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:

Organization Update and Mushy Hormone Talk

So I still haven't started anything on my fancy schmancy list. I've been facing a major energy drain since last week, and after one fainting episode in the kitchen a couple days ago while Taurus man was in the bedroom, clueless to me passed out on the floor, I've been banned from getting up and going about my business unless I can walk around without getting dizzy/lightheaded/out of breath/hyperventilating/hearing ringing or buzzing in my ears etc. I haven't been able to do that for awhile, so I'm limited to sitting/lying down in bed, moving around the bedroom, taking myself to/from the bathroom, or sitting on the couch in the hall just outside our room. Anymore than that and I'm beyond exhausted, so weak I need help to sit up, and risking blacking out. The joys of motherhood, huh?

We also have very sucky news going on. Hubby was rejected from yet another job because of his health. Regardless of having the stent placed in his heart, just because he's had a heart attack it apparently puts him at too much of a risk to hire, especially if it's company policy to provide benefits. Sigh. Sigh. Sigh. It's even suckier than the past many, many months, because he's actually doing pretty awesome at the interviews; being told when he should come in to start, being given all the paperwork to fill out for new employees, and passing the special tests and training. Then they see the health section of his form and they're like "Actually, we can't hire you. Sorry." The last one was particularly hard because it was a lengthy process, something he had been visualizing himself doing for years, and after passing their special exam thing, he actually asked the supervisor present if his heart attack would affect the process. She asked someone and got back to him, insisting it shouldn't matter, and of the three people that passed, even though he was the most qualified, he got a call the next morning being denied the job for reasons they couldn't state. Bitches. Sigh. Sigh. Sigh.

Also, the ten-year-old+ little fridge we've been using has officially died as of yesterday morning/the night before that. Everything we had in there has spoiled and we now need to work around my pregnancy taste buds, constant hunger & weakness, as well as the fridge issue when considering food. We can live on dried and canned goods, sure, but I'm usually the one doing the cooking and hubby is pretty overwhelmed with things like that, especially given the current situation. I was all hyped up to get back to work and start working in a daycare to get out of the house, occupy myself, and bring in some extra cash to pamper doggy, plan for superbaby, and do other miscellaneous things, but with my health as sucky as it is, no one will want to hire me, and hubby is now terrified to let me out of his sight. No joke.

I went to the kitchen to make myself a pot of coffee a few hours ago, and two minutes later he swung open the bedroom door, staring at me all panic-like, trying to catch his breath, and then said "You should keep your phone with you in case of an emergency."

"Okay" I said.

"Are you okay? Do you need anything? You should come inside." he says.

"Coffee," I said, pointing to the kitchen, "I'll be done in a minute."

"Okay" he says, and runs back in the room to bring me my phone and follow me into the kitchen, by which time I've already strained my coffee and turn around to head back into the room.

"You're done? Are you ready to come back in the room? Do you want me to hold it?" he goes.

I kid you not. He thinks I'm too fragile to hold my own cup of joe you guys. "I got it. Let's go" I say.

He walks behind me the entire way back and stands and stares at me all worried-like as I get back into bed. I KID YOU NOT.

All this sucky stuff is freaking him out. You'd think it would freak me out too, being the Queen of freaking-out-ness that I am, but I actually find it quite amusing. Before I got married, people generally treated me very crap-like. I was the one to go over to someone's house and without being told anything or saying anything, I would take it upon myself to start cleaning and take over with the kids and their homework/projects, watch and feed the pets, and if the host was okay with it/insisted, cook meals and wash clothes as well. If I couldn't clean or do some kind of work for them, I would feel immensely awkward and avoid eye contact and conversation until we left. When I was ill or in need of any kind of assistance, everybody would bail. My parents raised me to be this way and to expect such responses from people. Taurus man taught me otherwise. I cried almost every day when I first got married because I was so touched by how much he cared. I was not to clean up after anyone but myself, and only if I wanted to and felt like it. Nothing was expected of me. Every chore I insisted had to be done, he would ask me to teach him so we could do it together. We cooked together and ate together, instead of me cooking, serving everyone, and eating while doing other chores. It was pure bliss. Of course the newlywed thing faded by the time we had been married for a year, but he has never stopped insisting that I take it easy and relax. He always puts me first and makes me feel so frigging SPECIAL. How could he get any more concerned or caring than that? Apparently he can. It's so sweet. Which is why as much as I'm bummed that he's so stressed out, I find this quite amusing. Sometimes I just want to stop him and get all high pitched and go "you are so frigging CUUUUUTE!" but I have a feeling that would mess with his testosterone, so I don't. But seriously, you guys, he is so frigging CUUUUUTE.

So I haven't done any actual organizing, but a couple hours ago I was watching HGTV and I was inspired with this idea for a nursery storage closet. There was nothing remotely close to that going on with the show. They were actually ripping out carpet and installing hardwood floors, but hey. If it was inspiring, it was inspiring. There's a kind of nook in the right hand side corner of the room we're intending to turn into a nursery. The first thing Taurus man and I built together was a kind of pantry/dresser type thing to occupy that nook. He had discussed tearing it down and putting a door there and using it to store diapers and other storage/bulk items we'll need when the baby comes, and I was a little hesitant to tear down a piece of our history, but I was hit by this idea and I think preggo-ness and dust allergies aside, I should be able to help with it, thus making a new part of our history. I won't post the actual pic I made on Paint, which is uber hard to use by the way, (I'm so skilled, aren't I?) until hubby takes a look at it when he wakes up. I did it on the laptop, but shared it on our homegroup (guess who paid attention when Taurus man was talking tech-talk?) so he could access it on the computer and sent him a facebook message as well explaining what exactly my Paint skills were trying to portray in case pregnancy brain hits when he wakes up.

I know I haven't made any actual progress with this oganization thing, but man, my fancy schmancy Paint picture made me feel SO accomplished. I'm on my way to something you guys. I don't know if it's a new kind of indirect procrastination or if it's a new kind of indirect progress, but it's definitely something!


**Later edit: Here's my super hard work on Paint. Taurus Man thinks it's a brilliant idea and is a definite go!

We'll basically be building a closet for storage and also use it as a shoe/coat closet. That thing on the door is a custom made shoe rack with space for umbrellas I intend to make once I get my sewing machine. I know, I know, it's just a closet, big whoop. HELL YEAH BIG WHOOP! I designed this thing! I'm so accomplished you guys. Unemployed and bored outta my mind on bedrest, but Paint-worthy accomplished, no doubt.

Super Organization! (with Color Codes)

It's 3AM on a Tuesday morning. Why do I have such a huge smile on my face? I finally organized all that cleaning mumbo jumbo. FINALLY! I know, I know, I said I would do it before, but *insert excuses here* I literally just finished. Well actually, I finished on Excel and then did the ctrl + print screen (don't I sound technologically savvy?), pasted each sheet into paint, cropped, saved as a jpeg so I could share my fabulous accomplishment with you guys, (and feed my ego) and chowed down on some of my version of pasta e fagioli.

Take a gander at the extent of my tech-skills, color coded, and neat-looking. *beams*

Some of the lists, like 'kitchen' and 'bedroom' couldn't all fit in one screen, so I just put what would fit. Whaddaya think? Just looking at it makes me feel like my life is going to be all put-together and everything is going to work out. I'm hoping I can do at least one thing on any of these sheets every day as I cut through the list. I'll start with just one a day until my energy levels come back up and my fainting isn't as frequent. Realistically speaking, I know there will be days when I'll be too weak to think of doing any of this stuff, but I'm taking it one day at a time. I've enlisted hubby aka Taurus man to help out where I can't and after showing him the first list (Bedroom) he insisted on taking up some more responsibility and taking my name/color code off some tasks. For the rest, I took the liberty of having him repeat some tasks he initially signed up for, and adding him to others. Once he reviews all the lists, we'll see what he thinks should be removed or added and so on.

This list was THE BEST idea I've had in a long time. I feel amazingly ready for this. Of course, with hubby and I both being professional procrastinators, I intend to keep a record of this project until it's finished. From the day we start (which may or may not be tomorrow.....or the next day) I will consider that day 1 and continue tracking our progress. I do expect setbacks and "are you kidding me?" moments to pop up when they can, so keep your eyes peeled for updates.

Hubby was amazed when just a few hours ago I lifted his shirt (that I was wearing) to apply my second round of deodorant. Apparently, my belly is now undeniably pregnant-looking and kinda huge :D. I also realized afterwards that my belly is finally protruding more than my boobs! My preggo belly's sudden appearance in collaboration with the start of my super organization project definitely makes this baby feel more real than ever. I'm going to be a mom you guys. Less than 20 weeks from now, I'll be bringing home my very own little bundle of joy. I can totally do this. Operation: Baby Preparation is now in effect. Unless I start tomorrow. Or the day after.

Procrastination and Organization

According to my husband's aunt, I should have a bag for both me and the baby in case of any emergency from 6/7 months onward. I totally agree. However, I don't have a single thing in place for the baby yet, nor do I own a single maternity thing yet. I also lack energy, focus, and determination. In the event of an emergency, I'd like to go out on a limb and say that I'm officially screwed. I have endless piles of laundry, washed and unwashed to tend to, cobwebs the size of China to conquer, and enough rearranging around the house and our bedroom to occupy me until next Christmas. If I bring the baby home early, or even on time, I drowning in housework will be an understatement. So, I've decided to pull my socks up. Or at least start thinking about it.

My brains works in a weird way. At any given time, I have at least twenty different trains of thought running through my head and pregnancy brain has made me more forgetful than ever. But I need these things done and I don't have the option of helpful friends and family falling at my feet to volunteer. Whatever shall I do? PLAN. Plan, plan, plan, big time.

If I need a mommy bag and baby bag ready in a month, then by that time, my work around the house should be greatly diminished and brought down to just an occasional dusting or wiping. That's my giant task on my to-do list. This is my to-do list by the way:

TO-DO LIST:

1. Get housework down to a bare minimum for the last trimester.
2. Get cracking on mommy bag and baby bag.
3. Be prepared for baby.
4. Have baby.

Each task on my to-do list has its own to-do list. Which I will get to eventually. I am aware that I am a procrastinator and a former perfectionist, but I'm learning how to go with the flow. The flow says I have a month to spruce up this place. How am I going to do that when I fall asleep regardless of what I'm doing at night and during the day? Or when I spend most of the week in bed, struggling to sit up on my own? I know not. But I will make this happen. My baby will not come home to cobwebs and dirty laundry. I will not put myself in a situation where I have to fight against a waddle and late pregnancy belly/other symptoms to do hardcore housework. So, I WILL make this happen. 

Hubby has located my missing Ipod nano, so even though I can't blast music because of *censored* *censored* *censored* *censored*, as long as I tape my headphones to my ears, neck, and body, I can't sweat it off. I'll also have Rumi (my 14 month old pompek) for company and she almost always cheers me up and will be my bodyguard in the event of uninvited company/*censored*. Sure, she runs away whimpering and hides behind me the second she sees someone coming, but it's the thought that counts, right? I have my broom, mop, mop bucket, two homemade cleaning sprays, an old duster, and garbage bags. Yeah. *deep breath* I can totally do this. 

The depressing part is that hubby doesn't want Rumi in the room at all once the baby is born. First, he was going to take over her play/living area to make himself an entertainment area, but after months and months of debate, he's finally agreed to give me the space for a nursery. I'd give up the nursery to keep Rumi inside safely with me, but if Taurus man says no Rumi, he means no Rumi. He's offered to put her on the steps by the garage downstairs, but after getting hell from his father when my last two pups were there, in addition to his father's habit of leaving the house (garage included) completely unlocked and usually wide open at all times, in addition to my last two pups being stolen given away without my consent or knowledge by his father, I'm still fighting Taurus man on that. If I want to keep Rumi, I have to suggest a place for her to stay (giving her away tore my heart out and was not successful - she's too "old" for people to want her now) and think of all the pros (to convince Taurus man) and cons (that Taurus man will bring up). That has me more bummed than anything but happy Taurus man means happy baby and happy me. So. :( *sniff sniff* The bitch.

The bedroom needs rearranging. As in HOLY SHIZNIT the bedroom needs rearranging. Furniture needs to be moved out, some might be broken down, and the chipping, dirty, blinding bright blue (Taurus man did it) walls need to be repainted. The windows need to be able to seal shut properly when closed and I need to figure out how to get shorter curtains that won't harbor the nursery or pose a threat to the baby with no sewing machine, and other factors I can't remember because Taurus man just interrupted my thinking flow. All kinds of crap need moving around in here and I'm hoping the lights can be changed to dimmers. Don't let me go on. A whole bunch of crap needs to be done here. A WHOLE bunch of crap. The bedroom gets a to-do list all by itself. Did I mention we're hoping to construct a wall to split the bedroom in two so the bedroom and nursery are separate as well as install air conditioning? *nervous laugh* HOLY SHIZNIT. I kid you not.

The back porch gets me pissed. I'm a horrible plant owner and half of my plants have died or are on their way to the afterlife as we speak. I need to take care of my plants and trim, replant, replace, etc. There are also clothesline strung across the entire length of the back porch that we hang our clothes on after washing. The clothespins have a habit of "disappearing" on their own. After three-quarters of them were stolen by Taurus man's sister, Cancer bitch, hubby and I bought a bulk pack of clothespins. Taurus man's dad, Cancer grump, kept making my clothespins disappear, so I brought out small packets at a time until half the pack was being used/disappeared. Not only does Cancer grump make the clothespins disappear, he makes my pretty new clothespins disappear in particular, uses the rest to hang his sheets or clothes or wash rags or plastic bags and then leaves the old, discoloring, breaking up ones for me. This goes as far as taking the new clothespins off of my clothes and replacing them with old ones. WTF man? Cancer grump also considers the back porch to be a dump. No matter how much I clean, any old unused pieces of machinery are dumped and piled on in the back porch. This includes extra large metal dishes that are all his, washing machines, fridges, and rusty old wiry things that were once who knows what. The heating iron is also never to be found as he takes it to his wood workshop downstairs and only brings it up to one of his rooms for his personal use and locks his doors at all times or carries it back downstairs. His prayer room is also located in the porch. The few times he actually cleans it, he sweeps out all the garbage and leaves it in the back porch for me to clean up. His hammock is also located there, where he spends half the night chatting away with a married woman he was "meant to be" with and eventually falls asleep before getting to his bedroom. In the midst of all these insignificant things, I'm supposed to keep the poorly half-painted, concrete floored back porch sparkling clean at all times. A round table in the back porch now has a pile of hubby's and my own laundry as his heart attack combined with my own health problems forced me to take a long break from anything resembling cleaning. But I must tend to it.

The bathroom pisses me off. No matter how often I scrub and fix and clean and throw out the trash, it keeps coming back. Cancer grump has two bedrooms for his own personal rooms, one of which is a master bedroom with a master bathroom. Why is he leaving muddy footprints in my otherwise clean shower? Or dumping wood-shavings on my rinsed out mop in the washtub? Or rinsing greasy things with greasy build up and black particles in the shower or sink to leave marks that need to be scrubbed out right when I thought I had a day's break from cleaning? Or leaving urine drops on the toilet seat and floor? Or leaving water rings on the washing machine lid? Or leaving the washing machine open to collect dust inside the outer rim? Or constantly pushing old disposable shavers or dusty pieces of cloth or empty toothpastes in the holes in the bricks running along the top of the bathroom? WHY? I do not know. But I must clean.

There are two parts to the kitchen. Which both piss me off. There is the back of the kitchen, which is mostly used by hubby or myself to plug in the griddle, store food supplies, mix batters, arrange cooked dishes, wash vegetables, or make ourselves busy until the stove or sink in the real kitchen is available. The real kitchen has the stove covered in all kinds of gunk unless I clean it every day and the sink that gets mildewed because of the leaky faucet Cancer grump refuses to fix the right way, the microwave that gets all kind of weird smells and splatters unless I clean it, the small fridge that's over ten years old and barely holding itself together that hubby and I use, and gunk building up on the counter tops unless I scrub them everyday, etc. I get pissed with the kitchen a lot. When the shit hits the fan and I can't rise at dawn to scrub and soak and clean, it turns into a dump. I haven't been cleaning at dawn for months, so just imagine the damage. But I must clean.

There is also the hall. The people that designed this house did so extremely half-assed. The hall is like a gigantic living room in between the kitchen and the doors to the bedrooms. Hubby and I have tried rearranging the dining table and some of his mom's furniture to make it has homely as we can, but poorly painted walls that were painted white more than 16 years ago and left to stain and collect dust in addition to the dust dropping, cobweb attracting ceiling kind of defeat the whole purpose. The ceiling is made of wood and runs through the whole house. The ceiling houses termites, ants, spiders, lizards, bats, and birds. There are probably more creatures hiding up there, but we don't know any more than these. The ceiling constantly drops dust and wood grains all over the house every few hours, every day and every night. Every stranger that Cancer grump brings to use our bathroom or wait for him for whatever reason or to clean his room tracks in God-knows-what on their shoes and leave these proud marks for me to scrub away. Cancer grump has a habit of trekking back and forth through God-knows-what when I am mopping and then quarrels with me for missing a spot or not mopping properly when he turns around to gleam at the new marks he leaves after every back and forth through the house. Weird things are also dumped here. Old tools covered in dust, wood shavings, and some kind of black substance are abandoned on the white dining room table cover, or on the clean new sheets I've covered the couch with, for example. When Cancer grump brings his maid or a workman to clean his room, he also instructs them to dump all of his dust and garbage out into the hall. Do I get pissed? Pissed is an understatement. But I must do it.

There is also the gallery. The gallery is a small protrusion to the front of the house. Dust from the road flies up and coats everything in the gallery daily. If there is construction (which there frequently is for the pipelines or roads), then construction dust and sand flies up and coats everything in the gallery. Anytime I open the burglar proofing and front door to the gallery, if I leave for five minutes and Cancer grump walks by, he shuts the door and locks the burglar proofing. As soon as it is cleaned, it attracts dust and will be just as dirty as it was before in mere hours. But I must tend to it.

I'm not even going to start on the stairs and outside the house. If I don't land myself in the hospital from all the cleaning I have laid out before me, I'm definitely not risking it for the outside. Sure the doc said not to do such things, but if I intend to put my feet up and relax for any part of my third trimester, now is the time to get to it. Whew. 5 months down, four months to go. I can totally do this. Not freaking out. Not freaking out at all.