I have found something even more motivating to a pregnant woman than a screaming toddler: a vomiting cat. While home yesterday telecommuting, I was in my “office” trying to answer some email. My office is the dining room/”vomitorium” and is the last area of the house gated off from Stella. I don’t think the State of Louisiana would like my 2 year old rappelling off of their laptop cord. It can be frustrating being in there, as typically after about 12 seconds, Stella realizes I’m behind the fence and begins grabbing the bars and shaking them violently while bellowing at me. She’s like a tiny blonde chimpanzee. When that doesn’t work, toys and books coming raining over the side. Yesterday, she got so angry with me all 3 Doras – consisting of “fathead Dora,” “little Dora,” and “yellow Dora” – came over the fence along with all the light fixtures from her castle. That’s a lot of Doras and wee lamps. I should consider myself lucky, as my kid is so athletic and tall she could easily vault over that fence if she wanted to. Anyway, as I’ve become less mobile, it’s harder to haul myself over that fence quickly. It’s probably horrible to look at, also. Thank goodness I don’t have a lot of mirrors around.
So right after the hail of Doras, I heard a horrible sound coming all the way from the back of the house. It was the unmistakable sound of one of the 3 Stupid Cats beginning to hack up a hairball. You’d think I’d be used to that sound by now, and I am. Oh yes, I am. But now I have a new king-sized bed. On this bed is a king-sized comforter. Do you know that that means? If puked upon, it ain’t going in my little bitty washing machine. And about the only thing that sounds less appealing than the idea of being pregnant right about now is the idea of hauling a vomit-stained king-sized comforter and a 2 year old to the Laundromat while pregnant.
For those of you without cats, Stupid or otherwise, you get the warning shots before the actual substance is ejected. You hear the heaving noises which are disgusting in their own right. This lasts anywhere from about 4-15 seconds. When I heard that, I knew I needed to get to the bedroom !STAT! to make sure that whatever Stupid Cat this was was not about to violate our bed. Somehow I made it without crowning or otherwise jostling BY’s head out of my pelvis. While the Stupid Cat did spew some bile and hair, it was safely on the hardwood floor rather than the bedding where he had previously been napping. Success!
And now for something completely different: (A would-be blog not long or interesting enough to stand on its own)
While I’m not important like a priest or doctor, I can’t go into some details about my job or the folks I deal with. Suffice it to say that just as in real life1, some folks are easier to deal with than others. I have a meeting today that I’m dreading. As a matter of fact, I did my damnedest to not have this meeting until after maternity leave concludes. It’s with a facility that has spilled some nasty stuff in the past2.
This is problematic for me for a multitude of reasons. For starters, the manager of the site shares common traits with the most odious and obnoxious of used-car salesmen. One constantly feels as if he’s feeding you shtick. This is only made worse by the fact that he never ever for the love of god shuts the F up. What should take about 1.5 minutes to discuss ends up taking about 37. I don’t have patience for this man when I’m not completely intolerant due to hormones and general discomfort. Secondly, in addition to my boss and boss’s boss, our kick-ass toxicologist will be there. Again, I have a hard time keeping up (read: pretending to follow along for the most part) with her on a good day. She’s brilliant. These days just aren’t good days. I intensely dislike feeling crummy about what I do professionally. And these people have been dragging their feet now for YEARS. What’s another 8 weeks, damn it?
1 Funny how I now refer to my non-job world as real life. I just caught that.
2 Duh. That’s what I do. I work with sites to ensure that they clean up any and all “oopses” that have impacted soil and groundwater to safe/appropriate levels.
Oh and one more thing:
I just got a text from my husband asking me to quit referring to “daddy’s butt” and noises. That makes me laugh. I can only imagine what’s happening now at my house.