Excerpt: All's Fair in Love and War

My children have everything they could possibly want for or, not even just want for, just wish for. I’ve given them everything so they wouldn’t turn out the way they have. I’ve given them everything, and somehow it’s made it worse, if that’s at all possible. I’m only twenty-five, I’m not really equipped to handle four children, but it’s what happens, I guess, when you are in “for-real-oh-my-gosh-this-is-great” love when you are only seventeen.
Add on the fact that you live in a redneck, backwoods area of Florida, and you are around boys who don’t understand that yes, you can get pregnant on your first time; and no, condoms are not supposed to have holes in them, and you have a huge problem. A problem that grows until your mother one day asks why you are getting fat. That kind of problem turns into two screaming, red headed tantrum throwing girls that you promise to take care of with the kind of enthusiasm that you promise to take care of your first puppy with. The kind of joy and happiness that comes before the puppy takes its first crap on the floor.

And, that kind of joy can only be followed with more joy, right? You turn 19, you meet the love of your life, he’s tall, dark and handsome, and 5 years older than you, and of course, you love him instantly. He encourages you to go to college and promises to take care of your children like they were really, really his. Crosses his heart and hopes to die kind of promise, even. It just makes you melt into his arm. You are on the pill, so this time you don’t need a condom, which is great, since apparently no one with a penis took health class, and your new boyfriend admits he’s never used a condom.
This leads to some apprehension and promises that he never slept with anyone who was “slutty” or looked like they were carrying a venereal disease, because it’s all about the cover of the book, apparently.

Of course, this type of prince charming can’t last long, because normally, once they sweep you away on the white horse, you find out that they are gay, or that they really, really love their mommy, and something happens to make things go awry. There is always that slim chance that you find them in bed with someone else, too, that could possibly throw a wrench into the whole “getting married and living happily ever after” scenario.

So, about the age of 20, you find out that you are pregnant again, with twins, again, only this time, of the male variety. This kind of joy can happen twice, folks. Apparently that old fable about lightening not striking twice was just for people who actually learned from the first strike. Not you, though, oh no. You never learn, do you?