Ode to My Piece of Cupcake

I took scrumptious, heavenly bites going around the cupcake. Why would I eat the cupcake this way you ask? Because the very best part of the cupcake was the center, where the icing peak was higher than the actual cupcake itself. It was perfect. I leaned in to have that last, perfect bite of my perfect cupcake. But life had other plans for this piece of cupcake. Plans that involved falling over, trailing down my leg, and meeting a horrible death on the floor. It didn't just fall, fall. It went down head first, with that beautiful peak of icing being smushed into the tile as the cupcake crumbled around it. My beautiful piece of cupcake. We didn't spend much time together, but I cherished every last delectable taste. You will forever be missed and honored as a great loss to my life. Without you, my day cannot continue with happiness. I mourn for that last piece I could have almost had. I should have appreciated you more and cradled you in my arms. Maybe even put you in a plate. I was selfish. I am so sorry piece of cupcake. So. Sorry. I have begun a search for more of your kind, and I promise you I will honor them as I should have honored you. There will be napkins involved this time, and I will give them my undivided attention. This is my promise to you. I will cherish them even more and be sure that not a single crumb goes to waste. May we meet again in another life, piece of cupcake. You will forever remain in my heart. I will get through this and move on, as I'm sure you would have wanted it that way, but it will be difficult. I will do it for you, piece of cupcake, because of your sacrifices for me. *cries*

Belly Pics! :D + Pregnancy Update

Month 3:

 Month 4:

 Month 5:

 Month 6:

Look at my incredibly awesome, super sexy pregnant belly. Did you see it? Did you get a good look? Look again. Make sure you get a GOOD look at that bun in the oven. I am SO PROUD of my belly. I know lots of women cringe at the thought of pregnancy weight gain and an out-of-control growing abdomen, but I am nothing but PROUD and grateful. I've never felt better about myself, and it's about damned time I started looking pregnant! Last month, if I wore something tight, you could kind of tell I was pregnant from the side. Now, even with a T-shirt on, you can tell I'm pregnant from the front and either side. No more confused is-she-pregnant-or-just-fat stares from strangers. *sighs happily* Ahhhhh. Bliss. :)

Just to clarify, I only have pics from 3 months onwards because I didn't know I was pregnant until I was 7 weeks along and Taurus Man and I were still in shock with pregnancy belly pics nowhere on our minds. By 12 weeks we were in the game. I was trying to follow along with the common '9 months of pregnancy' theory, but it got too confusing for me after a while so I'm going along with the '40 weeks=10 months' theory now because it makes more sense to me and is easier to track. I intended to take this month's pic when my belly just popped up out of nowhere at 22 weeks, but I was distracted and constantly falling asleep or fainting and as you can see, I'm trying to wear a similar outfit in each picture so you can really see the growth and all of my tights and vests are at the bottom of one of the laundry baskets and I haven't been able to find them. This morning, however, I found a black cami in a pile of laundry I have yet to fold, and a few days ago I found a pair of black Charlotte Russe tights/leggings in the bag of stuff I was giving away and decided to keep it since my clothing options are so limited nowadays. Outfit for picture? Check! Belly for picture? Check! Camera at the ready? Errr.......Taurus Man had some issues with the camera on his fancy phone, but we worked it out and got the pictures. Check! I'm 25 weeks now, but none of these pics were taken at EXACTLY a specific amount of weeks or at the beginning of the month or anything like that, so I say go with the flow bitches. =D

Hmmm......I've told you about my Braxton Hicks and cravings. I'm not sure if I mentioned this before, but my average, normal, once-toned-some-years-ago legs are now tree trunks. I can't get away with the rubber band trick on my jeans anymore as none of my jeans can get past my knees, and boy is it a struggle to get it up to my knees! Tights/leggings were really comfortable for awhile, but now they're very tight and squeeze my legs until they hurt and start cramping. I have a couple pairs of really cheap ones that are super stretchy and can still work, and I've also taken the liberty of raiding Taurus Man's closet =D Men wear SUCH comfortable pants :)

My giant pornstar boobs still give me regular back pain. I've read that it's better to buy bras closer to your due date as they'll grow again, and I am in total agreement, especially with financial challenges all around me, but I think I might cave and just get one for now. The weight hanging off my chest is so painful and all my bras feel like torture devices so I haven't worn a bra in over a month, which can't be good for the girls anyway. Also, I get a lot of chest pain. I had some shooting pains in just my left breast, which my doc said was from all the extra blood being pumped and putting strain on my heart. I've started getting the pains in both breasts now. Before getting pregnant, I had a problem with stabbing, pulling, and shooting chest pains that would hurt so bad I couldn't breathe. My general doc said it was because of the extra strain being placed on my heart to pump my less than normal amount of blood through my whole body due to the anemia, especially how long I've had it and how bad it's been for so long. He said my body was over-working my heart and that was causing the pain. Aside from being cautious about my heart enlarging, it was cool though. I get the pains more regularly now, but I guess it's the blood pumping thing. 

I've also noticed I'm super pale most of the time now. Pale as in I-look-like-a-better-vampire-than-Bella pale. Which makes my boldly colored road map veins pop out even more lol. The heartburn is practically gone, and I have no constipation. As I've told my best girl, (Capricorn Girl), I'm as regular as a Japanese train :) Other than that, I'm sleepy and exhausted and worn out a lot. For example, I took a shower (sitting down) and handwashed two pieces of clothes. I took my time and did not push myself, but by the time I stumbled back into the room, I was so exhausted I nearly collapsed. It took more than an hour for me to catch my breath and for my heart to stop threatening to jump out of my chest at warp speed. Seriously? It was ONE shower. Sitting on the floor. I didn't even shave. Jeez. 

I do hip opening exercises, squats, pelvic rolls, hip circles, stretches, and listen to hypnobirth tracks to meditate and sleep as often as I can, once I'm up and able. Remember when I talked about perineum massage? Heh heh heh. Turns out, it's not what I thought it was. I was under the impression that all you had to do was rub the perineum itself. From the diagrams of female anatomy I've seen , it didn't seem like too big of a deal. So I rubbed that little spot and asked myself why more people don't do it if it's that simple. I also wondered how rubbing and massaging one little spot was going to help with the tearing thing. That's why we have google folks. And youtube demonstrations. I'm supposed to do WHAT to my WHAT? Uh huh. That's right. Stick BOTH thumbs in your hoo-hah, and massage the walls of your vag in a circular motion as you rotate your thumbs down and out. Do this for about five minutes a day. Eh? Come again? Press play on the youtube demonstration. WHAT THE WHAT???? *stare in horror* You guys, it might not seem like such a big deal, but I'm kind of a small person. My height is average bordering on almost kind of tall, but my body itself isn't too big. Especially not my vag. I've only been having sex for two and a half years. There hasn't been a lot of things going on down there to stretch it out. I have a petite body and a petite hoo-hah. So, again, I'm supposed to do WHAT to my WHAT???? But, I'm nothing if not a trier. So I tried it three times so far. AND I'm a wuss. Taurus Man sprained his other foot and thumb while playing football, so once his thumb has healed I'll have him try his hand (no pun intended) at it and see how it goes. For now, WHAT THE WHAT????????

No other weird pregnancy things. Except I want sex so bad. But I'm so exhausted, even if I had to just lie there I couldn't. So I've finally put aside my hardcore feminist views and accepted porn and am currently hunting for something that appeals to me so that I may *ahem* pleasure myself. Until then, I want sex. So bad. I'm just literally too tired. Sigh.

But still, HAVE YOU SEEN MY BELLY? Look at that sexy bump. Just LOOK at it! =D

Cleaning and Organization Tips

Everywhere is still in a mess right now as Taurus Man and I are in the middle of our baby preparations. I'm back in bed after pushing myself a little too much with laundry two days ago, and still feeling the repercussions. I feel like such a wuss. Taurus Man is distracted by the new red fire ants infestation in the kittens' sleeping area and is trying one thing after another to clear it up while the kittens spend their days with me in bed, and nights blocked up on the couch on the other side of the room.

All that aside, once I have the energy and willpower to get up and go, I usually have this place spic and span. Over the years I've learned some things from experience (i.e. trial and error), other housewives, reading newspaper/magazine articles, and of course, the internet. Here are some of my super awesome, incredibly excellent tips:

If you don't have any old spray bottles from old cleaning products (think Windex and 409 for example), then make the sacrifice and buy some. I bought a three-pack enviro spray whats-it set, and although I'll admit an old Windex or 409 bottle would have worked wonders against the sticking spray nozzle from these, it gets the job done. I have three basic multi-purpose cleaning sprays:

Clorox Cleaning Solution: There are many reasons I don't like using clorox or bleach straight out of the bottle. I have super sensitive skin that cuts and bleeds and gets rashes easily, fur babies that like licking things off of any surface they see, I generally don't like the smell of clorox, I like to be able to stay in the room I'm cleaning with the ability to breathe and continue cleaning, and you never know if a little kid or someone with sensitive skin or some kind of allergy might come over. But sometimes, my other sprays aren't strong enough and I don't have the time to let one of the other sprays soak in, or there's a mess that needs hardcore  antibacterial action immediately, etc. Add clorox and water to your spray bottle at a 1:1 ratio. That's it. It's still pretty concentrated for me, but as a precaution, wear gloves if you can and keep the area ventilated.

General Cleaning Solution: This one is by far my favorite and the one I use most. It's cheap, good for the environment, cleans just about anything off of any surface, doesn't carry as high a scent as clorox, and is safe enough for my skin and fur babies. Add a 1:1 solution of regular distilled white vinegar and water, leaving a few inches of empty space at the top. Add 1-2 teaspoons of baking soda and seal tightly. If you add the baking soda first, you'll have an immediate volcanic eruption of the ingredients on your hands. Adding it after reduces the amount of frothy fizz that escapes the bottle. Let it settle, and give it a good shake before using it. I use this on EVERYTHING. Even my cutting boards (I have one board designated for meat and one for veggies) as an antibacterial precaution. I spray my boards with it before washing and in between uses when I'm cutting up different veggies or meats and don't have the time or space to wash after each veggie/meat. On hard to clean stains, I spray and let it soak in before scrubbing. After Christmas, birthdays, or any day that I'm left with cake pans, baking trays, and the like, I spray some of this on before I dump the dishes in the sink to help loosen up whatever is stuck to the dish and make washing easier. I also give a spray to my dish-washing sponge and cleaning cloth in between uses and washes for an extra cleaning oomph as well as an antibacterial thing. After each cleaned spill, I spray this and give an extra wipe of the surface as well. It keeps bugs and germs away, is gentle on your skin, nose, and pocket, and makes cleaning easier too.

Pesticide/Soapy Solution: This one is also very simple. Squeeze in some dish-washing liquid or detergent, and fill 3/4 of the way with water. Give the bottle a good shake, and once the suds have settled, add more water as you wish. This is not only a cleaning solution, but works as an eco-friendly daily pesticide for my organic garden as well. I use this on surfaces I want to wash without lugging around a bucket of suds or standing in a pool of sudsy water, and also as a quick eco-friendly way to kill ants. They can't swim in the suds and they drown. It doesn't get any simpler than that.


HANDY THINGS TO HAVE AROUND THE HOUSE:

A cleaning cloth: When I was growing up, we used washcloths and cut up pieces of old clothing to clean. While that works fine, I prefer Scotchbrite cleaning cloths. They usually come in packs of 5 in either yellow, green, or pink, and each pack can last me more than a year. I disinfect them and dish-washing sponges once a week and clean the microwave at the same time by filling a microwaveable bowl half-way with a 2:1 vinegar and water solution and placing the cloth in the bowl and microwaving it for a minute and thirty seconds. For tough microwave stains, I'll go up to two minutes. Experiment to see how long and at what strength this works with your microwave. Afterwards, I wring the cloth dry and use the same bowl of water to rinse it as I wipe down the microwave. The microwave was basically steam cleaned and only needs a good wiping down. I change the bowl of water to a bowl half filled with water and a drop of vinegar, and microwave again for a minute. I get rid of that water and continue cleaning. The dirt and grime from the cloth is released into the bowl of water as it's heated and it kind of sterilizes the cloth or sponge. With every sink-ful of dishes, I wash the cloth with my soapy solution before and after the dishes and every round of cleaning, and also spritz it with my general cleaning spray throughout the day as I clean. On a busy day, I can even toss the cloth in the washing machine and it comes out fine.

Rubber gloves: You can choose to get the big boxes with disposable latex gloves, or the big yellow kitchen gloves. I opt for the yellow gloves. It's extra money to put out and though I was raised to clean without gloves, I've found it can be necessary. There are some messes you just don't want to stick your bare hands and fingernails in. Sometimes you don't have time to scrub the muck out from under your nails and scrub your hands raw. It comes in handy, trust me. In addition to super nasty messes, there are some products that should never come into contact with your skin, like stove and oven cleaners or toilet cleaners. When I was growing up, I handled all products without gloves, and before getting the gloves myself, I had started using plastic bags over my hands. The gloves are way easier and safer, trust me. Although there's a big old "disposable" right on the outside of the pack, Taurus man and I re-use them. As long as you clean them properly in-between uses, I don't see why not. As soon as you see some wear and tear, change them right away. That's all.

Gardening gloves: I love dirt. I love the smell and feel of it. But if you're gardening, even if you've bought manure and potting soil and planted your green babies yourself, worms, snails, centipedes, millipedes, caterpillars and the like are bound to happen. I have no problem with worms, snails, or caterpillars, but I can never remember which insects are dangerous and which aren't. I dig up some soil with my little gardening spoon/spade and once I see anything crawling around in there, I get my gloves on. If ants are happening, pesticide or no pesticide, it's better to be safe than sorry. I also use my gardening gloves to take particularly difficult fish off my fish hook when fishing and to protect my hands when moving heavy furniture or glass and the like. I wouldn't deem it absolutely necessary, but I'm glad I have it as it comes in pretty handy. Taurus Man doesn't mess around my garden but is considering getting himself a pair because it comes in so handy.

Tools: I love tools. I used to take out my dad's toolbox and play with his tools as a child, and when I found a mini screwdriver set in the closet, it became my personal mission to walk around the house taking screws out of things and putting them back in. Right now I don't have as much tools, but I highly recommend keeping at least a few on hand. I have a hammer, screwdrivers (phillips-head and flat-head), pliers, some other pliers-type thing I'm not sure about, a rechargeable drill, and a few types of nails and screws from past projects with Taurus Man. Taurus Man also has a level and knows how to use the whatchamacallit tools in Cancer Grump's wood workshop downstairs when he gets a chance to go down there. All of these things are very important and are regularly used. Hammers and screwdrivers aren't only for nails, and I actually keep my pliers in the bathroom to turn the faucet by the concrete washtub on and off because it scrapes my fingers if I try to turn the knob with just my hands. The drill has come in very, very, very handy. If it's one thing I suggest you have on hand, it's a drill. It doesn't have to come in a set with a hundred other things or be the best brand name out there. Once it works, and works well, and you can use it, that's all you need. I don't go to any house without having some tools. If there are no tools there, I try to find a mini tool set to keep on hand for emergencies. Trust me, it's important.

Mop, mop bucket, broom, scoop, handheld brush, scrubbing brush: In my book, all of these things go together. These were among the first things Taurus Man and I bought when we got married. Be sure to wash and clean them regularly and they can last longer than you'd expect.  Once you keep them on hand, you'll realize that there's more than one use for each of them and you'll be glad to have them on hand. These are must-haves anywhere I go and makes life a helluva lot easier.

Scrubbing brush, pot scrubber, dish-washing sponge, all with handles and removable heads: I'm sure you've seen at least one of these at the grocery or pharmacy or variety store. These are not mandatory, but man, do they make life easier. Sometimes dishes are left in the sink for longer than you'd like to admit. Maybe the sink hasn't been cleaned and got mildew-y. Whatever the case, sometimes you really don't want to stick your hands and your little dish-washing sponge in there. We've all had to wash that dish that gunks up the sink and dish-washing sponge and makes our stomach churn to clean it because we have to use the same sponge that got gunked up for other dishes. I use the pot scrubber for the gunk in pots and metal trays, the scrubbing brush for basically everything, and I give everything a second wash with my un-gunked dish-washing sponge after the gunk has been cleaned off by the pot scrubber or scrubbing brush. That handle makes it way easier and faster. Be sure that you can find replacement heads for the one(s) you choose to buy. It would kind of suck to fall in love with one and not be able to replace it when it's time to say goodbye. As always, clean them regularly and they will last!

Old toothbrushes: When you change your toothbrushes every 3-6 months, don't throw them out! Keep them on hand to clean tile and grout, scrub vegetables, clean guts out of crab bellies, get into nooks and crannies, scrub sneakers, etc. You'll find way more uses for them than you expect. Keep them with your cleaning supplies and label each one for its purpose so they don't get mixed up. I doubt you want your sneakers smelling like crab guts or your veggies smelling like a cleaning product! I also set aside old toothbrushes with the really nice rubber handles for my fur babies to gnaw on when they're teething. Hyper doggy is no longer teething (I think), but she actually uses her toothbrushes to brush her own teeth and clean her gums. There's no extra expense, just don't throw them out! Clean them thoroughly after each use to make them last, and throw them out when they've been worn out.

Masking tape: I started keeping masking tape on hand when I did Technical Drawing in high school. Our list of school supplies included a roll of masking tape. We ripped off pieces to stick our papers to our drawing desks. It was sticky enough to keep the paper still and stick it down to the desk, but weak enough for us to pull it off without ripping the paper or leaving sticky marks on our drawing surfaces. After doing the class for two years before writing (and passing :D) my exams, even as I used the tape for miscellaneous things, I still did not use out that roll of tape. It's not expensive, and one roll lasts a ridiculously long time. I use it to label everything from ziploc bags in the fridge and freezer to bags of clothes I parcel out to stow away. I also use it to label all my cleaning supplies and any unmarked bottles or containers around the house, especially medicine. Not mandatory, but cheap, effective, and long-lasting!

Ziploc bags and small clear plastic bags: This comes in particularly handy in the kitchen. This is one of my grandest secrets for fridge and freezer organization. Whenever we buy groceries, I empty everything out on the kitchen counters and dining room tables. I wash all my produce, dry them, and place each type of fruit or veggie in their respective ziploc bags lined with a paper towel to keep the moisture out, squeeze all the air out, seal, and label (with my tape) according to what's inside and what date it was bought. This keeps everything fresher for longer, especially greens and herbs and seasoning, and allows you to store more than you would have been able to, keeps things neat and orderly, and makes it super easy to find what you're looking for. With fish, I separate them by slices or fillets into cooking portions, wash them with lime to cut the bloody freshness and fishiness, pat dry with paper towels, squeeze all the air out in their respective parceled out ziploc bags, and label with the type of fish, the way I cut it, and the date it was bought. There are a couple ways I handle chicken. If I've bought chicken parts or decide to parts off the chicken, I clean it by cutting off the excess skin (since Taurus Man's heart attack I remove ALL the skin), cut off all the fat, clean out all the guts, peel  off the yellow scaly thing on the gizzard and chicken feet, cut off the toes on the feet and tips on the wings, and separate the parts as I like i.e.  breasts and thighs, leaving the thighs and legs or wings and breasts attached to each other, etc. I usually separate it by parts e.g. breasts, thighs, wings, legs, and parcel them as such. I wash the parts with lime to cut the freshness and pat them dry with paper towels before bagging them, then squeeze the air out of their respective bags (this keeps the items fresher for longer by reducing the amount of air it's exposed to, in case you were wondering) and label according to parts and date. Regardless of how I deal with the chicken, I take the chicken skin, fat, guts, and unwanted parts, and parcel it off into small clear plastic bags portioned and labeled out for dog food. FYI, A simple dog food recipe: the refused parts of the chicken boiled with rice. The oils released from the skin and fat are actually good for them and adds flavor to the pet rice. Don't add too much water as you let the water cook down with the rice and parts. Hyper Doggy loves it! If I'm parts-ing off the chicken by leg, thigh, breast, wing and such, I add the liver, gizzard, chicken butt, and all their accomplices to the dog food bag. If I'm cutting up the chicken smaller than that, i.e. for stewing, currying, and the like, I include the liver if my anemic ass is eating meat (chicken liver is super rich in iron), and the gizzard for Taurus Man instead of leaving it for Hyper Doggy. The other way I deal with the chicken is by leaving it whole. Before Taurus Man's heart attack, I would prepare it as I'm about to explain and just cut off any excess fatty skin and leave the rest of the skin on. Since the heart attack though, I've started to remove the skin from the whole chicken, which has been surprisingly easier than double-checking to make sure the feathers have all been plucked and the yellow scaly things all removed. Once the skin is removed, I cut off all the extra fat I see and am able to cut. The inside parts are usually included in a separate bag in the cavity. If I'm not cutting up the chicken for stewing, currying, etc. I add the inside parts to the dog food bag to be prepared for Hyper Doggy. Once I'm leaving it whole, I wash the chicken inside and out with lime to cut the freshness, and pat it dry inside and out. The chickens we get down here aren't too big, so even the biggest chickens we can find still fit into the largest ziploc bag when left whole. If I have my meal plans in mind, I'll season the chicken in the bag before squeezing out the air, sealing, labeling by date and what it's seasoned for, and putting in the freezer. The night before I'm ready to cook/bake/roast the chicken, I put it in the fridge. That way, once it's thawed out, it marinates in the seasoning until I'm ready for it. Otherwise I tend to it just the same, minus the seasoning. A word of advice; fish and poultry are always best when bought and slaughtered fresh, and placed on ice until ready to use. We try to get fresh fish when we can and tend to it right away. The same is said for chicken, and I try to ensure we go to a place that will kill the chicken for us halal-style (the Muslim way that allows the blood to flow out from the neck. I wouldn't do it myself, but it is better as there are no broken bones or blood clots in the chicken this way) and pluck it and guts it themselves. We're hoping to get a cooler soon so we can make it more of a habit to get everything fresh and keep it fresher for longer on ice until we get home to tend to it. The same processes can be used to store any kind of meat. Needless to say, I also use the ziploc bags or small clear plastic bags to store portioned out bulk meals in the freezer for a rainy day. Again, I label them by what's inside and the date it was cooked.

Paper towels and napkins: Even if you're using a cleaning cloth, paper towels and napkins still come in incredibly handy. I use paper towels with my ziploc bags to store my produce and for the really small ziploc bags and small amounts of any produce, I use a napkin instead. As environmentally conscious as I am, I occasionally use them for cleaning as well. I also use paper towels to soak up oil in fried or oven baked foods. I always keep a few napkins on hand in the car. Sometimes we buy food outside and either don't get napkins or don't get enough, or there's a mess to clean up, or for the past few months, I'm pregnant and have morning sickness.

Kitchen towels: We have a few old  kitchen towels that makes do for now, and intend to get more soon. We also try to keep one old regular towel in the kitchen to dry our hands or produce or pots and pans. When an oven mitt disappears, a couple kitchen towels suffice. I also dampen them and place over bowls of dough when baking. Wash them regularly and keep them on hand to wrap bread, cover dough, handle hot pans, or line containers to store certain types of food.

Rant on Family and Thanksgiving

Seriously? Are you fricking kidding me? You CANNOT be for real. WHAT THE FUCK MAN?

That was me half an hour ago reading a comment from one of my dad's relatives on a picture of my kid brother and I when we were both under the age of ten and very little. Today is his birthday (my brother), and being overseas with a crappy phone connection and sometimish internet connection, I wished him happy birthday via facebook and changed my profile picture to the said picture of us back in the day. I was probably 7, he was probably 1. I'm nostalgic and I love old pics and the like so he saw it coming, thanked me for the wish and poked me non-stop for the rest of the day.

This particular picture has been in one of my albums on facebook for a year or two, and I just cropped it and made it my profile picture. I have two brothers. This one is 6 years younger than me, the baby in our set is 12 years younger. I have tons of pictures with the three of us or both of them or each of them with me or some how or the other on facebook. I talk about them constantly and annoy people with my constant talk about them. I've been invited to one family get-together earlier this year since returning to this crappy country in 2010 and I talked about both of my brothers then too. This particular relative of my dad's was there, and I giggled with her preteen/early teens daughter about my brother and gave her juicy stories of our adventures and twisted plots as kids. This relative of my dad's and her daughter had been to New York to visit my brothers, conveniently only realizing they existed after I left the country. The daughter thought my brothers were fun and wrestled with my kid brother. The day went by very awkwardly as the only person in the family that seemed okay with my being there was this relative person's daughter, who ironically reminded me of a younger version of myself. The relative made a passing comment that was something like "Oh, yeah, we visit them. Yeah, we saw them. Yeah, yeah, yeah we go to New York and see them all the time."

Maybe I was talking about them too much. I know I do that sometimes. In my defense, everyone else was ignoring me and silencing the room if I left and came back, so if the one person who was talking to me was talking to me about my favorite people, HELL FUCKING YES I was going to talk about them. So I wish my teenage brother a happy fucking birthday and reminisce with this picture, and then I see this relative person asks me if it's x or y. By x or y, I mean substitute each brother's name. WHAT THE FUCK? You claim to visit them "all the time" and oh yeah, you see them and you know how they're doing, and you don't know who's who? It's a picture of a 3 1/2 foot tall ridiculously skinny me, and a chubby-ish darker little boy who obviously looks like my kid brother. Both brothers have distinct looks. The youngest is light-skinned, like me, skinny, a little nerdy looking, and lanky (all like me). The other was always chubby but now has an athletic build, eventually got tall a couple years ago, and has always been noticeably darker than the youngest and I. How the hell do you confuse them? The three of us represent three very distinct different age groups and although we all look like my dad and like we're related, we look very different! How the fuck do you not know who is who?

What really pisses me off here, is that my great-aunt passed away from Cancer two weeks after my youngest brother was born and I celebrated my birthday, and a month after my kid brother was nearly crippled in a car accident. The entire month (February 2003) that my aunt was dying, our apartment was FLOODED with strangers "family", including this relative person. My bed became a heap of coats, and I slept in whatever little space I could make in a corner, my kid brother was still on crutches and needed help doing simple things like getting to the bathroom, and my mother had just given birth and was not only dealing with regular postpartum stuff, but was suffering from postpartum depression as well. Add a newborn baby, who was not even a week old when family came pouring in, to that mix. I should also add that my dad was the only person working in our family, as a laborer, and that February was the mother of all snowstorms I've ever experienced. As soon as one was over, another begun. NOT A SINGLE FAMILY MEMBER/RELATIVE GAVE A FUCK DURING THIS TIME.

I would wake up, help my mother get to the bathroom, clean her up, get her something to eat; change, feed, and put the baby to sleep, tidy the house, get my kid brother bathed, bathroomed, changed, and breakfasted, and get to school. Get home from school to repeat the whole process and attend to two apartments full of people talking about my dying aunt going to hell and how they wanted to go shopping and ordering my parents around to carry them shopping and who wanted to eat what, while my mother, the neighbor, and I cleaned up after everyone, made sandwiches, pastries, and quick jumbo-sized meals and struggled to keep our heads on. Nobody wanted to even look at the baby, and when I brought him out in his bassinet people actually looked annoyed and disgusted and one time, kicked me out from the one game of cards I was offered to play because I brought the baby who might wake up and cry and disturb the game. Nobody helped my postpartum mother who already had a butt-load of mental issues before the baby. Nobody helped or even offered to help with the cleaning and putting away of items placed askew everyday, or with dirty dishes, or cooking, or laundry, or kid brother on crutches, or the shipload of demands they put on my dad who was STILL working throughout all this. That was one of the hardest years of my entire life. To top that off, my great-aunt was the only person in the family who treated me well and always greeted me with love and affection and considered me as her own daughter. She would stay in New York for up to half a year at a time for her treatments, and I would meet with her every day after school. She encouraged me in everything I wanted to do and was the only person to always believe in me and not wave me off as a dumb little kid. I don't think I've ever been that close to anyone in my family, and here was a bunch of strangers family/relatives saying horrible things about her and laughing and joking about it, and putting on a show of tears when it came to getting discounts on buying clothes for her burial. Everyone had a big mouth, but nobody had helping hands. You're telling me, after staying with my family through THAT ordeal, despite how many times you visit New York now or how many times you see them, you can't tell the difference between two of my brothers who are in two different generations and very, very different in EVERY way possible?


Sigh. I know my hormones are probably over-reacting to this one little comment, but seriously? I'm beyond pissed. I've taken crap from both my parents for years about how I don't try hard enough to make the family like me and accept me. WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO? I'm sorry, but I do not suck up. I look down on people who do and even if my life depended on it (and it has) I still will not suck up. I will not pretend to be someone I am not and I will not set an example for anyone, especially not my brothers or future child/ren of being someone who makes themself suffer in the vain hope of spending over two decades trying to win people over. Especially not for people like that.

I don't celebrate Thanksgiving for the Indians and Pilgrims. Honestly, it was a false get-together to earn the trust of the natives before the outsiders stole from them, abused them, and slaughtered them. Kind of like my family, lol. You can put as many pretty pictures in the history books as you want, but that's the way I see it. I love Thanksgiving because it is ONE day in the year when people come together to spend time with the people they love and give thanks. Not for presents, not for sex, not for political enforcement, but for love and thanks. I think those are two things everyone should set aside time for even if it's just for one day in the year. I'm in another country, broke, as weak as a dying fish, and lonely as hell, but I'm still celebrating Thanksgiving by giving thanks for my brothers, my dad, my husband, and my fur babies. I have a handful of friends (literally like two or three people) who have stuck by my side through trying moments, even now, which can be quite a challenge, and I'm immensely thankful for them too. I don't need a damned turkey or to half-kill myself trying to get some strangers  relatives to give me their stamp of approval.

I believe in leading by example. I want my brothers and future child/ren to know that the most important approval to have from anyone is from yourself. Nobody, and I mean NOBODY is worth a lifetime of unhappiness and issues trying to get them to like you. NOBODY is worth that. Not even me. There are a lot of people who don't like me, and I accept that. I want to focus on my little circle of people that DO like me. Not many people have even bothered to try to get to know me or stick with me through anything and I have been through hell and back numerous times, which means the people I've leaned on have also faced battles with me and are still there. These are the people that are worth it. These are the people that I would half-kill myself slaughtering a bird and cooking dead flesh for 10-20 hours and tiring out my arms whipping up pastries and side dishes and main dishes and the like for. These are the people that I know are so genuinely deserving of being presented a great feast and being offered my thanks and love especially because they wouldn't even ask such things from me. They wouldn't demand such things or order me around or tell me how many things are wrong with me or give me condescending lectures or make snarky comments about me or interrogate me like a criminal or forget who I am. Screw what the blood tests and medical papers say. These people are my family. Not those selfish, proud, bigoted, two-faced ninnies who can't see past their own noses stuck so high up in the air.

Am I a horrible person for thinking that way? I've been told I am. Guess what? I DON'T GIVE A FUCK. I am there for the people that need me and the people that I need are there when I need them. I'll admit, with this pregnancy, I did try to be nice to the family and include them in what was going on and try to be however I needed to be to get the stamp of approval. I called everyone and told them I was pregnant, I post monthly ultrasound pictures on facebook, and guess what? None of them care. Nobody calls or asks how I am or how the baby is or if I need help or gives any positive comments or anything of the sort. When one of my aunts was pregnant,as soon as I got home from school on weekdays and all day during weekends, I massaged her back, cleaned her house and yard, dyed her hair when she deemed it necessary, helped her kids with homework and school things, helped her with cooking and laundry, baked cakes and pastries at least once a week for her and her family, and bought her a multi-whatsit high end pack n play and as much baby clothes as I could afford to. When my mom was pregnant with my youngest brother, I was much younger, but old enough to understand what was going on, and I slept on the floor by her bedside every night until her morning sickness stopped, emptied her vomit bucket daily, took her to the bathroom, made the meals I was limited to cooking at my age for her, massaged her feet, head, and shoulders daily, wiped her down when she was heated, and since the brunt of the household work like cleaning and laundry were already my responsibility, I happily continued with that. When my sister-in-law was pregnant, I did all of the daily cooking and cleaning every day anyway and she grew up on hired help so she never had to lift a finger, I baked sweets at least every week and offered that as well as at least three hot meals a day to her, cleaned up after the messes she, her husband, and her dog made, her husband did their laundry, her dad cut coconuts to give her coconut water and jelly daily, and in addition to my meals and sweets, her dad cooked special meals a few times a week for her, and brought sweets and meals his relatives had sent for her. Her mother and in-laws sent money and maternity and baby supplies and she eventually went to New York to stay for the last trimester and deliver the baby and stay for the first few months of the baby's life, all sponsored with people clamoring to help. My husband's cousin-in-law was about four months pregnant ahead of me, and she has a maid and a cook, as well as her mother-in-law cooking separate meals throughout the day anyway, both her husband's family and her in-laws were falling over themselves to help and buy things and cook for her and help with any little thing that needed done. She continued working by choice, and that was the only thing she had to lift a finger to do. Why is it that every time someone I know is pregnant, they become royalty and now that it's my turn, I'm chopped liver? If I was a horrible drunk who abused people and spit on them and had a criminal record and tried to kill everyone near me I would say "okay, I guess I understand how they feel" and let it go at that, but what the hell man? I've done a lot for a lot of people, especially when someone is pregnant, and as usual, I don't get what I give. The very same relative person who made the comment today asked where a picture of my belly was on facebook days after I announced the pregnancy somewhere around a month and half. One of my dad's other cousins sends me a message once , sometimes twice a month asking how the pregnancy is going and updates me on her pregnant sister. I've had brief conversations with two relatives, asking one for their opinions on pregnancy-related stuff based on their experiences, and describing my experiences so far to the other, and there's been nothing more than that. I know there are single teen moms with nobody who go through it all on their own but that's the thing. I'm a married adult. I may have gotten pregnant unintentionally, but my child has both parents involved who are consenting, mature adults. And for the amount of strangers relatives/family I'm supposed to have, or at least just the people I think I've been good to, there's no one there.

I was born out of wedlock, so I'm bad. I look like my dad, so I'm bad. I look like my mom, so I'm bad. I matured early, so I'm bad. I was good in schoolwork but not sports, so I'm bad. I didn't grow up in the same country as my cousins, so I'm bad. I grew up isolated from family and I still don't know everybody, so I'm bad. I went back to high school to get better grades, so I'm bad. I wanted to go to college when my parents couldn't afford to send me, so I'm bad. I had a problem with my mother living with a married man and constantly beating me up and kicking me out of the house, so I'm bad. I spoke up about being abused and molested by people in the family, so I'm bad. When I was working 16 hour shifts 7 days a week to support a family of 5, I didn't have time to take my brothers to the park, so I'm bad. I pulled various muscles and made myself sick taking care of my mom after her tummy tuck and liposuction while fighting off her controlling boyfriend who wrote down Spanish insults and translated them to her as he insulted her daily during that time, so I'm bad. I was forced to move out and leave the country and I did, so I'm bad. I filed a domestic violence report against my mother after she nearly killed me in front of my baby brother, so I'm bad. I traveled overseas with two overweight suitcases and a carry-on filled with clothing and goodies to give to family while I was still nursing a twisted ankle, multiple bruised ribs, and multiple bruises and wounds about my body and then contracted dengue fever and could not deliver all the items while I was being hospitalized, so I'm bad. I was threatened, insulted, and harassed as was many of my friends and husband's relatives, so I'm bad. I've been bedridden more times than I can count and was told I was dying twice before I got married, so I'm bad. I got married young to escape my family and get protection, so I'm bad. I didn't get through with work right away, so I'm bad. I got through with a job and my husband gave up his career to support mine, so I'm bad. I ended my career to focus on my health (and sanity) and my husband's health after his heart attack, so I'm bad. I have crappy in-laws, so I'm bad. I got pregnant, so I'm bad.

Seriously? What more can they throw at me? I guarantee I've heard it all before. You name it, I've probably been accused of it. Everything I do is made out to be bad. I'm done trying. I am so, so, so, done trying. It's about damned time people understand that I deserve to be happy. My parents did a great job teaching me to cook, clean, wash, serve others, put others before myself, and sacrifice my happiness and comfort for others. What about making myself happy? What about making friends? What about having fun? What about loving life? No lessons there. I'm still trying to figure those things out, and I hope I do it in time to teach Superbaby. I've said time and time again that I'm going to start putting myself first and somehow or the other Taurus man reminds me that I always end up going right back to square one. Hopefully this time I can respect myself enough to follow through.

Are there many, many things wrong with me? Yes. And I understand if that offends or bothers people. Am I messed up? Yes. And I understand if that offends or bothers people. Do I have issues? Yes. And I understand if that offends or bothers people. Do I have qualities or quirks that some people don't like? Yes. And I understand if that offends or bothers people.  Wait a minute. What am I saying? Are there many, many things wrong with me? Am I messed up? Do I have issues? Do I have qualities or quirks that some people don't like? Uhhhh........ According to a CollegeNow psychology course I took during my last year in high school, that applies to EVERYONE in some way or the other. Oh my goodness. How do people live with each other? You gotta give love and thanks, people. Love and thanks.



P.S. The relative person just commented in response to my explanation of our age differences (for example, one brother is 6 feet tall and looks like a football player, the other is still very, very short, and abnormally skinny) with "oh yeah wow they look alike". ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? ARE YOU MOHTERFUCKING KIDDING ME? *exhales slowly* Love and thanks, people. Love and thanks.

Ode to Hyper Doggy

I'm just letting you all know that I have the best dog ever. How can I make such a biased statement when I claim to be against favoritism? I shall explain.

Kitty rolls over for attention when she feels like it and flicks her tail up in the air and goes off to do something more interesting, like staring at the wall, when I want to play with her. Kitty's babies are beyond adorable but they're all still very tiny fur balls that needs tons of sleep so it's either they're sleeping, I'm sleeping, or we're all sleeping. We're hardly ever awake at the same time. Schizo cat is bat-shit-crazy and scares the hell out of me every time I try to pet her. Taurus Man bought an insanely cool hamster cage toy-contraption-connected-thing I'm looking forward to putting together once he cleans the cage, but we haven't bought the hamsters yet. Taurus Man's latest pet crabs are so moody/antisocial/crabby and they have gigantic snapping claws. Taurus Man is either making me laugh until I nearly pee myself, trying to bore me to death with tech stuff, finding some secret way to get me all antsy and cranky, or busy with boring whatever-it-is-he-talks-about.

Hyper doggy, HOWEVER, is never too busy for me. Whether I laugh so hard I wake her up from an obviously deep sleep or I've been asleep for a million years and zombie-walk over to her out of my hibernation, she's always brimming with love and affection for me. When I have a bad day or a low moment, she makes me smile and laugh even when I want to cry. She gives me kisses every time she sees me and is never tired or bored with me. She listens to every single thing I have to say, and whether I make sense or not, she looks at me with her I-love-you-no-matter-what-you-say eyes. Even when I talk about my twisted plans for world domination. As much as I love her and as much as I've ever loved any animal or human in my life, I know she loves me more than I can imagine. I am an incredible superhero/God/miracle in her eyes, and I can never repay her for her unwavering love. When I'm sick, she knows it, and will whimper and look at me with super sad the-world-is-now-over eyes until I tell her I'm okay. She is beyond amazing. I hope that one day I can be half the person she thinks I am. This is why I love her best of all and she's my favorite.

I am aware that it sounds like Taurus Man and I are running a zoo. We're not. At least, I don't think we are. Things just happen. But hyper doggy is the best. As long as we have that understanding.

(Hyper Doggy at 2 months)

Pregnancy Updates

This is the third pregnancy update post I'm attempting to write. I don't like to continue saved drafts because I can never remember what my train of thought was and I can't ever continue with the flow. Taurus Man has been told not to mess with the flow, hyper dog is staring off into space, and Kitty is feeding and cleaning her babies. I'm all set. Except Taurus Man is watching a new series with The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and as much as I hate to admit it, it's pretty addicting. Must.....fight....the....power..........there. I'm all set.

My belly is definitely pregnant looking, and has been as of 22 weeks. Not only do I look pregnant from the side, but depending on what I'm wearing you can kind of tell from the front too. My fainting has gotten ridiculous. I've fainted probably 10-12 times total throughout this pregnancy, the majority of times within these past two months, especially these past few couple weeks.

Let me get all of my complaints out there:

My allergies have MUTATED. I kid you not. I sneeze upwards of 30 times each day. That's day time only, not counting nights. And I'm not exaggerating. My runny nose has led to a post nasal drip which is now a sore throat. My eyes also feel like they've been held open with scalding hot toothpicks. I guess the migraines are a given. My headaches aren't daily anymore, and when I do get migraines, it's probably once a week to two weeks.

My veins, which are normally highly visible, have also mutated into boldly colored road maps. If I looked like a freak of nature before, I don't know what I look like now. I also have new freckles, moles, and get this: I have skin tags! My kid brother has them, as well as Taurus Man, so I've seen them before, but man was I freaked out to see them on my own body. They're mostly on my breasts and the area below my armpits. They're also very small and thankfully not in places the public sees.

The colostrum has gone from a clear, sticky liquid, to a thick, cloudy, kind of milky white substance. My areolas feel extremely rough and my nipples are still incredibly sore. I can't remember the last time I wore a bra, and I can't think of any reason other than my next OB-GYN appointment for me to go through the torture of wearing one. The boobs are also increasing their toll on my back. I'm constantly in pain. Sometimes if I'm watching a show with Taurus Man, I just hold my boobs up or ask him to hold them up for me. From what I've read, they're supposed to get bigger. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Have you seen me? Even with a preggo belly, you can still see my ribs and my bones in my back. How much more weight am I supposed to carry? Has anyone ever fallen over from heavy boobs?

BRAXTON HICKS. No joke. I suspected them around four months in, but now it's definitely indisputable. It's basically a firm tightening around my belly as the uterus contracts which occasionally hurts. Also, my bladder is facing some hard times. From my last appointment, as my doc read out the results of the anomaly scan, she said that my uterus was tipped and that the baby's head was a little lower than it should be. I'm not sure if that's why I get so much pain around the area of my bladder every time I have to pee or stand up. If I'm lying down and sit up or stand up, it feels like I'm dropping a lead weight directly on my bladder. Yesterday I was in so much pain I could barely sit up or stand and Taurus Man had to carry me to the bathroom. I now have a makeshift potty in the room to use because I don't have the strength to get up and go all the way to the bathroom by myself, especially not in pain. At my next appointment I'll get that clarified. For now, I'm staying hydrated because I'm supposed to, but I no longer enjoy consuming liquids or food once I think about peeing afterwards.

My legs aren't swollen, but I have definitely gained some weight there. I think they look like tree trunks! Leg cramps, lightening crotch, and ligament pains are all very much a reality as well.

I am so tired and exhausted that I sleep through the whole night now and also take naps during the day.

Blurred vision and seeing light flecks and spots are becoming increasingly regular.



Okay, the good parts:

My nails are super strong and growing at amazing speeds.

Superbaby is healthy and quite active. Apparently, the doc says when the kicks hurt, it's because Superbaby is kicking the uterus wall and making it contract. No cause for worry, though.

I've made it this far under the circumstances, I'm now that much more confident that I can carry Superbaby to term.

Aside from needing peppersauce in everything I eat, for the past few days I've also been craving Milo. It's a nutritional drink you mix with water, milk, and sugar. I have at least three glasses a day. I'll double check with the doc to make sure that having too much won't be a problem, but as far as I'm concerned, so far, I'm prepping Superbaby with major nutrition. I still haven't craved any junk, so all I eat is actual food, day and night. Taurus Man is still trying to get me to try chocolate and other sweets, but to no avail. It still tastes nasty. Superbaby and I are surviving on actual nutrition. We have no time for discrepancies like artificial flavors and processed, sugary types of junk. *scoffs and turns up nose* Except for that green pepper mango. But that's over now. *resumes scoffing*

I've been told by Taurus Man that I seem to be "glowing". I'll go out on a limb and agree with him, but there's no actual definition for glowing, is there? I do, however, think that I look much better this trimester compared to the first trimester. I've also never felt more confident about my body. Coming from a person with every kind of issue imaginable, which needless to say includes issues about myself, that's saying A LOT. I love the way I look with my belly and every time I pass by the mirror I lift my shirt up to check myself out. Oh yeah. I'm sexy and I know it :)


I'll do us all a favor and not talk about the stand-still baby preparation plans. Back to me being sexy now. :D

Preggo Cat Gives Birth!

**Warning: may contain graphic images**

Preggo cat's real name is Kitty, ingeniously given to her by Taurus man when we first adopted her as a 1 month old stray. She has always been fiercely independent and is one of those cats that will accept praise when she feels like it, and show affection when she feels like it. We're guessing she must have been born around late June 2010. She does not like being kept indoors at all, and after too many escape attempts that included several jumps out of our three story high bedroom window, we agreed to let her be free where she was comfortable. She still technically lives with us though, as she has made her home on the steps by the front door leading to the garage, the steps by the unusable back door also leading to the garage, the front porch, the roof hanging below the front porch, the garage, and Cancer Grump's wood workshop downstairs. Anywho, we realized she was pregnant shortly after hubby's heart attack in April, and on May 30 she delivered 4 premie babies. Three were stillborn, but one was born a pale blue, yet breathing. She rejected all the babies and proceeded to eat them (totally normal I later learned) so I took the last kitten upstairs and followed all the instructions I could find online about premie kittens 11 o'clock in the night until he/she finally died in my arms. I don't think Kitty really knew what to do with herself pregnant. She was very reckless and tried going about her business as she normally would, but when her belly got in the way and she fell over, she would look around completely confused, and just try whatever she was doing again. She just got up and kept on going after losing her babies, but I was devastated for her. I did even more research and promised to be better prepared if she got pregnant again.

This time, we noticed she was pregnant either in August or September (it feels like forever), when my morning sickness was being a total bitch and I was constantly sick. We waited and waited and waited. And waited. Finally, around 3AM on November 9th, Taurus man insisted that I get dressed and go with him to drive around looking for somewhere that would be open for him to get something to eat. Standing by the car, I shushed him and told him to listen. Yes, I was hearing little squeaks! "Do we have kitties?" I excitedly asked.

Taurus man put on the flashlight on his fancy phone and pointed it in every direction as we tried to figure out where the noise was coming from. He instructed me to wait by the steps as he headed down the deep flight of stairs with one banister leading into the basement/wood-workshop. Halfway down he turned around and grinned "Yes, we do have kittens."

I squealed and carefully made my way down as he guided me with the light (because like in my last post as you know, I'm so delicate and fragile *rolls eyes*) We climbed into an area right below the water tanks and found Kitty lying on her side on the concrete, covered in dust, mud, and dirt, and moaning, with one black kitten searching for a nipple. She was still in the process of birthing a kitten. I heard the squeals again and we found a second black kitten had wriggled himself about three feet away.

I sent Taurus Man upstairs for the tub with newspapers and an old towel I had put together half-assedly just for this moment and used the dim light of my crappy old phone (which is much easier to understand than Taurus man's newfangled technological devices) to talk to Kitty. I had read about some laboring cats not wanting to be disturbed, and others becoming very aggressive. I wasn't sure how Kitty felt so I stayed back and talked to her to play it safe. She reached out both paws and moaned softly so I touched her paws first, and as she closed her paws around my fingers, I reached out to stroke her face. She purred happily, so I rearranged myself to pet her and talk to her soothingly for as long as it took.

Thankfully, Taurus Man returned quickly with the tub and a pillowcase for me to use to pick up the stranded black kitten. It is common knowledge that touching newborn kittens can alter the scent the mother cat will pick up from them and she may reject them or eat them, so I didn't want to touch them. I pushed my hand in the pillowcase and petted Kitty for awhile, to get her scent on it, and then picked up the stranded black kitten and guided him to a nipple.

Kitty continued moaning and crying and Taurus Man quickly realized that the kitten she was birthing was not moving and was coming out feet first. As I looked closely, I realized the kitten was still in its sac and was already turning blue, with its head stuck in the birth canal. Taurus Man quickly suggested that I help Kitty through the birth if the kitten had any chance of survival, and helped me position myself to assist Kitty.

Before I continue, I just want to state that I although I saw my first birthing video at the age of 5 and continue to watch them in my spare time, I had never witnessed a live birth in person, whether human or animal. I had done extensive research on cat labor so I wouldn't be completely clueless, but all the sites I checked insisted that Kitty would instinctively know what to do and if there were any complications, the sites insisted that I would psychically predict that and already be at the vet's office. Vet visits in this crappy ass third-world country run into hundreds of dollars, plus vaccinations and emergency treatments turn costs into thousands of dollars. The majority of vets never have the medication or vaccinations they need on hand. There's a better chance driving for two and a half hours to get to the other side of the country (aka the rich people area) and paying three times the price to get the kind of vet people in the States take for granted. And at three in the morning, we would have more luck finding Bigfoot than getting a vet to help us. So, even though I've seen tons of videos and read tons of books, on the inside I was beyond paralyzed with fear.

So I petted Kitty, talked soothingly to her, put my brave I-totally-know-what-I'm-doing face on, and placed one hand on Kitty's tummy, and the other hand under the blue kitten. Pressing gently on her tummy, I glided my hand downwards and with every "unh" moan from her, I slowly pulled the kitten out until the head was out and I left it up to Kitty to push out the placenta. As soon as the head was out, Kitty reached for my hands and purred again, and promptly fell asleep.

It is common knowledge that male cats attack and kill kittens, especially the males, viewing them as a threat. As the first two kittens seemed black, we guessed that a local black cat with white feet was the father. As he has a history for attacking Kitty, despite reading that laboring cats should not be moved, we decided that neither Kitty nor her babies would be safe, especially in the condition of her birthing environment and vulnerability it left them. Using the pillowcase and the guidance of Taurus Man's light, I first picked up the black kittens, one by one, and then Kitty and the third kitten together and placed them all in the tub. Taurus Man picked up the tub and handed me the light as I guided us back upstairs.

Once we were under the proper light upstairs, we saw that the third kitten had orange striped fur and his face and paws were completely blue. Kitty had pushed out his placenta and was almost through birthing the fourth kitten, also orange. Taurus Man suggested that I burst the sac myself and start cleaning the stillborn baby. I ripped off a piece of the sash on my bathrobe and dipped it in warm water (the material and water is supposed to mimic the mother's tongue), pinching the sac as Taurus Man burst it with a fork and I continued cleaning the baby in the opposite direction of fur growth as I had read, hoping the rubbing would stimulate the baby. By this time, the fourth kitten was completely out and Kitty was already pushing out a fifth orange kitten on top of the fourth. Taurus Man took over with the third kitten and started rubbing his back as I burst the sac on the fourth kitten and started cleaning him, then placed him by a nipple and waited for Kitty to take over. The fifth kitten came out just as quickly as the fourth and his sac was already broken. Kitty tried to sit up to reach him and fell back down panting. I picked up the fifth kitten with the same sash and placed him near a nipple, within Kitty's reach.

Like a pro, Kitty's instincts told her what to do. Between occasional naps and panting, she finished cleaning all five kittens and ate all the placentas. We could not revive the stillborn kitten unfortunately, and even Kitty's instincts couldn't help. Once the remaining four kittens had nursed/were latched on, and Kitty seemed to be at ease, we moved the tub from the hall/living room table to our bedroom. I waited a few hours afterwards and then changed the bloody bedding to clean towels. Kitty seemed to be okay other than being exhausted and overheated. She licked herself clean and was on her feet by morning (I say morning as in daylight here).

Kitty seemed to thrive from attention and began acting a bit baby-ish herself, stretching out her paws to play with my face or rolling from side to side and smiling as I rubbed her tummy or sides. She can't get enough attention. She's a total diva and she definitely deserves to be. By the second day, one of the orange kittens had crawled along the bedding and pulled himself to the edge, almost falling over. I caught him and placed him near Kitty and then started panicking because I touched the newborn kitten. I had to wait a few hours for the internet to start working (in this country, rain and internet cannot exist at the same time) and googled "touching newborn kittens" (or something to that effect). I read about 20-30 pages before Taurus Man assured me it was not the end of the world. Kitty was nursing all of her babies and had showed no signs of rejecting them. There were sites that encouraged touching the kittens as soon as they were born, and others suggesting waiting three weeks. Everyone has their own opinion, and I respect that. Taurus Man picked up one of the kittens and cuddled him as Kitty looked on. She meowed a bit, but didn't fuss otherwise. He encouraged me to pick up one as well and when I did (my hormones have subjected me to peer pressure THAT easily), Kitty reacted the same way. I held my kitten for a bit longer and eventually, Kitty got up and came over to meow in my face in a very that's-my-baby-not-yours kind of way. I quickly put down the kitten and moved the tub to the ground next to a nightstand to give them some space.

Yesterday, there was an infestation of red biting ants in the room and when I looked at the tub, I saw it was 3/4 filled with ants. I have seen a kitten being eaten by ants before, so I picked up and dusted off each kitten before doing the same to Kitty, and blocked off a little area in the bed to keep them with me. They stayed with me for the two-three hours Taurus Man left to play football and I got no aggression from Kitty. The kittens were three days old and crawling already, and figured out how to crawl up and over the bedding, so I moved them back to the center or brought them to snuggle up to me or Kitty and Kitty was fine with that. I've noticed that Kitty is more comfortable with me handling the kittens than Taurus Man, yet she prefers Taurus Man's attention on her over mine. Seriously speaking, she will drop whatever she's doing, including nursing her babies, and run over to Taurus Man every time he enters the room to be petted.

All the kitties and I drifted in and out of sleep until Taurus Man came home. I insisted on leaving them there with me and at some point in time, Taurus Man fixed the ants problem, moved the kitties, and either moved me or convinced me to rotate myself from my upside down position in bed. All I know is, I woke up at 3AM feeling like I was on another planet with all the kitties sleeping in their tub next to the nightstand, and me lying down right-side up next to sleeping hubby. I have no idea when I went to sleep or how I had slept through so much of the day and night. I brought the kitties back on the bed and Mama Kitty happily thrived under my affection and at some point, we all fell asleep again. Seriously you guys, I may never need sleeping pills or antidepressants again.

The kittens are now four days old, crawling, wriggling, and squeaking like pros, and Kitty is the proudest, most efficient mama I've ever seen. We're sure the black male cat with white feet is the father of the first two black kittens. One of the kittens resembles Kitty with her spots of color and has the most beautiful mark on his forehead. The other is black with white feet like his dad, and also has a white underbelly. The other two kittens (and the one that didn't make it) are all orange-stripey with white effects here and there so I suspect the neighbor's orange-striped and white cat (Kitty's favorite playmate) of being their father, since cats can be fertilized by more than one partner.

Everyone seems to be doing great and I'm swollen with pride every time Kitty does something mama-like. I, however, am so drowsy I might fall over the side of the bed if I don't lie down soon. With that said, good night, and hear are some kitty pics: