It Must Have Been So Funny She Just Forgot to Laugh...

The Scene: I'm in the hardware store for, ahem, the THIRD time that day buying plumbing supplies. For Zube Boy. I really don't want to complain though because I'd rather be buying shit pipes than installing them. Anyway, I'm consulting Zube Boy via phone about my potential purchases...

Z-Boy: Okay, I need two 3" couplers.

Z-Girl: Black?

Z-Boy: Yes, black, like all the other stuff you bought.

Z-Girl: So everything will match and be all pretty under the floor?

Z-Boy: Exactly.

Z-Girl: Hmmm...Here's a 1 1/2" coupler.

Z-Boy: Honey, your poo won't fit down that. I need 3".

Z-Girl: *talking to myself* 3" coupler, 3" coupler, for my poo...AHA! Got it!

Z-Boy: Cool.

Z-Girl: So you need two?

Z-Boy: *shuffling stuff around* Umm, you know, maybe I only need one.

Z-Girl: So one?

Z-Boy: Um, I don't know. *shuffling more stuff around* Maybe two.

Z-Girl: So I'll get two.

Z-Boy: Oh wait, nope. I just need one.

Z-Girl: Honey.

Z-Boy: I think.

Z-Girl: Look, I'm buying two because I am not coming back here a fourth time.

Z-Boy: Okay.

*I waddle up to the counter, because that's how I roll these days, and plop my merchandise down in front of the cashier, who recognizes me from being there twice earlier*

Cashier: She's baaaaaaaaack!

Z-Girl: Yup, and I swear if you see me in here again today, I'll be spitting nails. Which would be cool for you because then you could sell them.

Cashier: *silently checks out my items*

Z-Girl: You know. This being a hardware store and all. Heh.

DUDE! I totally thought that was funny! What the fuck? Clearly I have lost my edge. She didn't even crack a smile. Eh well.

PS- No baby yet. However, it looks like the Turtle will be entering the world without a cone-head. In other words, s/he is still breech, and has dropped which will make turning even more difficult, so I'm probably going to be having a c-section. We still have a couple of weeks, so it's wait and see time. So I guess we'll just, wait and see. I'll keep you updated.

Stats for those who are so inclined to care:

As of yesterday, I am a fingertip dilated and 50% effaced.

Ah, But to Be a Fly...in My Soup...

Zube Boy and I have been going out to eat quite a bit in recent weeks. For three reasons, mostly. Reason the first: I really, really don't feel like cooking. In fact, I think I'd rather gouge my eyes out with a wooden spoon than throw together a one pot meal of hamburger helper. Reason the second: I think we're taking a teeny bit of advantage of the fact that we CAN go out to eat quite easily. He calls me up five minutes before he's due off of work and asks if I'd like to go out to eat. I say, "Yeah." He says, "Okay, I'll meet you at Fatty's in fifteen minutes." Something tells me things won't be easy like that in the very near future, goddess-willing, of course. And lastly, reason the third: Recently, it has become quite apparent that when I want a chimichanga right now, well, I want a goddamned chimichanga RIGHT fucking NOW! No time to go buy ingredients or scour the 'net for a decent chimichanga recipe. It's far easier to head out to a restaurant where someone has so thoughtfully put together all of those ingredients already. Just for yours truly.

Anyway, our dinner conversations have had an interesting slant.

Z-Girl: *pushes her half eaten cheeseburger away* That's it. I'm done.

Z-Boy: You full?

Z-Girl: No. I just know that if I finish that burger, I'm going to be up all night with heartburn.

Z-Boy: Heh.

Z-Girl: What?

Z-Boy: Nothing. Heh heh.

Z-Girl: Well, what the hell are you laughing at then?

Z-Boy: I don't know. It's just funny. I mean, you used to be worried about having a little too much to drink at a party and throwing up or not being able to get up in the morning. And now you're declining to finish your cheeseburger because you're worried about heartburn.

Z-Girl: *snort* Man. Makes me feel kinda old.

Z-Boy: You should probably get used to that.

*********************************************

Z-Girl: Dude, that childbirth class was pretty stupid, but at least we get to eat at Ruby Tuesdays while we're in the area.

Z-Boy: Yeah.

*silent happy chowing down*

Z-Boy: You know, I noticed something the other day.

Z-Girl: What's that?

Z-Boy: Well, at work, we have these welding masks.

Z-Girl: Uh-huh.

Z-Boy: And I put one on the other day. And I had to loosen up the straps.

Z-Girl: Okay.

Z-Boy: And I started thinking that I always have to loosen up the straps.

Z-Girl: Yeah.

Z-Boy: And that's after whoever wore it before me already LOOSENED the straps to take it off.

Z-Girl: So?

Z-Boy: So. I have a big head. I'm just sayin'.

Z-Girl: *realizing where this is going*

Z-Boy: Like, a REALLY big head.

Z-Girl: Great.

Z-Boy: Just thought it was interesting.

Z-Girl: I'm ordering dessert.

Z-Boy: You deserve it.

***********************************************

Z-Girl: I don't know if we really have to go all crazy with waterproofing the room, though. Seroiusly.

Z-Boy: But, honey, NEW BED! NEW CARPET! Do you really want your water to break all over that stuff? We spent a lot of money.

Z-Girl: The thing is, though, most people's water doesn't even break until their at the hospital, in labor.

Z-Boy: Most people's?

Z-Girl: Yeah.

Z-Boy: Well, do most people have to take aspirin and progesterone when they get pregnant?

Z-Girl: Um...

Z-Boy: And do most people have crazy cervixes and get bedrested for two months?

Z-Girl: Okay...

Z-Boy: And are most people's placentas in the front?

Z-Girl: Alright...

Z-Boy: And are most people's babies still breech at 35 weeks?

Z-Girl: Okay! Shut up! I'm smelling what you're stepping in.

Z-Boy: And?

Z-Girl: Why don't we get a waterproof sheet for the bed. And I'll keep towels next to it so I can sort of throw them around me like an adult diaper on the way to the bathroom if my water happens to break while I'm in bed.

Z-Boy: Sounds like a plan.

Well Slap My Ass and Call Me a Bird

*Click to Biggify*

I'm nesting like a motherfucker. The feathers are flying.

No Turtle debut yet. And hopefully s/he'll hang on for one more week. I'm 35 weeks today, 36 being considered full term by my OB.

Just thought I'd update.

And now, since I'm arms deep in my laundry room and, er, cat fur, I'll be on my way. This nesting shit is crazy. I've found energy I didn't know I had this late in the game. Yikes.

All About Me...And Then Some (More About Me)

Sometimes, while I'm waiting for ass-puncher carpet installers to show up, I like to play a little game. It's called, "What the Hell Was I Doing a Year Ago Today." So, I clicked on my April 2006 archives and scrolled down to April 11, and what I saw there made me feel like a ginormous ass. See, I had a Superhero Contest, which was awesome fun. And there was a winner. Namely, Phil. And being a winner meant that Phil deserved a prize. And did I ever fucking send one? No.

That's got me thinking about a lot of stuff. Which is good because I have plenty of time because these fucking carpet installers are now two hours late and according to the idiot woman in the office, they're finishing up another job and then they'll be here if they have time, so I've got a whole fucking vacation day to waste waiting for them and thinking about what a self-absorbed brat I've become.

And I'm sorry for it. The self-absorbed brat part. I'm sorry about the carpet asses, too, but they'll be more sorry once I tell everyone and their goddamned brother how much they suck and not to use their useless fucking company EVER. Ahem. But, with regard to the self-absorbed brat situation, I'm simply at a loss as to what to do about it. See, I've been through so much in the past year and a half. Not that I'm telling you all anything you don't already know. Most of you who are still hanging in there with me have been there through it. First miscarriage in September 05. Second in October 05. Third in March 06. And now the Turtle. And all the drama that that has entailed.

There's something I'm trying to say. Something that's itching to get out. And it might take a while to get there because I'm not so sure what it is. So bear with me.

I feel like I've been holding my breath since September 11th, when I got my positive pregnancy test. In hindsight, it was kind of a life affirming thing to happen on such a sad day, but at the time I really had no idea that this pregnancy would turn out any differently from the others. So that life affiirmation was lost on me. Carrying on...Subconsciously I credit my sheer willpower for the success of this pregnancy. Kind of like every time I fly I'm convinced we didn't crash because I willed it not to happen the whole time in air. And both scenarios are stupid and totally false. I know this. But I can't seem to stop my mind from being consumed.

And the end to that means is neglect of, mostly, people in my life. And my work has suffered to. But that'll recover. It's the people I worry about. Friendships I haven't been so good at maintaining because I can't seem to get my head out of my ass. Or my uterus. More likely my uterus. And that worries me. I just hope the people in my life will be around when this kid gets born and I find myself craving meaningul, adult interaction.

I've also neglected my writing. And that sucks. Writing has always been this great escape for me. And I felt that, after blogging quite consistently for over a year, I was really starting to understand the art of using the word fuck. Among others.

I'm a little scared. I'm scared that when I have this kid, that absorption won't stop. The obsessiveness. And it MUST. I am a firm believer in Mom's having lives of their own, ya know? I don't think kids learn squat about what it's like to be a grown-up, in particular, a grown-up woman, when Mom's sole purpose in life is her children. I think that kind of maternal smothering actually says the opposite of what I want my child, boy or girl, to think about women.

So, where do I go from here? I seroiusly don't know. I'm allowing myself six more weeks (or hopefully at least 3) to let this whole pregnancy thing rule my life. And then? And then there'll be a kid, hopefully, who eats and poops and cries. And it'll be completely independent of my body, so I won't have to worry about the chance of me fucking it up. Physically anyway. Heh. I have no doubts that my kid'll be at least a touch fucked up as a direct result of me. I mean, everyone's screwed up a little because of their parents, aren't they? I just hope I can be honest about my shortcomings.

I guess what I'm saying, and taking fucking forever to do so, is that if you'll hang in there just a little longer while I keep sucking, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Now, if you were a male on the receiving end of a blow job, I'm sure you wouldn't mind one bit. But given that that's not the situation, your mileage may vary.

I'm hoping that someday soon I'll remove my pregnancy blinders and be able to take note of the other Super Heroes in my life. Because life outside my box, erm, eh, heh, I mean, the box, is lovely and insane. And I'd miss me if I stayed away much longer.

Now, if that made a bit of sense to any of you, I'd offer up a prize for your super hero understanding skillz. But, just ask Phil, I suck at giving prizes. So I'll just say, damn. You're good. And even if you didn't get it? Damn. You're still good. 'Cause neither did I. And damn, I'm good!