What is this page about, anyway?

(cue music, preferably something by Tom Petty or similar rock-ish type band that suggests freedom and a carefree "I don't give a sh*t" attitude)

Allow me to introduce myself. I am a working, well-paid, single woman at the glorious age of 27. I am engaged to a wonderful man, have a college degree from a prestigious university, and I live downtown in one of America's major cities. I love traipsing around bookstores, going to new restaurants with friends, and attending pro-football games. I sing with a nationally-recognized orchestra, and I am an officer in the Marine Corps.

(sound of record being scratched/interrupted. Sound of new record replacing old record. Now something horrible is playing, something akin to the Barney song, or, sappier and even more horrid, something by Josh Groban)

That's how I would have introduced myself, had I met you in the summer.

Now, my introduction goes something like this:

I am married to a wonderful man, and thus, my swingin' single days lay far behind. As fate would dictate, perhaps I should have said ripe age of 27, as we got pregnant on the eve of our wedding (or a day very nearly surrounding. I won't pretend that we waited to break celibacy until our cherished vows were proclaimed aloud, as this would insult both my integrity and the intelligence of the reader.)

Thus, we find our heroine now 23 lbs heavier and 33 weeks into pregnancy. And the fun doesn't end there.

I recently left my Marine Corps career, and, as my husband received military orders to Germany, I did not pursue another job. Rather, I have followed him overseas, where we now reside in a small flat outside of the city of Stuttgart.

So, to sum up: I'm fatter, jobless, and cliche-ing-ly both barefoot and pregnant as I write this first post. I am married and will soon be a mother, with all its joys and pains in the ass. I live in a different country. In short, everything has changed.

Don't get me wrong, here, folks. I love being married. I'm excited about being pregnant. And living in a western European country...well, hell, wouldn't everyone kill for that opportunity?

Yes, these things are the happier side of my life coin. When one calls "tails", however, we see the more dreaded issues that any realist must confront about the path I have chosen.

I have become a military dependent...and a housewife. Both of these titles scare the shit out of me.

Because this is the final frontier where no self-sufficient, independent woman ever goes.

And those that are led down the garden path...do we ever really see them again? Or do they emerge 20 lbs heavier at their college reunions as a "once-was" or a "has-been"? Are the rumors true that I will grow to love Dora the Explorer and be able to recite Goodnight Moon backwards, or are these just folklore myths that exist to scare people out of procreation?

I find that the best way of coping with these life questions is to draw wisdom and humor from the everyday occurrences that a woman in my rare position much face.

And thus, I will write posts of my daily being. As long as I am at home, caring for the little girl who is soon to burst out of me Alien-style, as long as I am a non-working military dependent who is experiencing the new German atmosphere on a daily basis...

well then, we may as well get a few laughs out of the deal, right?

Whatever the verdict, I will be honest and true to my embarkation into the unknown depths. Heretofore, I shall be known as Frau B.

I'll let you in on all the hilarity and confusion of how one adapts to becoming a housewife, to living in a new country (at least, living in Germany), and to becoming a mother...and all this before taxes are due. The mind reels, doesn't it?

It should be quite a ride, so do attend the party.

And bring cake.

The baby always wants cake.