Sixth Pregnancy-He turned 4 yesterday!

I should have written this yesterday, but here it is. Nearly five years ago, my husband (then my cohabiting living in sin boyfriend) and I were getting ready for Christmas. I was going to start a new job (as a nanny) in January, and so December was just a time to focus on family and friends.
I was on the mini-pill, a progesterone only pill, because the large doses of the combination pills made me depressed. The POP gave me migraines, but what can you do. The only problem with these pills was that you HAD to take them the same time every day. If you were more than two hours late, you were screwed.
So there we were, going to Christmas parties and family gatherings that lasted well into the night. Add in the time spent wrapping gifts, shopping, and the wine consumed at such gatherings...and many times I would realize it was much later than I thought.
My husband, who shall now be christened "Cornbread", used to set an alarm on his watch to remind me. But if I'd left my pills at home, I just had to wait to take them.
And then one night I forgot. And was too tired to get up and take one, albeit several hours too late. I figured, oh well, no one gets pregnant skipping one pill...
Unless you are on a low-dose pill.
One that doesn't ALWAYS suppress ovulation, but instead makes the cervix unfriendly and impassable.
And you'd taken it late a few times already that month.
Fast forward another month. I've started a nanny job for a fourth month old infant. I have no symptoms of pregnancy, but my period, which was early last month (low-dose pills aren't strong enough to regulate menstruation) doesn't show exactly four weeks after the last. I figure it'll arrive around the time of the month the one the month prior to the early one did.
It doesn't.
My brother had been out to "fix" my car, which meant after he finished I had to have it towed (leaking gasoline) to the repair shop. We are also looking for a new apartment since our lease will expire in a few months. Some friends are interested in subletting their apartment to us.
The day my car is released from the shop, I drive it home to run out of gas on the highway. I think something awful is wrong (forgetting it had been LEAKING GAS when I sent it to be fixed) and call the tow company. While waiting for Bread to pick me up, he gets a phone call that we won't get the friend's apartment.
That's two things. I figure, why not go ahead and take a pregnancy test to top it all off?
Previous to this, in our relationship, a pregnancy test was just a way to get my period to start. I would seriously pee on the stick, wipe, and find my period had started. Right. That. Minute. So I thought this might just happen again.
There we were, in the bathroom. It was positive.
"I knew it!" Cornbread declared. He still talks about how he knew before I did.
So, eight months later, I pushed out little "Cornbread Muffin", a boy, nine-fucking-pounds-eight-fucking-ounces. Damn right I had an epidural. Damn thing didn't do a thing for me!
Happy birthday, Cornbread Muffin.
If I feel like it, I may someday post the labor story.