Thursday, January 22, 2009


"Do you want a freezer-pop?"


"Could you get me one, too?"


Monday, January 19, 2009


Did you know, Dear Interwebs, that my dog has a horrid, icky, evil mommy? It's true. Just ask him. This is what he'd tell you:

It's true! I has a horrid, icky mommy and she had the audacity to perform numerous atrocities against me ALL IN ONE DAY and for what?! Nothing more than doggy hygiene. And because (she CLAIMS) I was stinky. Very, very stinky.

Nope, that horrid bitch wasn't content to just DESHED me (which she'll claim I should have LIKED because I've been ichy recently. DON'T SUCCUMB TO HER LIES!), she had to go and brush my teeth. Sure, that might not have been so bad because the doggy toothpaste tasted like vanilla, but IT'S THE PRINCIPLE OF THE THING. But, I'm an amicable dog. I was prepared to let it go at that. But then... oh, but then. Daddy (he who is my shining light and savior and favorite-est person in the whole of the wide, wide world), daddy was gone away without mommy (as if she even deserves that title anymore). It was just me and then wench. Oh, she pretended like it was any other night, cooking smells-better-than-the-crap-they-feed-me dinner and watching TV. She was just doing it to lure me into a false sense of security until, all the sudden, she pounced! She snatched my poor, helpless self off the couch and plopped us into the tub where she CLOSED US IN. And then... and then that MONSTER turned on the water.

Now this next part, this next part is when it gets hard for me to speak because that bitch, she violated me. She doused my glorious fur in water and scrubbed me all over. She touched EVERYWHERE. Fur that it had taken me MONTHS of hard, long labor and effort to get smelling so ripe, she washed it all down the drain with some suds and a cheap plastic cup full of water.

And then, finally, after what seemed like hours upon hours of torture, she finally released me from my white prison... only to CONTINUE to pin me in to bathroom. I swear to you, as daddy is my witness, I did my best to discourage her by shaking myself until not a single surface in that blasted room remained dry, but she was not to be daunted. She came at me then with that damned towel and she rubbed me. She rubbed me all over. And I'll confess. It may have been that that my superior doggy mind truly snapped from her cruel water torture because as soon as she opened the door, I scurried away, slipping and sliding all over the hardwood floor. And when she was preoccupied drying up the bathroom floor, I got her back by peeing on the area rug.

It was much longer until my savior and light came home and do you know what that evil, wicked mommy did then?! She tattled on me, as if poor, tormented me was the one to blame! Luckily daddy saw through her twisted manipulations and just laughed at her.

So here I am before you, traumatized by the whole ordeal, barely able to function, struggling to eat (maybe a wee bit of an exaggeration) but I will admit. One good thing did come out of all of this. After daddy laughed at mommy, she let me, poor and damp though I was, lay on his side of the bed while he was downstairs eating dinner.


Sunday, January 18, 2009


My dear, sweet, pretty Interwebs. Loves of my soul, lights of my life, and, dare I say it, winds beneath my wings. Can I level with you? I can level with you, right? I can tell you a secret, a story, a tantalizing tid-bit? A tid-bit that, should it be recounted by Adam, if ever he were that brave, might make it seem as though I maybe, sort of, kind of lost my mind today.

Now to be fair, anyone in my position would have reacted in a similar fashion. Hell, you might not even have to be pregnant. Or overly emotional/hormonal/in furious need of emptying your bladder. In fact, I cannot fathom anyone anywhere who would NOT agree with my scorching anger.

You see, Adam and I were driving home from lunch, a lunch in which I consumed quite a bit of fluid. It was about the time we GOT INTO THE CAR that I realized I was going to be hard pressed to hold my bladder the whole way home. But I was determined. I was persistent. I already IN THE CAR.

And so we drove. And we drove, and we drove, and we drove. And while we drove, Baby Punchass took the opportunity to River Dance upon my ever expanding bladder and Adam took the opportunity to show me just how many potholes there are along that particular stretch of 75 south. And despite it all, I persevered. I held it and did not so much as moisten the seat as we arrived in our ridiculously bumpy driveway. I held it while I chased Adam toward the door and urged him to HURRY THE ---- UP ALREADY, LADY WITH A BABY. I held it while I tossed what was in my hands but not so long as to remove my coat. And I continued to hold it as I lifted the lid... only to find the disgusting, dirty remnants of the Roommate's morning routine (and by Roommate, I am not referring to Adam or Guinness).

I'll confess. At this point, I was pissed, not only because I had to pee more fiercely than anyone has ever had to pee before, but because THIS WAS NOT THE FIRST GODDAMN TIME THIS HAS HAPPENED. I slammed the toilet seat down in disgust and flushed the contents before turning to punch at the bathroom door in frustration.

I took a jagged, seething breath and it was then I realized the flushing sound? Wasn't happening.

I lifted the lid to find a clogged and swirling mess, and it was at that point that what Adam may refer to as me LOSING MY MIND happened. I STORMED out of the bathroom door screeching and yelling and throwing my coat at the couch while Adam looked at me with what can only have been a mixture of concern and apprehension.


"Okay. Calm down."


Adam hastily made his way into the bathroom, emerging but a moment later.

"Okay. Toilet's fixed."

And I stormed my way back into the bathroom, still utterly disgusted and mumbling the entire way. Perhaps even glaring through tears of frustration and loathing. And you want to know what? I'm STILL disgusted. He is a goddamn adult. A goddamn adult who has lived with OTHER PEOPLE his entire life. A goddamn adult who should know how to FLUSH THE ----ING TOILET after EVERY use. And since he DOESN'T, since he seems to have no issue being disgusting and irresponsible and a general pain in the ass, I see no reason to be nice.

Except it makes Adam mad when I'm not nice.

So I'm forced instead to ignore his existence as best I can, and roll my eyes behind his back whenever he opens his stupid freaking mouth, and pray and beg that his ploy to buy a house works and that he will, in fact, be gone by the end of the month (never to be invited back should I have my way). Dear God, please make him be gone by the end of the month. I don't think my questionable blood pressure can take much more.

Thursday, January 15, 2009


"That guy called me your wife! How scandalous."

"I know. My real wife will be pissed if she finds out."

"... You know, you take quite a few liberties with me. You better be careful because one day I'm going to be in a mood and you're going to wake up without a face."

* * *

"You realize our first big fight is probably going t be over Baby Punchass."


"We'll both be sleep deprived, I'll be overly sensitive and emotional, and the claws will just come out!"

"Well, you just be sure to come and apologize and I'll do my best to forgive you.

"I know you don't think so, but I will cut you."

Saturday, January 10, 2009



Um, yeah. Hi.

So the blood pressure was better (not great, just better) on Friday which is relatively expected since I was freaking the hell out about it before going in there. (See: mah last post) What that means for you is Smackaboy Punchass McMadigan (yeah Barnes!) and I are fine. For now. It's a condition they would like to continue to keep an eye on because it can very quickly turn into Not Fine (ie - another appointment Thursday) so the nurse gave me several suggestions, including a list of symptoms to look out for.

Now, I don't know if you know this about me... but I'm a slight closet hypochondriac. What that means is that I don't typically freak out over your everyday, mundane, run-of-the-mill symptoms. Unless you give me a list of what to look out for. So that headache thing? I hadn't suffered a headache in WEEKS but lo and behold, it is now something I need to look out for so guess who's had a mild headache the last two days? BECAUSE I'M THINKING ABOUT IT CONSTANTLY. And guess who has a mild feeling of nausea because the doctor asked if I'd had any sudden vomiting? Yeah. That would be me. Who also DIDN'T mention to him the out-of-the-blue vomiting I did over Christmas because I didn't think of it at the time. WELL, I'M THINKING OF IT NOW.

Also blurred vision? Not really, unless you count that my prescription feels just a touch off. (They don't.) Or tingling in my fingers. (Not related.)

I guess what I'm attempting, rather unsuccessfully, to say is: I'm fine. Baby Punchass is fine. There is certainly a chance that we could both end up Not Fine, which is a limbo-like existence that can and is driving me insane, but I know what to look for. I've cut out ice cream (godDAMN I want me some ice cream) and I'm trying very hard to cut back on salt. I'm doing what I can with a (potential) condition I really have no control over.

And she's still enjoying kicking my bladder.

Friday, January 09, 2009


It's 4 a.m.


I'm sitting up in the living room awake with a headache, presumably caffeine induced (I know! I'm pregnant and I didn't entirely STOP drinking caffeine?! I must be a horrid, ugly monster of a mother who doesn't deserve a baby because I obviously can't make the proper choices to ensure her safety and well-being. Yeah, well, f*ck you and your judgements, whatever the hell they may be, and might I add I rather enjoyed that tea I just had to make up for the caffeine I haven't had in four days), and a backache.

Yes, the headache is subsiding after drinking that aforementioned cup of tea. No, not before making me bitter and resentful. BECAUSE IT IS 4 IN THE GODDAMN MORNING.

And honestly, had I not had the doctors visit I had this afternoon, it probably wouldn't be bothering me quite this much. A pain in the ass, yes, but not necessarily fraught with worry and speculation (except if you know me at all you know that's a dirty, rotten lie because all I do is worry and speculate).

I was doing so good you guys! I really was! Sure, I may have felt huge and disgusting but up until week 20, I'd only gained 4 pounds. FOUR! Between then and this afternoon... I gained 15. IN FIVE WEEKS. And sure, the holidays but other than a bag of candy and a few excess cookies, I really can't think of how I did so much worse these last 5 weeks than I did any of the previous 20. Especially when I weighed myself a week ago and, unless my mind is going, was only expecting a 5 pound gain. (Holy frickin' god, how could I have been that far off?)

But wait, there's more! I have high blood-pressure. High enough they want me to come in today (tomorrow?) to have it checked again. And then again in a week.

Now, combined with the fact that I can't sleep because of a headache, albeit one that I 95% guarantee is from CAFFEINE WITHDRAWL (most notably because it eased up remarkably AFTER I DRANK SOME CAFFEINE), there is still the 5% chance that I might have preeclampsia. And trust me. I spent the first part of my early morning doing some quick research and know that should I have it, there isn't anything I could have done to prevent it, but that doesn't make me feel any better. That isn't preventing me from freaking the hell out for all of you to witness while I sit alone in the living at (now) 4:30 in the morning crying. And I know full well Adam is going to read this at work tomorrow and probably be upset that I didn't waking him up but why should both of us be tormented by the demons in my head when it will suffice to just let me stew in them?

And the crying is bringing back the headache.