Epiphany.

I now interrupt this otherwise obscenity- and inappropriate humor-filled blog for a brief post that's halfway deep and serious. I promise after this post I'll go back to being the usual offensive Prego that we all know and love... or not, whatever.

Have you ever noticed that life's big epiphanies occur at the strangest moments? I always expect them to hit me at movie-perfect moments where I stare wistfully into space and some deep and moving song comes on in the background and the camera slowly pans in to a close up of my face, and through my eyeball and pupil into my brain and you can see all the little goblins in there coming together to produce important life lessons. Or something. I always picture my life being way more dramatic and cinematic than it is.

But instead the big realizations hit you at strange, otherwise mundane moments. I had one tonight as I arrived home from my job waiting tables at a high-end Italian restaurant. My feet, legs and back hurt. I wasn't even sure if I was going to be able to actually get out of my car. I had the cell phone prepared to call A to come outside and cart my prego ass into the house. I was exhausted from a long shift and a long day and just wanted to come home.

When I pulled up to our house, I realized how happy I was to see the lights in the house on. To have someone to come home to -- my best friend, the man that in less than two weeks is going to be my husband, and the father of our child. Inside the house, he's probably sitting in his boxers on the computer, and our dog -- OUR dog now, he used to be MY dog -- will be rolling on the floor with his stuffed toys. Probably his stuffed Bear.

If you'd told me a year ago that this was going to be my reality, I would have blown you off and told you to go fuck yourself. Even when I first realized I was pregnant, the only thing I could think was, this isn't how it's supposed to be. I was supposed to graduate college, I was supposed to find a fabulous job that would kickstart my career quickly after graduation, I was supposed to get the hell out of this city/town and travel the world. I was supposed to never get married and never settle down, and probably never have kids. I'm talented at what I do, I'm pretty and smart and motivated and the whole world lay at my feet.

Instead, I'm 22, still waiting tables because the job market in journalism is so depressingly shitty, getting married in a quickie Vegas shotgun wedding, and visibly pregnant with my first child. There was a point in my life where I would've thought this was all wrong. And I'm sitting there in my car looking at the front door of my house and can't wait to go inside to my almost-husband and lay on the couch feeling my baby kicking.

I used to think this isn't how it's supposed to be -- but now I'm realizing there is no "supposed to be" in life. I read a quote somewhere... probably Facebook... that said, "If you want to see God laugh, tell him your plans." It amazes me how much that's true.

In the meantime, I'll be here, in our little house on the cul de sac with cats in the front yard that run when they see people because they've been kicked so many times (I wouldn't know why), with my fiance' in his boxer shorts and torn up Bad Religion concert t-shirt and our dog that is species-confused. Just in case you need me.

*end serious post*