The following essay was written by Susie Sunshine of Underpaid Kept Woman.

My family planning started way back in the third grade. In elementary school, family planning involved writing down the number, gender and names of your future children and then sharing this sacred information with your closest friends via passed note. I didn't know where babies came from, but I knew I would have four daughters named Elizabeth, Victoria, Ashley and Jessica and woe to anyone on the playground who fancied those names for their future children!

I decided my parenting approach would be to emulate the best qualities of television mothers I admired, as they seemed less grouchy and more fun than their real life counterparts. Ma on Little House on the Prairie was patient and cheerful with children, beloved by all, and handled Mrs. Olson with subtle snark. Mrs. Cosby was hip and well-dressed, always had time to listen to her kids and wasn't afraid to get her groove on and dance in the living room. Mrs. Brady had a housekeeper, a good sense of humor and helped with homework. Mrs. Keaton was affectionate and supportive of her children even when their political beliefs clashed with her own. Mrs. Cunningham made nice dinners and wore cute aprons. I could do that!

Time passed. I got married and a year later, pregnant. With my childhood fantasy of a houseful of little girls about to come true, I concentrated on the important things: Is it cannibalism to serve Teddy Grahams at a tea party for stuffed teddy bears? What is Barbie's current vehicle? Is Ken still in the picture or has she finally found someone more her intellectual equal? Can an outfit ever be too pink?!

And then Reality snuck into the picture. Actually, it was more like Reality LEAPT in the picture, stomped on the picture, smeared the picture with a huge, steamy bucket of tar, and then smashed the entire arrangement over my head.

UltraSound Technician: Congratulations! It's a boy!

Me: wahhowhuh?

Husband: How wonderful! A son!

Me: whohuhwahwah?

Husband: For the first time ever, she's speechless! Amazing!

And then I remembered my OTHER childhood fantasy- the one where I wasn't a big sister but a younger sister with a nice, older brother. His name was Brian and he dealt with the mean boys who dared bother me. He also had cute friends who found me charming and (after gaining his permission, of course) asked me out for ice cream and pizza.

I would give my daughters the older brother I never had, what a great idea!

My impression of Reality is that she is a stand-up comedian with sharp ears and a very long memory. She also likes to repeatedly poke my fantasies in the eye like a sizzling porterhouse on a grill.

I say this because not only was that first baby a boy, but so was the next one.

And the next.

And the one after that.

Many details of my childhood have gotten hazy over time, I'm quite certain I NEVER once specified FOUR BOYS in the notes I passed.

To keep those around me entertained, (i.e. laughing to the point of shitting themselves) Reality likes to take everything I've ever foolishly said, given it a mighty twist and hand it back with a ribbon and a smirk.

Me: "What's the deal with these C-section statistics? Those people must have bad uteri or something. Good thing I'm from a long line of women who birth babies as easy as passing gas! No worries here!"

Reality: "How would you prefer your four C-sections, emergency or scheduled?"

Me: "This baby sleeps like an angel! I thought people said newborns are exhausting-he's been sleeping all night since he was two weeks old!"

Reality: "Ooh, just for that, your next three get a triple helping of colic!"

Me: "I'm so glad I was pregnant in the winter. What sort of moron gets all pregnant and swollen in the summer?! Plan ahead, people!"

Reality: "Oh, this is gonna be good! We'll have the next kid arrive in September after one of the hottest summers on record. The third kid, we'll spring on her in August the day after she moves into a new house! The last one will be in October so she can juggle a birthday AND Halloween costumes at nearly the same time. Genius!"

Me: "Those poor women on bed rest. I think I'd go insane."

Reality: "Six weeks of bed rest, coming up!"

Reality and I have a pretty close relationship now. I'm truly grateful for my four boys. They are way smarter, funnier and a hell of a lot more entertaining than my imaginary daughters ever were.

I've also learned to keep from saying much, lest the crazy bitch overhear.