Stick As Thieves

Yesterday started off, well, off.  I woke for work late.  My rooster was broken.  Somehow, Stella slept until nearly 6:30.  I think that is be the latest my kid has ever slept; I quit setting any kind of alarm clock ages ago for that very reason.  I usually am leaving for work about that time.  I was in a daze from crazy dreams fueled no doubt by hormones.  I was dreaming about our old German roommate1 and staph germs.  It was one of those ultra-realistic dreams that take a while to dispel.  Anyway, Stella started chattering about her “Duck uses diapers” book.  It took a couple of minutes before I realized the light was all wrong and got up to see the time.  I hollered “Oh shit” and ran to get Will so he could run child interference while I got ready.  Stella heard “Oh shit” and started loudly proclaiming “Oh stick.”  I dodged a 4 letter bullet on that one.

Somehow I was not late for work. I think it was the fact that A) I usually leave about 30 minutes before my start time due to crazy and unpredictable traffic here, and B) it was Lundi gras, so half of the office workers and all of the schools were off or had taken off for the day and the roads were empty.

I have to say I’ve been sweating work a bit lately.  I had engineered things as best as I could to ensure that this week would be easy and quiet, consisting of mainly wrapping up a few administrative-type tasks and visiting with the almost-constant stream of visitors I have whose conversation begins unfailingly with “What?!  You’re STILL here?!” to which I snarkily respond that I can be corpulent at the office just as easily as I can be corpulent at home.  Instead, many of my facilities have decided that they need stuff from me before I go.  I’m trying to do what I can, but my time and brainpower are totally limited at this point.  When you factor in that I have had my weekly OB appointments every Monday afternoon and have to leave early, Tuesday we’re off for Mardi gras, Wednesday is a telecommute day which limits the tasks I’m able to work on to a large degree, and Thursday is the final day, I only really have 1.5 days at my desk this week.  I’m knocking out what I can.  The rest will have to wait on me.  Serves ‘em right for waiting so long to get me the stuff.  I say that but in all actuality it bugs the ever living hell out of me to leave anything undone.

I left early to go to my final OB appointment.  That’s always surreal.  You get used to seeing your doc so often and then suddenly it’s like you’re breaking up.  I was never one of those girls who would break up with a guy, get back together, and repeat.  I guess maybe that’s what your relationship with your OB while having baby #2 is like.  You’ve been through this shit before.  There’s no use in lingering and talking just to talk.  Last time I had yards of questions written down.  This time I think I’ve asked her about 4 during the whole pregnancy.  It is always nice knowing that your weekly pees in a cup are over.  While I’m a total pro at that now, it’s just not something you like, you know?  And having your cervix checked?  Hate it.  It’s like she’s in there up to her elbow.  Again, maybe if my kids came into the world the “regular” way, it wouldn’t bother me as much.  As it is, that’s just not something I’m used to.

When I got home I was just done.  Honestly, I was still feeling the zoo trip2.  My OB even demanded to know WHY I had felt compelled to go to the zoo less than a week before having a section.  Thank goodness for DiGiorno frozen pizza.  Stella hadn’t napped all day for some reason, but thankfully was in good spirits.  She was finding interesting ways to amuse herself, her creativity perhaps fueled by sleep deprivation.

It should be noted that this kid will not ride in the large, comfortable carts at the store.  She hasn't in a year.  Yet somehow this tiny cart which is totally overloaded with her butt in it, in danger of an explosion as epic as the Death Star's, is OK.  I don't understand.

It should be noted that this kid will not ride in the large, comfortable carts at the store. She hasn’t in a year. Yet somehow this tiny cart which is totally overloaded with her butt in it and in danger of an explosion as epic as the Death Star’s due to structural integrity is OK. I don’t understand.

Regardless, it was another day down.  By the end of the day, I had my surgical/doctor’s orders for Friday, had checked quite a few things off the list for work, and managed to navigate through the day without BY either falling out or kicking his way out through my gut.  I had learned that even with it being a repeat section with a side of tubal ligation, they would be going through the same incision site (that was news to me) and that it wouldn’t be much more complicated than last time.  The ducks are lining up.  Holy stick.

1 When Will and I first started cohabitating, he brought his roommate with him into my 2 bedroom townhouse.  It was nicer and cheaper than the rathole they were sharing near LSU’s campus and Will had pretty much already moved in, rarely staying in said rathole.  All was well for a while until the German found a girlfriend, a chick I quickly dubbed “the Tart.”  He was still in school and worked as a bouncer at a local club.  It was a very different lifestyle from what I,  a somewhat older divorced woman well out of school and working a full-time regular job, had grown accustomed to.  The Tart only exacerbated the situation as she started coming home with him at all hours, drunk, and having noisy intercourse on the other side of our adjoining bathroom walls.  Will was reluctant to put himself between his girlfriend and best friend.  By the end, it was incredibly uncomfortable and I got to play the part of The Bitch for not allowing the Tart to move in with us when she got kicked out of her apartment.  Seems her roommates didn’t like their schedule, either.  Don’t know why all that popped into my head the other night.  Haven’t thought of it in years.  Dumb old hormones, I guess.

2 And WTF is up with this horrible horrible pelvic pain?  This didn’t happen last time.  I’m like a walking “Evolution of Man” poster in the morning – and sometimes all day – as it takes me a long while to shake the pain long enough to stand upright.  This is rough.  I don’t think the after-effects from a c-section are this bad.  At least I don’t remember it being this bad.


About larva225

Working mom. Is there any other kind? Geologist. Nerd.
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2 Responses to Stick As Thieves

  1. my27stars says:

    If Doodle does happen to repeat a careless profanity that spills out of our mouths, we redirect “fuck” to “truck” or “fork” depending on what kind of context we can come up with quickly, “shit” to “sit” or “fit” and “ass” to “Ash” (luckily, we realized years ago that our dog Ash could be an easy way to redirect that one!). Fun stuff. Hooray for her own translation.

    You’ll do great! I miss my midwife to pieces. Sadly, I never really got my “last” appointment with her before Doodle was born, as our dates were do far off. But I totally understand the whole break-up analogy. Especially with how *close* you really get with them. 🙂

    • larva225 says:

      I think cursing has a definite place, and there’s a sick part of me that thinks there’s little funnier than a really young or really old person doing so. However, I do seem to have pretty lousy luck on a daily basis, and could see Stella dropping an F bomb in front of someone’s really Catholic grandmother who WOULD give a “stick.”

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