Diggity! (or Why Your Momma Talks to Homeless People)

Well, by the time you are reading this, my sweet boy(s), you will have figured out that your mom loves to talk (all state in high school, not to brag).  However, in addition to chatting to the usual suspects, Mommy has real conversations with the coffee place people, the farmers at the market (which, I swear, is why we always get the BEST tomatoes), etc.  However, I also think that it is important to connect with those people on the edge of society.  Please don't ever humiliate me by thinking you are better than other people.  You have been given a zillion things and opportunities that most people only dream of.  Until you know someone else's story, do not make assumptions about them.  And never think you are better.  But by the grace of God go you (well, God and Momma because I assure you, you will never be homeless on my watch).

But, anyway, back to the point.

Don't panic, I don't follow homeless men down back alleys and I avoid suspicious characters completely (Daddy would throw a fit).  But I do have quite the rapport with the slightly touched guy who collects cans around the University of Denver (and I mean he carries hundreds if not THOUSANDS on this Asian bamboo stick contraption across his shoulders and zooms around on his bike -- the guy must be in the best cardio shape of any homeless guy ever.  And. he. does. it. at. altitude.)  You would not know he is off until he swears to you that he is on DU's payroll as the official can collector.  Now the school is all about "A Private School for the Common Good" but hiring a can collector seems extreme even for DU.  And, if he does get paid for this, I really want some of my tuition money back.  Seriously.  Write me a check.

Anyway, this posting is not about that guy.  There is another homeless guy I chat with.  He loves my ass (what can I say?) and often wears pants the color of orange sherbet.  And they are always immaculate.  Somehow I have complete access to a washer and dryer as well as a dozen dry cleaners within five miles of the abode and I always have avocado or spinach on my clothes.  This guy lives on the street and has USMC style creases.  Clearly, he does not have an affectionate toddler who loves to eat but still... it just seems wrong.

Anyway, back to the point...

When I got pregnant the second time, I knew before I actually missed my period because I fully believe in those Test Five Days Earlier! pregnancy tests.  Yes, I know it is mildly obsessive but it is the only thing I am anal about so cut me some slack (well, that and eating organically).  And besides I only test if I feel that I am pregnant and, for the record, I have never been wrong.  So there.

Back to the point again...

So, I test positively on Saturday and it is Monday.  I know I am not showing because I have been pregnant for approximately an hour.  Sherbie comes zooming up to me to walk me to class (I LOVE that, by the way) and this is our conversation:

Sherbie:  Your ass is looking mighty fine today.  As usual.
me: Thank you, sir.  Your pants are nicely pressed.  As usual.
Sherbie: Thank you, miss.  I have some news for you and about you.  I had a vision, if you will.
me:  Oh really?  Please share.

Sherbie: 1) You're pregnant.
me: Uh-huh.

{For all I know, I could be talking to God; I am intrigued to say the least}.

Sherbie: 2) And it's a boy.
me: Uh-huh. (But there are 19 boys in Hub's family and 3 girls.  Of course it is a boy.  Not that he knows the family tree.  But still).
Sherbie: 3) And you're gonna name him Diggity.
me:  This, my friend, is where we part ways.

However, I was/am pregnant.  It is a boy (we found out today).  And, yes, his final prediction/vision was correct.  We have given him the call sign of Diggity.