What They Don't Tell You About Giving Birth the "Other Way"

I'm walking around and scratching like I got a mad case of crabs.

Rewind? If we must.

"You can stop pushing, Stinky T. It doesn't look like baby's coming out this way so we'll have to prep you for a C-section. Do you have any questions for me?"

Reading my pregnancy and baby books in the past 9 months I had always skimmed over the C-section chapter, just like the multiple babies chapter. Just like all the stuff that would never apply to me. How was I to know that I would end up getting sliced open while strapped down to the operating table crucifixion-style while hollering and complaining about the horribleness of the procedure?

They cut you open below the bikini line but I find it odd that they neglected to "clean" the area up a little before starting. Now I'm not a hairy person to begin with, but everyone's got something down there and to have a healing scar cluttered up with stragglers of the pubes seems a little... half assed. I also yelled more on that table than I did the entire time I was trying to push that baby out, actually, the pushing itself wasn't half bad. There's no pain from the surgery but you feel everything. The cutting, separating, pushing, tugging, all of that nastiness. I couldn't handle it, I was glad they knocked me out as soon as they pulled the baby out.

Afterwards I was told that surgery tends to turn the digestive system off temporarily and until I passed gas I would have to be on a clear liquid diet. I shrugged OK, like whatever, right? Dinner time. They delivered my tray. I devoured that apple juice, ate up my chicken broth and pushed the jello at Mr. Stinky and... that's it?! Oh hell no! I worked extra hard to get things churning again and let me tell you, I was farting like a champ and back on solids by breakfast time.

Why a C-section? Turns out some arch in my pelvic passageway is a little too high. It became the roadblock that prevented Stinkerbug's slide to freedom. During my marathon 4 hours of pushing I had a multitude of nurses, doctors and obstetricians visit me and invasively shove fingers into tight spaces to check on the progress of birth. Mr. Stinky and I joked that everyone but him was getting any action that day, he was wondering if the postman would drop by as well to join in on the gang probing.

The recovery process is just as fun. I was bedridden for much of the time afterwards in the hospital while they pumped all kinds of IVs and drips into me on one side. In the nether end I was hooked up to a lovely catheter. I was so bloated from all the liquids I looked like the Marshmallow Man. It was kind of like Show and Tell too, when I received visitors. "Look, I made this bag of pee all by myself! Wanna see?" All women bleed copiously after giving birth, whether vaginally or by C-section. Since I was stuck in bed I had to ask the nurses on a regular basis to change my underpads. So yes, I was also swimming around in my own sauce which resulted in a lovely and itchful diaper rash on my ass.

Once I was out of bed I was loaded up on painkillers. You never realize how much you use your stomach and ab muscles until they've been cut wide open. Every little move I made was extremely painful; if I sat for more than a few minutes I got out of my chair or bed bent at a right angle and would have to slowly straighten myself out. Mobility was quite the issue for many days afterwards. The afterpains hit me extra hard because as my uterus contracted and shrunk guess where I felt it the most? That's right, that nicely stapled smile on my belly.

So I walk around with my hand over the incision for support - it does help - and it looks like I'm a chronic masturbater too. Now that the scar is healing it's itchy as hell, along with the folds of wobbly skin that's working hard to shrink back to it's original tautness (ha!) and I'm holding and scratching and rubbing and having to explain to everyone around why exactly it is I've got my hand(s) down my pants.

Baby Boot Camp

I've survived my first two weeks. They say as with any new event in life the human person needs two weeks to adjust whether it be exercise, a new routine, diet, or in my case a screaming, fussy newborn. I long for the days of sleeping whenever and however long I wish. It's a distant memory, the days when Mr. Stinky and I could lounge around and do nothing just because we felt like it. Time has no meaning to me right now except that about every three hours I begin the cycle of feeding, changing, consoling and pleading with an unreasonable person to relax and go to sleep. I don't know what day of the week it is anymore, nor can I recall when something happened. Yesterday? The day before? All I know is that it did, don't ask me when.

I have adjusted to catnapping throughout the day when the baby allows me to. When I tell you I got 5 hours of sleep yesterday it's quite an achievement considering that over the course of 24 hours I can grab an hour here and there to total 5 and be able to function. Not very well I should add, but I doubt anyone's judging. And if you are, well, just wait until you have one of these beastly little babies. I won't be there to say I told you so coz I've already got my hands full but you'll see. A few hours of fragmented sleep doesn't even come close to one undisturbed snooze of the same amount of time in terms of satisfaction or refreshment.

I plan on discussing in the coming days about how the past couple of weeks have been like. I need to warn you that the material will be graphic, I never was a prude but after being in a hospital and having the entire hospital staff examine what's between my legs on a regular basis, there's really no need for me to beat around the bush (tee! I said bush...). If you're squeamish you probably won't want to read it, so take this as my forewarning to you.

Home But Not Back

We welcomed our new Stinkerbug on August 22, 2007. I don't have much time to get into specifics, or time at all.

Will try to update when I can but don't hold your breath.

Get Out Get out Get Out!

Here's an update on recent days.

Not sleeping. I sleep a little but am awake a lot... not fair. I don't even have a baby to tend to yet... unless you count the amount of time I've had Whiskey draped over my shoulder while I pace, pat her bum and she purrs into my ear as practice... It's now 4:15am. I've been up longer than I've slept so far tonight.

Going out to eat. The "enjoy the alone time before baby comes" dates, we've done several this weekend. I'm already planning for next weekend.

Gardening. I'm bored and it's nice outside, now for at least the next little while my garden is neatly pruned, weeded and watered.

Laundry. No matter what, the world still revolves around the sun, we still need clean underwear and I still don't trust Mr. Stinky to handle my delicates. I'm anal like that.

Cleaning. My floors needed some attention, I got down and gave them some. Haven't found a mop that works as well as being on my hands and knees, but then the latter is almost always the way to go when performing any task. Wait, did I just say that? ;0)

Visited people. Went and saw some friends who are new parents and talked shop about banal stuff like diapers, weight gain, vomitting, etc.

Walked. The stairs, the neighbourhood, the malls... yesterday Mr. Stinky took me down to the Lake and we hiked up and down the Bluffs to check out the beach. That sounded more arduous than it actually was but you can be impressed anyway.

Set several world and Olympic records for urinary frequency. My bladder actually feels worn out and bruised, I have to go so often. And let's not even talk about how many times I've almost peed myself getting to the toilet.

You get the picture. I did everything but push out a squalling baby. I should be in the hospital screaming my head off while plugged in to several epidurals and knocking back my cocktail of morphine and girly coolers. Does morphine bung you up? I know codeine does so I'm staying away from that... but I hope morphine's not so wicked on the digestive system. Anyway, let's have this kid already. I'm tired of waiting!

Mindless TV Gold

Let me set this up for you.

Was watching one of those police chase video shows. Actually, I don't want to admit to that. I was more channel-surfing and just happened to stop for a clip that looked promising. Of course this is from the United States, and needless to say the most entertaining stuff usually occurs down South. I don't know why, is it the I.Q., the way they speak, just crazy coincidence? Who cares.

A highway trooper had pulled over a guy for suspected drunk driving. The dash camera rolls as they stand in front of the cruiser and he notices a pickup truck coming their way. Really fast. He grabs the guy and shoves him out of the way just before the pickup slams into the front of the cruiser and then the guardrail. Wow. But that wasn't the coolest part.

The trooper runs over to the pickup and this next part is what kills me, not enough for me to go into labour (damnit!) but it shore just 'bout bust mah gut!

Trooper: Sir! Are you OK?

Driver (Imagine beer-swilling, gun-toting, good ol' redneck boy in his gravest voice): Officer, I pooed my pants.

Trooper: Well yes, I can smell that.

Driver: Is that alright?

Trooper: Why didn't you have someone else drive? Look at you, you can barely talk and just sitting there... in your defecation.

Driver: I know.. it's not an easy thing.... sitting in your own defecation.

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA

Ow My Frickin' Face!

My vacation has started off quite well. Yesterday I decided to join Mr. Stinky on the deck as he BBQed dinner. As the sun was still out I pulled one of our camping chairs up against the corner of the deck where there was a bit of shade and settled down for a nice, relaxing spell just chatting and hanging out.

Out of nowhere a wasp dived at my face, full frontal attack. I yelled in surprise and swiped it away. It circled back and hit me for a second time, I could feel its legs on my face. Again I yelled, smacked it off me but this time I got up quickly (sort of) and ran away. Unbeknownst to us, there was a wasp nest tucked underneath the handrail of a corner of our desk and I had coincidentally parked my head a few scant inches from it. !! It was a newer nest, only about the size of those cute little round cakes of hotel soap so really, there were only about 8-10 wasps but they're still quite bothersome. And normally I don't care about bugs and such, I'm not one to run around, screaming and flapping my arms like an idiot when I see one but it's quite different when they're deliberately attacking me.

So yah, I got stung just below my eye and it burned. I immediately put ice on it for the swelling and the pain while Mr. Stinky carefully finished making dinner. Guess the venom got to my sinuses or something coz my nose started running for a little while but it wasn't a bad sting, I think I smacked it off before it dove its butt in too deeply. This morning the swelling's all gone and it doesn't hurt unless I rub it but I haven't turned Igor-ish so that's good enough.

Whiskey got out the door as Mr. Stinky went out to check on dinner and went straight for the nest. She parked herself in front of it and he had to drag her away by creeping in and grabbing her tail. What a fearless warrior (read: stupid) princess to want to help out her mistress.

Mr. Stinky avenged me, he put a few kinks in the hose and turned it up. Next he positioned himself strategically some distance away and released those kinks, blasting the nest and wasps into oblivion. Of course being the vindictive person that I am, I did my due diligence by burning up any wasps that remained with one of my trusty BBQ lighters. This morning a few stragglers congregated where the nest used to be and again I charged in with my lighter. I managed to get another one. Take that, stupid bugs, sting me will you?!?

It's Like, a Monday Thing

I had a rough afternoon yesterday, I'm still trying to scrub the damage from my mind.

Heading for the trains (sans Shuster) I witnessed a horrible wreck in the form of a big girl coming towards me on her bicycle. Her fashion choices included a very low cut and loose tank top, the kind you see Walmart women wearing. She also chose not to wear a bra despite owning a very large pair of sloppy and free-swinging boobs complete with stretch marks on them. She obviously owns the Mirror of Denial whereby her reflection reveals a perky, high and youthfully tight chest. The road was bumpy, it was horrendous. I shed many tears and my eyesight took forever to return. The itching took longer to subside.

On the train, a middle-aged she-beast walks by in a mini-skort although I doubt it was made to be a "mini". The skort stretched mightily around her hips, why didn't she pull them down? Must I bear witness to the remnants of her shorts, the fabric not already devoured by her wobbly butt jowls? What better way to end the scene than to have her daintily bend over in front of my delicate eyes as material not made of cloth flapped around?

When I thought peace had finally arrived the female beside me let a silent one rip.

When will the spasms stop, the cold sweats abate and the rocking end? Cleanse me, purge my mind, make the bad pictures stop.

The Ups and Downs of Pregnancy

It didn’t take much for me to capitulate but I’ve gotten a few gentle prods to put thought down and do an update. I don’t have much but I’ll try to make it entertaining.

I’ve enjoyed being pregnant immensely; it’s been a wonderful first 8 months. I’ve suffered few side effects and reaped the pleasurable rewards of bigger boobies and the lovely, healthy glow of knocked up-ness. Everyone says you can’t tell from behind that I’m pregnant, it’s not until you look from a more advantageous angle that it appears I’ve swallowed a basketball but somehow I’ve still managed to grow quite the bubble butt. I suppose it’s nature’s counterbalance, right? Oh, and you’ve probably heard that the weight distribution causes pregnant women to be a little less balanced (I’m talking physics, not neurology!) but the good Lord in His infinite wisdom saw fit to bestow upon me a stout pair of cankles during these last few weeks. The better to plant my feet with, the sturdier my stance. Sexy time!

I’ve got a couple of weeks to go but I’m ready now. I want to serve this baby with his/her eviction papers post haste and get it out, it’s been stewing long enough. Mama wants to sleep on her stomach and reach her toes again! It’s also not very amusing to have to pee constantly, you’re going to dehydrate her.

What is there to really rant about? I’d say the only things that turn this mild-mannered butterball into a feral beast are hunger and relatives. It’s amazing the rage that low blood sugar levels can bring about in an expectant mother. There have been times where I could barely control myself in the presence of others due to hunger. It’s a crazy ride. It’s also why I usually carry around an emergency granola bar, must temper the rage…

Relatives bring out the absolute worstest in me. I try to avoid too many functions where we have to mingle because I cannot tolerate their asinine and medically unfounded admonitions. Relatives you see, don’t offer advice to be helpful. Rather they feel that it’s their right to lecture you as though you were mentally retarded, it’s a cross they must bear. It doesn’t matter that I’m a fully functioning and educated adult who carefully did her homework, researched the pregnancy process and connected with a great obstetrician, they still know better. Better than the medical community for that matter. You see how one would turn into a slathering beast ready to rip off the nearest face when forced to sit and endure the “You shouldn’t…” and “You have to…” pompous remarks of ignorance. I was once forced to get up and change seats at a restaurant, thus causing a scene because there was a clear and present danger of the wait staff taking running starts from the kitchen to Red Rover into my midsection... and cause my belly to spontaneously explode all over the place. How silly of me not to have realized that.

And yes, I know Eastern Medicine has been around forever as opposed to the newer and less ‘tried and true’ Western Medicine. I don’t doubt that some of the stuff works but now’s not the time for me to start experimenting especially since a lot of their highly touted remedies are extremely suspicious and idiotic. Deer penis soup, anyone?

What Happened?

I want to apologize if you still troll these waters to kill time. I've got nothing for yous. I'm waiting for something to happen too, but the creative stuff is inexplicably out of the picture and I don't know why.

It sucks. I think a lot and try to come up with something but it ain't working.

I'll be back. Promise.

When Food Goes Bad

Last night we went out to eat. I was starving and cranky so I tried not to talk too much lest I scare off everyone around. I really wanted pasta too, and was excited to open the menu and pick my fare after a quick scan. Somebody suggested the restaurant where the logo has a mule on it, I won't name the offending establishment. I hadn't been there since high school so didn't have an opinion on their food and readily agreed. I just wanted to gorge, I was already in such a bad mood.

I know now why I don't go to that restaurant. The menu is horrible and so was the food. Their pasta selection is as much a disappointment as your report cards used to be and after turning and flipping the menu over about 6 or 7 times I finally settled on the pizza. If I can't have something I want then pizza should at least be somewhat OK, right? Pleh!

I'm still pissed off enough about wasting money there last night that I felt a public service announcement should be made this morning. If bad food pisses me off then spending my hard earned savings to pay for the bad food makes me even more angry. Curses to the stupid mule, I will never eat your crappy offerings of "food" again. How you're still in business I do not understand. If I could I'd flush your sorry ass down the toilet. I had to resort to toast last night when I got home since I was still hungry and know that toast, at least is more enjoyable than the swill you make. I hate you.

Don't Send... Yet

What do you do when a co-worker has been grating on your nerves as delicately as grinding the gears heavily while shifting in that brand new ride? Maybe your jobs mesh with each other like jellyfish tentacles drifting in the ocean, occasionally making contact with each other, touching base, a neighbourly ''how d'ya do'', barely a relationship. But when there is contact, there is a need. From one to another, and you try to acquiesce. If only so to push off and enjoy the freedom of swirling about in your own little dance again. What can I say, some jellyfish are nicer than others. I can't explain the jellyfish analogy, it just seems like something I need to talk about. Perhaps the toxicity of something so innocuous looking might play a part in this account. Maybe not. Who really cares?

So it could be the hormones, although I have been told that being knocked up has made me much more mellow than usual and I tend to agree. Just last week the cashier rang my bread up 30 cents more than what the posted price was and I let it go, just didn't bother to correct her beeping machine's mistake. Any other time and I would've pointed it out and then manage to wrangle an extra 30 cents off my total bill just because it's the principle. Then call out the store manager, make him cry and then do a jig of principle in his puddle of sorrow. Then walk out with a voucher for free groceries for a year. I'm a tough customer like that. All for 30 cents.

Back to the point. I'm finding that there are certain people who raise my blood pressure effortlessly either through their stupidity, ignorance, laziness or condescending nature. OK, I concede that they piss me off on any regular day of the week but lately, I'm approaching the point where I may turn green and bulgy, lose my verbal skills and then grow all gigantic-like which causes my clothes to disintegrate all over the place except for the articles required to cover up the no-no bits. Say hello to maternity underwear!

This may never end, remember my problems with the attention span thing? So let's get back to the co-worker du jour who is the focus of my anger. She sent an email today scolding me for work undone. For her, mind you. It's not for my lack of work ethic, I've just got a ton of crap to shovel and for a goodly stretch of time (haha, goodly..) there was just me to do the work of several people. I'm not really complaining about that in itself because it's a common situation for many people and I accept that, as dumb as it may sound. But hey, there is only so much one person can do in a day, so my job is invariably about putting out the fires followed by trying to catch up and maybe chip away at the steadily leaning tower where my in-box and any available desk space should be located. Which means, I've got to prioritize. And mind you, if I'm going to entertain the idea of maternity leave in a couple of months, somehow I've got to shove my hand up my ass, pull out a magic wand and make those piles disappear. Even as they grow. Think Tetris. I've never beat that game so what the hell am I to do here?

So we've reached my point. Finally. Without burning bridges, raising shit, getting petty, throwing a tantrum and getting fired, here's how to respond to a not so subliminally condescending email from a person who already sits on the list of people you'd like ______ (ad lib time!). You hit the reply button and write an angry missive detailing exactly what you want to say to them. Curse words and insults need not be filtered, be as stupid, immature and irrational as you want to be while conveying the message of why you haven't gotten back to them yet. Bring up the fact that she's dumb and smells like poo and her momma's so______ that ______ (again, ad lib time!), and maybe you want to make mention of that nasty mess in her mouth they usually apply modern dentistry to, if only for the sake of everyone else around with working eyes. Perhaps you want to rub her face in an emu's butt and make her smell the emu's fart and then call her names like Emu Buttface and Emu Fartbreath. You get the point, childish as it is.

Then you don't send.

After you deal with some real and urgent stuff, you come back to it and edit yourself a little. But you don't send. After you go pee for the third time in an hour because the baby's head, which has been down since 6.5 months enjoys juicing momma's bladder constantly, you edit some more. Everytime you get up to do something, complete another task and let the minutes and your anger tick away you return back to that email and whittle it down until it becomes just another workplace reply; a bland, emotionless and dishonest auto-response that bears no resemblance to your original rant.

Hi Co-worker,

I've got a lot on my plate at the moment but rest assured your request has not been forgotten and I will get to it as soon as possible.

Thank you,
Stinky T

But at least this way you applied some self-therapy (that sounds kind of dirty!) as well as getting to keep your job for another day... so that you can write more angry emails that never get sent to the people you cherish at work.

Garden's In

It's been a busy weekend but Mr. Stinky and I made time to put in our garden for this year. He did most of the sweaty yardwork, mowing, edging as well as washing the car and front of the house. A little elbow grease goes a long way. We picked up a few flats with different types of annuals, nothing crazy fancy... I prefer the hardier types that don't require too much fussing about.

I did the weeding, put down bone meal and pruned the overgrowth to make room for my annuals. I wish perennials were showier for longer periods of time. Alas they're not but I like that they're super low-maintenance and will keep growing no matter how much you deadhead, prune or mutilate them. Well, except for the rose bushes, those got some extra TLC. My tulips may be reproducing, they seem to be more dense this year. I've given up on my daffodils and crocuses, my feeling is that they got dug up and eaten coz there were no traces of them this spring. Oh well. I think next year once things settle down a little bit we'll start a little vegetable garden. My thumb is getting greener every season!

My garden toad also made his return, or at least I think it's the same one. I had one last year too and would see him occasionally, this year he's bigger. I named him Doody coz of his cappuccino colouring and the fact that he looks like a pile of turd. Hopefully he likes what I've done this year, I left plenty of shady spots for him to lounge under. I love working on my yard, things look so much neater and nicer once you've spent some time on it. Besides, Mr. Stinky and I work well together it's a great way to just hang out. I'll let you see how the yard looks once things fill out. Who'da ever thunk I'd like gardening??

Standing Up

An obviously pregnant woman gets on a crowded subway and the only people to offer her a seat are a couple in their senior years even though she feels the eyes of many other seated people flicker briefly in her direction before eclipsing into feigned sleep or ignorance.

She's young, stable on her feet and doesn't mind standing. She doesn't demand to be treated like a delicate flower and have everyone jump up to "rescue" her but she was taught to offer her seat to those who might need it. She thought it was a common courtesy everyone knew of and practiced at least from time to time. She was wrong.

She would never, no matter how heavy and tired she was with child, make her grandparents stand while she enjoyed the comforts of sitting and for that reason among others, refused the generous offer by the couple who really had no business standing in a crowded train in the first place. It's not because she thinks she's better than them, there is no self-righteousness in standing but they needed to sit more than she did and she couldn't pretend away that need.

A loud, inward sigh resonates within her body when a nearby seat finally becomes vacant only to be filled immediately by a younger female who then looks directly at her and smiles sweetly. How does one interpret that?

It's not herself whom she pities but the depths into which a large portion society appears to have fallen. How can things change so much from when she was younger and things were different... or at least seemed to be so. In a few short months she'll bring a child into such a world and she doesn't know if instilling the lessons of morality, etiquette and the virtues of wearing a white hat will bear meaning in the "Me first" matrix we live in. She realizes it's maternal anxiety, the mother hen instinct wanting to protect and hopefully not smother, but if we are to lead by example and the world is full of walking examples which ones will our future progeny follow?

Randomosity

> I don't care how old and therefore entitled you feel, or how poor your grasp of the English language. A lineup is universal; get thee to the back of it.

> Mr. Stinky says I still take his breath away, it's pretty much instantaneous when I sit on him!

> Blatant ignorance bugs the hell out of me. How some people can live in a complete vacuum of awareness and not see anything wrong with that is beyond me.

> A grown man slathered in layers of kiwi pear lotion can smell deliciously wonderful in a nonsexual way. But I'd still have him for dessert.

> Going with the flow is my specialty but sometimes you need structure and organization. My idea of fun isn't being set adrift in the open waters and waiting for something that may or may not happen. That's called a waste of time.

> Being in the company of males is indubitably funner than females in almost every single way, especially when alcohol is the centrepiece on the table.

> I won't hold you back from living in denial but don't play the victim when this is obviously what you've chosen to do. My role isn't to be your enabler.

> Achieving the state of duplicity while amongst the company of men is the coolest when you're treated like a lady but also as one of the guys. The dirty, bawdy pigs... I love 'em!

> Being Asian doesn't automatically mean I want the baby to be male. I don't care what it is as long as it's healthy because I don't plan on an exchange or refund anyway. Should it come out crippled, sickly, deformed and retarded I will not rejoice just because it's got a penis.

> I felt like such a tool when my dad started telling me about the family cruise being planned for November, and I thought he was extending the invitation to us but he only wanted someone to go feed the cat and scoop her poo.

> When someone with big, black nostrils is talking to you it's never a good idea to become fixated upon their gaping nasal passages. Doing so will make you stare, realize you're staring, make conscious efforts to not stare, which results in a hypnotically, magnetic bond between your eyes and said nostrils. Then you need to exert Herculean strength to keep a straight face whilst staring and try to hide the mysterious appearance of tears in your eyes. Hopefully the other person brushes off the strange facial twitches and flaring nostrils as your usual, odd manner and takes those gigantic black holes away before you dissolve into uncontrolled laughter and tears.

Night Screams

So it's not quite as enchanting as coyotes singing but last night we had a moment. It's getting warmer now so I had the ceiling fan on and the windows opened while I slept. I love fresh air, but you know that already. As far as sleeping goes it was quite noneventful, a snoozefest if you want to throw in some extremely non-funny comedy. It's not even comedy, forget that last bit.

It was a quiet night, only a couple of chirps from random birds and insects. In the early hours before the sun came up Whiskey and I were jarred from our slumber by two very shrill but short screams. Whiskey bolted from her warm spot, ran to the end of the bed and perched at the corner where it's closest to the window to wait for the next bit of action.

Meanwhile, I laid in my fort of pillows - I need a whole bunch to keep me from sleeping on my back and pinching off the inferior vena cava, a no-no for beached, pregnant whales... although these same pillows seriously impede my efforts to get up and out for my midnight pees - trying to figure out what was going on outside.

A cat? A bunny? A small dog? Probably not a dog since they usually aren't let out of the house at like, 3am to wander the streets. And it didn't quite sound like the scream of a cat, although I suppose if I was being attacked, my screams of terror wouldn't sound like what I'd expect either.

Attack? Who said attack? That's just my assumption since I can't think of any other reasons for the shrieks which ended as quick as they began. I'm also going to assume that there was a coyote or other wily predator involved... doubtful that we have anything bigger in our area. A drunken, bald and ugly flasher perhaps? Uncle Bobby? Goose?

My conclusion is that predator (coyote) got a very surprised prey (bunny) quite quickly and that's why we only heard the two short screams. There was a pause... let's say coyote clamped down to make sure dinner was done and then a series of grunts that faded into the night.

Whiskey was on guard until the alarm went off this morning, no doubt to protect her juicy yet defenceless mistress should the boogeyman set his sights on an easy meal while I happily drifted back to sleep, wallowing in a sea of pillows. I have just stretched a 5 second story into an essay. Wanna come over for a slumber party? We'll tie up a bunch of bunnies out back and listen to the sweet sounds of twilight massacre, oh jolly fun!

Morning Breath

When Mr. Stinky is away Whiskey sleeps in his spot on the bed right beside me. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement because not only does she not get kicked in the course of the night I can reach over anytime I want to pet her, thus earning me loud, rumbling purrs.

This morning when the alarm went off, I shut it off and rolled over to say good morning to her. Ms. Dopeyface looked at me and then let out a big, stinky yawn. As I commented on her mad case of halitosis she demonstrated how much a human's opinion, even the gatekeeper to the big, white box in the kitchen means to the feline race.

She bent over and started licking her lady bits.

Sometimes You Gotta Wonder

Was that a kick or an unreleased fart?

The sensations can be quite similar.

What, you don't?

Ima Stupid People

This one's for Shuster and T-J.

Today at lunch, Clueless asked if I wanted to go run some errands with her after we ate. There were a few things at the nearby store on sale that she wanted and seeing's how it's a nice day I agreed. Our summer student, Candy had lunch plans but wanted instant noodles which are also on sale so I said I'd pick some up for her. She said she wanted 6, four in chicken flavour and two in the vegetable. No problem.

Two minutes later I drew a blank. I asked her if it was four veggies and two chickens and she corrected me but said that she wasn't picky; any combination of those two flavours were fine. I wrote down what she wanted so I wouldn't forget and stuck the note on my wallet. Foolproof.

As soon as Clueless and I arrived at the store I headed straight for the instant noodle section and grabbed four veggies and two chickens... so I wouldn't mess it up, I told her. We spent some time milling around the store checking out everything else before it was time to head back. At the cash, I dumped the packages on the counter and pulled out my wallet. That's when I noticed the handwritten note... the same one I had personally recorded not an hour ago and realized that I had gotten exactly the wrong number of each flavour.

What's a girl to do? Grabbed the offending two veggies, hurled over my shoulder to the girl that I'd be back in a sec and ran to go make the exchange... with a huge, long line up bearing witness to my idiocy and knowing that they'd have to wait that much longer to pay and get out. The story has a happy ending, but dude, how dumb to screw up one simple task.

And sure, we can justify the scrambled brains on my condition but in the end, stupid is as stupid does. I can only shake my head and roll my eyes to the heavens. At myself.

P-Something

I'm popping one out sometime in the second half of August.

I've become an awkward beachball of a creature. I have now joined the ranks of millions of women before, around and after me to get knocked up and stretched out of shape.

There you go, that should hold you for awhile. Here's hoping all goes well, it's been fairly easy thus far.

Damn you Holden for being so eerily intuitive, is this (one of) your superpower(s)? You're 2 for 2 if I recall correctly, first this, then that.

That Didn't Help

Damnit. Now all I want to do is nap underneath a tree somewhere.