglects the kid, and I see it naked in the street, covered in dust and feces.

All I know is, it’s not up to me that she gives it away. I’m going to give her some of Riley’s old toys and clothes, and let her know that she has support, and if she decides that she’s really not yet ready to move into the M-hood, my heart is always open.

*****

I miss Beacon’s Closet. I was on their website and saw a couple of things in my size that I would love love love to own, but alas, I’m not in NYC to rock all that hotness, and it’s just not appropriate to flaunt that kind of swag around here.

In the Philippines, second-hand stores are called “ukay-ukay” and I found one right by the house that has the DOPEST clothes for, like, a dollar. Bonus? The clothes fit over my prego tummy.

I’m gearing up to start my summer semester in a month, and hoping that everything continues to go well for Baby #2. Riley and his new nanny are getting along famously, and she’s assured me that she can handle him and Baby #2 on her own, so there’s no need to look for another nanny. And Rob and I? We’re happier than ever and looking forward to everything life’s about to throw at us.

I’m feeling flyer than ever these days. Can’t wait to see what it feels like when I’m actually healthy.

Everything’s going my way.

It’s exam time yet again, and I’m so in over my head, people, I can’t begin to tell you how suffocated I’m feeling. My studying plans were interrupted by the sudden availability of a nanny for the kids; I had to drop everything and pick her up (along with her aunt and mom, since they wanted to  make sure we’re decent people and wouldn’t sell her into the sex trade or anything like that). And now? I’ve skipped out on two exams because I’m just not prepared to take them. I’m studying like crazy today and tonight, and hoping that the new nanny sticks around (although at this point, I’m uber paranoid that she’s not only unfocused in her duties, but that she’ll up and leave after her lack of focus allows something awful to happen to Riley).

For now, Rob’s still here so he can keep an eye on the new nanny (who also happens to be his second cousin). Because he’s here, I can relax a bit and get down to business. I’m hoping that after this week, I’ll be more relaxed and can focus on teaching her everything she needs to know about taking care of our little guy. Also, I’m hoping that she stops being so disturbingly quiet and starts to display some sort of personality other than “scared shitless of nothing in particular.”

Ha! Look who’s talking! A couple hours ago, I was beside myself with worry and anxiety over shit I really don’t have any power over. So what if the nanny leaves, and I’m one year behind? So what if my dad’s a royal jerk and my brother has a tendency to treat me like garbage? So what if people talk about me and don’t get the story right?

I know the story, and so do my loved ones (and you do, too, if you’ve been following along). I know who I am, and I know what I’m striving towards, and that’s all I really need right now. Because you know what? I’m kicking ass just by being me. I’ve set up an editing business that’s making me enough money so that I can take care of myself and my kid. [Rob, on the other hand, is kind of high-maintenance and requires his own budget LOL] That editing business is thriving and pushing me to new limits in my work as a writer and editor. I’m meeting so many wonderful people through the business and touching minds with some old friends, too. And also? While doing this, I’m taking care of myself and the baby that’s growing inside of me, and still managing to look sexy and turn heads. I’m writing up a storm of my own fiction and non-fiction, cooking dope-ass meals for the fam, taking Riley to see my grandmas and other extended family all the time, keeping the lines of communication going with my awesome friends and family abroad, and generally keeping everything in my domestic life in check.

Icing on the cake?

I just found out that my GPA is ranked in the top 10 at school. This, even though everyone cheats and I haven’t cheated a single time. This, even though I have a family to take care of. This, even though I run my own business.

Ya know what? I’m pretty damn convinced: I’ve got everything under control, and everything’s going to be okay.

14 weeks pregnant and suffering from insomnia.

I can’t believe I’m even writing this, but you guys, I’m a hop, jump and skip away from being at the midway point with Baby #2, and even though we planned this baby and everything is all good with the pregnancy, it’s just not sinking in. I’m still relatively thin all-around so that no one at school has noticed that I’m pregnant (at least, I don’t think so), and because I’m trying to be all business at school and with my clients over at my editing gig, I don’t really talk too much about Baby #2. This is a definite change from my pregnancy with Riley. At that time, I wasn’t doing a damn thing but keeping myself healthy and sane, so it was much, much, much easier to, well, keep myself healthy and sane. This time around? Not so much.

My biggest problem is fitting a balanced and healthy diet into my schedule alongside some water aerobics and time to decompress from a long and hectic day. There just aren’t enough hours in a day, and I have to wonder how other working moms pull off being pregnant. Because this right here? It’s like scaling Mount Everest while wearing nothing but rollerskates.

I’ve had a stressful week and a half, but things seem to be looking a lot better, and now that WordPress and my laptop have agreed to cooperate once again, I can tell you guys all about it. Tomorrow. Right now, it’s 1:30 a.m. and I need some sleep.

Backtracking.

It’s the ides of January, and I’m nursing a cold. Riley’s just gotten over a slight fever that lasted a couple of days. Rob’s laid up in bed with a worse version of my stuffy nose and lethargy. And in the next week, everything’s going to change.

Not only will we get over this round of sickness, but Rob’s mom arrives from New York, I have midterms, and my search for a nanny goes into hyper overdrive. It’s about four weeks till Rob leaves for the States, and because there is no daycare or babysitting here, I have to find a nanny to watch my little guy while I’m at school. The position is a live-in one, which means that the nanny will be rooming with Joy in the downstairs maid’s quarters. It also means that I’m hoping we get someone whose appetite doesn’t resemble that of a dinosaur.

I’ve contacted several domestic worker agencies in the hope that they get me what I need: A mature and responsible woman in her 30s (at least) who has had extensive experience caring for babies and toddlers. She must be hard-working, fast-learning, and know English fairly well. (The latter means that if I tell her to do something, not only will she understand the words coming out of my mouth, but she’ll pick up on subtle commands as to how the task should be done.) Oh, and it would be awesome if she could cook.

These days, my schedule looks like this:

4 a.m. – Wake up. Wash dishes, cook breakfast and lunch. Get dinner ready to be cooked when I get home. Edit papers. Write. Clean up upstairs. Walk the dog. Eat breakfast. Set up lunchbox of healthy snacks/meals. Shit, shower, and shave. Brush teeth. Riley wakes up, so we brush his teeth. Feed Riley as we watch MTV, CNN and BBC. Go to school for most of the day. [Rob takes care of the rest of Riley’s routine.]

Sometime in the afternoon – Finish editing papers, cleaning, cooking. Feed Riley. Bathe Riley. Study. Do homework. Write. Wow, it’s already 8 p.m. and I’m exhausted! Somehow, though, between work, school, spending time with Rob and Riley, taking care of my brother, and handling household responsibilities, I don’t sleep until around 10 p.m. I’m just lucky it’s that early; Rob lets me sleep and he takes over whatever needs to get done. He usually doesn’t get to sleep until 3 or 4 a.m.

That’s pretty much us in a nutshell.

We have tons to get done in the next two months, including figuring out why the hell my transcript never came from my first college, figuring out if we have to get married in order for Baby #2 to be American, and quite possibly taking a trip to the States in order to tie the knot. Also, I start my clinicals, break in a new nanny, and wrap my brain around the reality of being a mom of two.

This is a lot to digest, and in the meantime, while I’m wrestling with all of these issues, I figure I’m going to backtrack a few months. Not only do I have many, many adorable pictures of Riley that have never seen the light of the internet, but there have been a few issues here and there that I’d like to touch on. Like my new-found habit of mending burnt bridges with earnest and apologetic emails, and the freedom of letting my vegetable garden dry out.

I’ve gotta keep at the grind if I don’t want to fall behind. In the meantime, though, I hope you’re all doing well.

When it rains, it pours.

I don’t have my Filipino driver’s license yet, and anyway, I’m not quite sure I want to drive around in my parents’ huge SUV – not in these dirt streets that were essentially made for motorcycles. Rob doesn’t have a Filipino driver’s license either. And while he doesn’t mind breaking the rules to get to Point B, that’s only possible when my brother, aka The Keeper of the Car, is in a really, really, really generous mood and I’m in a really, really, really risk-taking kind of mood. Those two events line up once in a blue cheese moon, so in order to go anywhere, I essentially have to ask my younger brother to chauffer us around.

I haven’t mentioned my brother onhere very much, and that’s for good reason.  He’s not – oh, how should I put this? – the easiest person in the world to deal with. Our relationship revolves around me, acting like I’m his mom, and him, giving me pains like only a teenager/20-something can give to his mother. Our mom prefers it this way, and this is how it’s been for as long as I can remember. Needless to say, many, many therapy sessions have been focused on this strange knot of familial relations.

Anywhos, now that I’m pregnant, I find myself cutting through red tape very often with my brother, if only to negotiate when he can drive me to my prenatal appointments. And today was an especially headache inducing episode of WTF!?-ness, as my dear little brother chose to ignore my request to leave the house at 1 p.m. We left the house, instead, at 2 p.m., which is when the doors to my ob-gyn’s office are opened. And lo and behold: There I was, all the way down at #12. We ended up getting home six hours later. And then he had the nerve to cop an attitude with me because he was stuck at a nearby mall for six hours, twiddling his thumbs.

Look, dude, if you’da only listened to me, this wouldn’t have happened. Relax yourself and walk away before I snuff you.

This is where I should mention: I firmly believe that any court will dismiss violent charges against a pregnant woman. I mean, if the Twinkie defense worked-?

Yeah, so I had all of that retardedness to deal with, and also: The bill. Because in the good ol’ US of A, I had health insurance, so I never dropped a dime on health expenses and the hospital paid for my Metrocard to and from my appointment. Here? Every single drop of attention from anyone wearing anything even minutely resembling hospital scrubs comes straight. outta. my. pocket. (Except for 20% of lab fees. I think. I have to apply for that next week.) When I compare the fees to how much they would’ve been in the States had I not had insurance, I feel like I should be grateful. I mean, over here, at one of the best hospitals in the country, I paid $200 for a full blood workup. Now, don’t get me wrong: That’s a lot because I’m broke. But in the international scheme of things, that’s tiny compared to what I could’ve been charged. In a couple of weeks, I’ll find out how much a normal labor and delivery cost.

This whole money conversation would have gotten me feeling really upset, except for the fact that a couple of things have been going my way in that department. I don’t want to jinx them by mentioning what they are, but suffice it to say, I’m not worrying too much about finances. In a couple of months, Rob will be working and earning dollars, then I’ll definitely have nothing to worry about. As much as I hate to admit it, Rob was right. Him going back to NYC and making money really is the right thing for us as a family – even if the kids and I are gonna miss the hell out of him.

And icing on the cake of things to worry about: Midterms are coming up, Rob leaves in about six weeks, and we still don’t have a nanny.

As of yesterday, no one was lined up for the position, but as of right now, there are four ladies vying for it. I still haven’t decided who to pick.

Hodgepodge: Autumn, connectedness, and killer morning sickness.

Something about autumn always makes me pensive and thoughtful. Maybe it’s the abrupt change from sweltering NYC summer heat to calm and collected, cool breezes. Maybe it’s knowing that school is around the corner, and carefree days and late, late drunken nights are to be put on hold. Maybe it’s because I know my birthday is coming up. Whatever it is, autumn does something to me, and the weather right now, so reminiscent of autumn, is making me feel emotions I’d long ago sacked away in a bottom drawer. Nostalgia, pure and ripe, is dripping from my chin. My heart is bursting, and not just beating, with raw, explosive energy. My soul is convulsing with life. I feel so utterly connected to every passing moment, and yet unbelievably tethered to all the days that made them possible. And knowledge – a great, wide, lapping sea of knowledge – is available and pristine and urging me to jump in. I feel it coursing through my veins just as I’m lapping it up, lapping through it, laps for days that never tire me.

At this specific time, with this specific pregnancy, in this specific place, everything I need to happen is happening. And despite the crazy-often headaches and vomiting that accompany morning sickness and the body aches and pains and general mayhem of carrying another life inside my body while carrying my own and my family’s on my back, I am utterly and amazingly grateful.

I don’t want to go back to NYC.

Not yet, anyway.

This realization hit fast and hard after my mom told me that she wants me to come back to New York to give birth to Baby #2. In theory, it sounds like a great idea: My mom and dad can spend time with Riley and meet Baby #2; I have no worries or doubts about Baby #2’s citizenship; I can see my friends… Then, umm…

*scratching head*

*knitting brows*

*long sigh*

Yeah, I think the list of reasons to go back to New York just ended.

I love New York. I do. So much. And I miss it. I do. Kind of. Maybe. A little…

The thing is, I haven’t done anything yet. I haven’t gotten my nursing degree, or lifted my editing business way off the ground, or finished another novel. I haven’t secured a literary agent, or made enough money for a down payment on a house, or even chipped away at my debt. I haven’t done anything to warrant me coming back to New York and a life of… LOVE, yes. But also: heart-numbing and soul-wrenching debt and financial duress. And I just don’t want to go. Not for a vacation that I can’t afford. Not to see friends who will have to foot my bill because I’m dollar-broke. Not so that my kid’s first memories of New York is of Mommy and Daddy repeatedly telling him he can’t [insert fun thing] because money’s tight.

This is depressing, you guys. But it’s something that I just might have to do. All because Baby #2’s American citizenship is in jeopardy. According to the U.S. Embassy (Manila) website:

In order for a child/applicant to be documented as a U.S. citizen, the U.S. citizen parent(s) must:

1.  have been a U.S. citizen at the time of the child’s birth,

2. meet the U.S. physical presence requirements (transmission) to transmit citizenship (the transmission requirements depend on the date of birth of the child and the legal relationship between the parents at the time of the birth of the child); and

3.  establish a biological and legal relationship with the child/applicant.

Now, I fit # 1 and #3 with no problem. But it’s that numero dos that’s giving me a headache and making me unable to stay sane. See, I only fit that requirement if I prove my physical presence in the U.S. It’s called the Transmission Requirement, and it says that in order for my U.S. citizenship to be passed on to Baby #2, I have to prove my “continuous physical presence in the U.S. or its outlying possession for one year before the applicant’s birth.” That means, the year before Baby #2 sees the light of day, I have to be a resident of the good ol’ U.S. of A. But that isn’t the case. Because I’m here.

There’s a loophole to all this.

See, the above only applies to Baby #2 because Rob and I aren’t married.

If we were married, then it would become a little easier. (I think.) We’d have to prove mine and Rob’s “cumulative physical presence in the U.S. or its outlying possessions for five years, two after the citizen parent’s 14th birthday and before the applicant’s birth.” The fact that Rob would be living and working in the States at the time of Baby #2’s birth would be a feather in our cap.

As it stands, though, I’m technically and legally single, and that means that the Philippines government doesn’t give a damn about where Rob is or where he’s working. Which means that his name wouldn’t be on Baby #2’s birth certificate. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is another set of problems altogether.

I wish I could say that I wish I’d just done more research before getting knocked up, but the truth is, I want this baby so badly that I would’ve gotten pregnant whether or not I knew about all this legal mumbo-jumbo.

I just have to figure out how best to proceed with making sure Baby #2 is a legitimate American citizen. So that, ya know, when I am ready to go back to New York, I’ll have all my kids in tow.

*sigh*

It looks like I’m getting hitched.