OK. Before we get to the meat of the conversation kiddies: LOVE ISN'T ENOUGH. When you get married, remember that. It'll save you no end of confusion, pain and screaming at each other at 3:00 AM and annoying the neighbors.

The honeymoon is at a good resort—not one of the ones I'd been at, but that was OK, because the last thing I needed was some beefcake trying to show off.

Well, for the most part, the Kid's are quiet, so we…explore sexual positions. Starting with those that begin with the letter "A". Ron hasn't had as much experience as I had, so we get to do the Lewis and Clark, exploring uncharged territories and setting up camp. It's fun. Bedroom, bathroom, shower, beach, behind the beach… well, you get the idea.

Than it's over, and we get to come back home. We actually rent a house (his parents cut loose some of the Naco money…after asking me to keep watch. No, they don't like me that much, but after the last time he had money…).

There's also the prom.

Yes, you heard me right, the prom. After the honeymoon, we get to go to the prom, which is kinda backwards, if you think about it.

Still.

I don't know if Kim's going—according to Ron, while we were off on our honeymoon, she and Bonnie were having some kind of heart to heart. My guess is they flee to Bolivia

He gets the suit and I get the dress—which fortunately is still able to disguise that fact that I am getting a little thicker in the middle. (comet powers, yay. Hope you like the extra room kids, because I'm grounding you for this the minute you pop out.).

And we show up. Now Mr. Barkin knows, I've been told, which is why we aren't greeted by cops or angry chaperones. Of course, the minute we walk in, all the gossip mongers are staring at us. I give them nasty smiles. The boys get: Yes, the buffoon has me and you don't. The girls get: Yes, I have the buffoon and you don't. Actually, I have Ron and you don't.

Then the gossipers swivel their eyes from us, and they get even bigger, if possible, because Kim and Bonnie just walked in behind us, arms linked, and definitely not "just friends." They both have very challenging looks on their faces, and not a hint of fear… really. Their knees aren't knocking.

Of course, I can see that Kimmie's about ready to faint if anyone so much as says "boo!" and so is Bonnie, but nobody does. Brick Flagg gets some ribbing, but he has Tara, and from the look on his face, he knew. I wonder how those dynamics played out?

So we have the prom…and it's pretty wonderful. I never went to one when I was his age (hell, who needs it), and so this is kinda fun. We stick close, and as the night wears on, I figure that this is a sign that everything's going to be ok.

Shows you what I know.

In the weeks after, we learn the lesson that I told you at the beginning. Now, I think I love Ron. There is a lot of giggling, horse play and wonderful hallmark moments.

But then other things intrude. The part about actually Living with someone instead of just dropping by for a roll in the hay.

By four weeks later, I'm apparent, with a nice bulge, and none of my clothes fit and I'm now wearing overalls and a T-shirt, because at the rate things are going I'll be bying new clothes every week if I try for them to fit. I'm not even bothering with Bras—every day they seem to be getting bigger, which of course has loving hubby (and remember this girls: All men are obsessed with breasts. It's genetic) staring because they're about to pop out the top of the overalls I'm wearing. He's a bit more careful about touching, because depending on the moods of the demon spawned creatures from hel- ahem, I mean my loving children, anything touching them can feel normal or like sandpaper…and if it's the latter, mommy Shego gets very angry. There's also no way to tell until you do it.

And that's part of it. Pregnancy. Let me show you how hormones and pregnancy can work in the new Stoppable house hold.

Ron: Shego? Why are you crying?

Me: BAAAWWWWWLLLL I'm ugly, my stomach is big, my boobs are hurting and I hate it!

Him: You're not ugly. You're beautiful.

Me: No I'm not! You're just saying that!

Him: No…really!

Me: Then rip my clothes off now!

Him: hesitates/does what I tell him to.

Me: SEE! UGLY UGLY! (Runs into bathroom and locks the door)/ AGGGHHH! YOU BASTARD! ISN'T IT ENOUGH THAT YOU'VE DONE THIS TO ME? (Runs into bathroom and locks the door).

Five minutes later: Come out of door and look at Ron.

Me: Let's have sex.

Him: But you…

Me: Angry later horny now.

And so on, and so on. Gotta love pregnancy. It gives you all the fun of living to a split personality lunatic, and you can't even argue you didn't do it to yourself.

And I wish that was all there was to it. But there isn't. See, we're living together now. At all times. Ron doesn't have school, and I don't work much now…so we have each other underfoot.

There's only so much sex you can have. You have to talk…and we do. But you also have to understand that you aren't clones, and that's where the problems come in. We're both used to having our space. I'm a super villainess, and he's a teenager, for which read: self centered and clueless.

I like to express myself loudly, and Ron doesn't know how to handle it, and a lot of times he resorts to Zombie Mayhem 3, hoping to play the game long enough for the problem to go away. That pisses me off, which makes him retreat, or gets him yelling back.

And I guess we do love each other, because it wouldn't hurt so bad when we're hurling insults at each other if we didn't. I wouldn't be locking myself in the bathroom crying if I didn't.

But I guess we do, but neither one of us have any clue how to stop. We love each other…but that isn't working.

We continue like this for nearly two months. I'm getting bigger (hell, I'm huge), and we're just… it's…

Sorry, this is hard.

It's not working.

Now, Kim and Bonnie are at college, living together, which means that their mom has oh, at least two years until the twins hit those magical teen years. It's not as terrible as it might seem, because they've been mad scientists since they were six, but anyway, I bet she's happy to have a little more tranquility in her life.

So, picture this.

Dr. Possible is getting ready to go out and eat with some friends. It's raining. There's thunder. She's in her nice raincoat.

She opens the door to a knock, wondering if they've come to pick her up…

And there's me.

Shego. In my overalls, and shirt, big as the Goodyear blimp…no jacket, soaked to the skin, hair slicked down every which way, and the only thing I'm able to say to her (well, blubber out) is that I think I've screwed up major and he left after an argument and I am such a stupid bitch and he hasn't come back and why did I do that. Repeat. Don't worry about seeming coherent.

I wasn't.

So she cancels her dinner, and calls Rabbi Katz, which is where Ron showed up, in a similar state, I might add (well, except for the pregnant part), sits me down and pours hot tea down my throat while getting dry clothes. The tea, I find out later, also includes a mild tranquilizer. Now I'm in a robe, and only mildly hysterical, and Dr. Possible is talking to me.

She's a doctor, she's used to this, I guess, but right now she's just listening and getting a mild frown on her face.

Then she asks me if I was born stupid, or just really, really worked hard to get my stupid diploma.

Well no, she doesn't, but the thought is plain on her face.

She casually mentions that if she was spending 24/7 with her husband, she'd be wanting to murder him as well. That we're both making a big mistake, because married doesn't mean you're glued together at the hip…and we both need to do something outside.

Later I find out that Rabbi Katz was saying the same thing.

When the get us together, we talk. I'm certain you don't want to hear about the week long process of "I hate you!" "But I love you!" crying, shouting wailing, etc. I would have been hugely amusing for anyone not part of it, but you had to be there.

So Ron is going to college—and it's a mark of just how far I've fallen that one of my first thoughts is that he's going to be around nice cute girls who don't scream or curse and show him just what a big mistake he made.

That was unfair. When I said it… I think I hurt him worse than anything I'd said previously had.

That's another thing about being in love. You can rip out your loved ones heart and stomp it into paste in front of them, depending on what you say.

But there's a little Karma, because it feels like you're doing it to your own heart at the same time. But we… get over that.

Or he forgives me, which is no small thing.

So Ron is going to be out of the house for at least a good half of the day.

That leaves me.

Now, Kim and Bonnie are renting just down the street. (Kim's parents had no problems, but Bonnie's sisters…did. Don't ask, not my story to tell, but it wasn't all flowers and light in her life), so Dr. Possible (Kim's mom, not the rocket lunatic), says that they can drop by when I'm alone.

But she also lets me know that I need someplace, something to do that… well is my space. Something for me to do, by myself, that lets everyone else know that I need my space right now. Trust her, she says, once the children are born, I'll need it more than ever.

Well, working as an assassin is kinda out of the question, as is international mercenary and sarcastic villain sidekick. So I have to go back a little further and remember what I liked to do before the comet hit.

Gardening.

Stop. Laughing.

I liked to garden when I was little. In fact, the first thing I remember about the comet hitting is being angry that my entire little garden was gone. Dr. Possible mentions thats good exercise, so I find myself at the house, looking at the back yard, which is a weed arboretum, and thinking about things I've haven't thought about in a long time.

So, while Ron's at school, I'm out there, weeding and getting the seeds I ordered and the fertilizer, and wearing a scarf on my head with my hair pinned up or done in one long braid, in overalls and an undershirt depending on my mood and what I intend to do with Ron when he returns.

And scarily enough, I'm having fun. I get a lawn chair so when I'm tired of work I can sunbathe (and that's another reason for having it be in the back yard, since sunbathing sans clothes might attract a bit of attention in the front yard), or read a novel. It's relaxing.

Dr. Possible was right. I need a space. So does Ron. We do love each other (at least in my book), but we need someplace to get away. Ron has his school and friends as he's getting his business degree, and I have my garden. I've always been a bit more…solitary than he is, and in any case a lot of people are still nervous about me.

Of course we haven't become monks and nuns—in fact in some respects things are jumping even more at the house, as I can now mention to Ron when he walks in the front door that I'm sweaty and we need to take a shower.

Now.

He never refuses.

We go out to eat, except when he cooks inside. (Yes Girls, my husband not only is good in the sack, loves me and has a sense of humor, he cooks. He likes to cook. By the way, you shouldn't grind your teeth like that.)

We… this is going to sound really strange, especially to those of you who have never done this… but we become friends. And accept that love isn't going to change the fact that we both have habits that drive the other crazy.

That we can get pissed at each other, even argue…but it doesn't' mean we don't' love each other. It just means we're two people with issues, like every single other person on the planet.

We have Dr. Possible and Rabbi Katz to thank for that…only I don't' think we'll ever be able to thank them enough.

Because it saved us.

To keep Dr. Possible off my back, especially since Hego mentioned it to her, I'm also taking online courses, to get my GED. Who needs high school when you're a super hero, I figured.

Oh yea, Hego. The rest of my family is very happy that I've abandoned evil…and that almost had me slaughter them all on the spot. Ron however came to my rescue, pointing out that I could be very evil—depending on what we were talking about.

I don't think Hego ever took sex-ed, not from the color he turned. The others were better…but still.

I don't know if I want my kids to associate with them. My family wasn't there for me… do I want to give them the chance to be there for the kids? I have this thought when Kim and Bonnie are over and Hego's telling a story (with him as the hero, of course) about some battle I'd forgotten about, but I feel my hands move up and shield my children.

Granted, I did some of the screwing up myself—but my family put in their part to screw me up. Should I risk letting them do the same to my children? My babies?

I don't know, but while I'm thinking of that, Ron puts his arm around me. He can tell I'm upset. Nobody else can, but he can.

Later that night, when everyone's left, we're both in bed, well, I'm sitting on the side, and Ron's giving me a back massage to work out the kinks from the Junior Stoppable component of the family. I tell him what I was thinking and he pauses, and mentions that we can keep a watch on Hego and co…but he doesn't' know if we have the right to keep the kids from knowing their family.

I… I don't like it…but he's right. But I will be watching.

So we continue. Months pass. I get bigger up until about month 6 and stop. Then. Yes, if you're a lady, and you're angry about the fact that I have superpowers, consider the balancing part—I got to spend the last three months of my pregnancy looking like most women do in the last two weeks. My, not so envious now, are you?

Then, one day, I'm out shopping, I feel a twinge, look down and see water all over the floor, running down my legs and staining the overalls. My water broke.

Time for the blessed event.

Whee.

To be continued.