Nearly halfway

Things we haven’t done: Cleared out the box room that will be Critter’s room Settled on a name for Critter Critter-proofed the house Purchased any Critter infrastructure Felt Critter move (that would be a surprise, though Ms spends a noteworthy amount of time prodding her baby factory trying to irritate Critter into moving … I’ll note this is behavior that Ms specifically requested I not perform on the dogs several months ago) Found a suitable date for any sort of getaway (or, hork, “babymoon”) I think we can clean out the box room in a weekend. And buying the majority of infrastructure can happen in a day once we get to that point. Ugh. Don’t get me wrong: it’s all very exciting. Truly.  But there’s definitely stuff to do, and we’re approaching the time when we start accelerating towards the finish (start?) line faster and faster.  No pressure! My brain isn’t working well tonight. I was sick for a pretty good chunk of the last week, and today is the first day I’ve felt really 100% for a while. Thing is, I’ve been saying that for several days now, only to realize the next day that I was not, in fact, 100%.  Imma just sit here and drool a...

Ugh.

Mr. Forty and I have terrible colds. This is terribly unfair because it means I could give a shit about his needs (Although I did offer to make him tea this morning. He declined and I took that as a sign to roll over and go back to sleep).  And frankly, I think he has a worse case than me, so I feel guilty asking him for things like Kleenex, orange juice, and the remote control. He was stuck having to go give a presentation today for work, but I’m at home. He’ll be back around 2 and I have set a goal to be showered by then. I also am washing the sheets. These two things make me a big winner. Mr. Forty posted about my high-larious glucose test last week. And it might have been the most insane thing I’ve experienced since I learned about the wonders of Demerol while passing a kidney stone (I was unaware that I was passing a kidney stone, in fact, I was unaware of most dimensional issues and had become one with the breeze…).  The glucose test was what I can only imagine smoking crack is like.  You know before I get all hyperbolic for the sake of comedy, let me check on that.  Please hold. … … … Okay, yep.  According to the first crack site I found, these are the short term effects of smoking crack (I put my experience during the glucose test in parentheses next to each symptom): SHORT-TERM EFFECTS Because it is smoked, the effects of crack cocaine are more immediate and more intense than that of powdered cocaine. (Try drinking 8 oz. of pure cane sugar after 4 and a half months of clean living – that is immediate too my friend). Loss of appetite (Food was the last thing I was thinking of) Increased heart rate, blood pressure, body temperature  (I was sweating, my heart was pounding out of my chest and I’m sure my BP went up) Contracted blood vessels (well I don’t know – oh wait – they had to poke me TWICE to get the blood for the test, so let’s say, “Yes!”) Increased rate of breathing (Ha! I thought I was hyperventilating at one point and I couldn’t stop laughing and so that made it worse) Dilated pupils (I don’t remember, but Mr. Forty told me I was totally doing the “I swear I’m sober” walk through the doctor’s office) Disturbed sleep patterns (I guess, does sleeping for THREE HOURS after the test count?) Nausea (Sweet mother of Mary, yes!) Hyperstimulation (There was a four year old in the waiting room while I was allowing the crack  glucose to course through my veins. She was dancing and making a very high pitched shrieking sound. I TOTALLY got her vibe. I really wanted to dance and shriek with her. I also wanted a kitten and a Big Wheel very badly). Bizarre, erratic, sometimes violent behavior (See above) Hallucinations, hyperexcitability, irritability (Yes, Yes, and Yes) Tactile hallucination that creates the illusion of bugs burrowing under the skin (I got really itchy, so I’m totally going to say yes) Intense euphoria (IT WAS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE) Anxiety and paranoia (UNTIL IT WAS OVER AND THEN I JUST WANTED TACO BELL AND A HUG AND DON’T HUG ME TOO HARD BECAUSE YOU’LL HURT THE BABY) Depression (*sob* The Baby is unhappy, because there’s no more sugar) Intense drug craving (I made...

The strange questions

I’m finding myself asking a lot of weird questions about the baby. For example, tonight, while holding one of the cats in a facsimile of a burp position, I asked, “So, how hard are you supposed to beat the baby?” I mean, I’m not advocating beating babies. Beating babies is bad. But at some point, you have to give the baby a bit of a whack to make it burp. How hard? A light pat? A solid whack? Something between? Intuitively, I know I shouldn’t be hitting the baby very hard, because beating babies is bad. So my primary concern is less about hitting the baby too hard than it is about not hitting hard enough. What if my baby sits there in great discomfort from a persistent gas bubble because Dad was being too gentle? What a weird thing it is to ponder babykeeping without an actual baby to run tests...

Random Thoughts

Glucose tests are inSANE. Doctors need to do a better job of not freaking out patients. Ms is currently resisting the temptation to chase a little girl around the waiting room because she, Ms, is so sugar-smacked. But at least we seem to have moved on from Ms’ competitive compulsion to cut any other pregnant women who are, in her words, “beating me” (that is, further along in their pregnancies). I don’t know if this is permanent or a temporary detente. Ms just told me she can feel her pulse in her butt. Well, a pulse. I asked “yours or his?” Hers, apparently. Glucose tests, y’all. I’m pretty sure Ms could scale this building using only her eyelids right now. Babies are small targets. For the ultrasound, freaks. If they don’t find the baby right away, think about how hard it is to aim a laser pointer at something from a distance. Ms is totally about to go dance with this six-year-old in the waiting room. I think the soothing music in here is counterproductive. It sounds like a weepy scene from a French drama. A bad one, not a weird artsy...