Rain, rain, come this way

When I found out I was pregnant last November, I was prepared to endure the heat of June and the first half of July. I know what that’s usually like. It doesn’t really get bad on a consistent basis until the latter half of July and August, when the triple digit temps and humidity really kick in. Even in August, we don’t usually get triple digit temperatures everyday.

Of course, this year things are different. The temperatures jumped up in to the nineties for a few days in April. That’s when I started to get worried. When we started hitting triple digits in May, I just made up my mind to be positive and remember how lucky I am that the school year is over and I don’t have to go out in it that much.

However, June is rapidly coming to a close now, with the bulk of the days this month having reached the triple digits. Despite the fact that I grew up in Texas and am pretty tough when it comes to heat, I am getting fed up with it. Do you hear me, weather gods??? FED UP!!! We all need a break. If I knew how to do a rain dance, I would, but since I don’t, please, please, please just let it rain. Even a few days where the temperatures stayed in the nineties would be a lovely respite at this point.

They’re already conspiring against me…

My unborn son and my cats, I mean. Last night was not entirely pleasant. We had a doctor’s appointment at 7:30 a.m. today. My husband and I are NOT morning people, but we didn’t have a choice. We have to go every week now and it was the only slot available. Besides 7 a.m., that is. My husband doesn’t even get up for work that early.

Anyway, we got to bed late (I don’t even know when. We’re night owls, which is why we’re not morning people.) and I was sleeping poorly, partly because I’m nine months pregnant and partly because I knew I had to get up. I tossed and turned a bit, which woke my husband up as well, since it now takes at least three distinct motions for me to turn over in bed, all of which shake the bed. Plus, I have to rearrange my body pillows everytime I move, not to mention groan and say “Ow” everytime the baby’s feet poke me in the ribs or he presses on my bladder or I feel a round ligament pull because of the extremely full bladder I have the superhuman ability to ignore and still not wet myself, even at nine months pregnant.

My sweet husband was so incredibly kind during this whole ordeal, saying wonderful things like, “I’m sorry, honey” and “Are you ok?” instead of getting mad at me for disturbing his sleep. I sometimes suspect he knows how to say those things while still sleeping, but it is still very sweet. I’d rather I didn’t wake him up anyway. Finally, at 5:22 a.m., I woke up in extreme pain from a bladder in imminent danger of exploding and had to give up and go to the bathroom. I don’t know where all of that liquid came from, since I had exactly two sips of water before going to bed, but I have learned that, while pregnant, you cannot consume ANY liquids within several hours of going to bed, even if you relieve yourself multiple times before retiring. Also, I think the body rebels against the triple-digit temps in Texas by storing every single bit of liquid you take in until it feels safe to let them go at an ungodly hour of the morning.

Since I have the aforementioned superhuman ability to ignore nature’s call without disastrous consequences, my cats are not accustomed to seeing me get up at night. Usually, I do not get up until I absolutely have to in the morning, either because I have to work or because it is almost noon, but not quite, so I can still say I got up in the morning. When I get up, they get Fancy Feast. (Well, in the case of CC, she gets Whisker Lickin’s Chicken and Cheese treats, because she doesn’t like Fancy Feast.) It doesn’t matter what time it is. If I get up, it’s Fancy Feast time.  That’s another reason I have been resisting my bladder. However, at 5:22 a.m., I resist the cats. I got back in bed, extremely careful not to kick Fudgie, who always sleeps on my side of the foot of the bed. However, he and Earl Grey must have been irate at being misled about getting their Fancy Feast for they proceeded to run loudly, claws scrambling on hardwood floor, Fudgie meowing plaintively periodically, all over the house for the next hour, while I somewhat unsuccessfully tried to go back to sleep before my alarm went off. They finally stopped, only for me to hear Fudgie attempting to open a loose cabinet door a few minutes later. And failing. Over and over again. “Bang, bang, bang. MEOW!! Bang, bang, bang. MEOW!!” Then, he tried jumping on top of the TV set (Thank goodness we haven’t bought a flat-screen yet.), which is plastic and creaks. And meowed until my wonderful hubby chased him away. He finally gave up after that or I managed to tune him out.

Guess who was sleeping peacefully at the foot of the bed when I woke up at 7 a.m., hating my life? Oh, yes, Fudgie, who had kept me awake for having the audacity to get out of bed and not feed him. Did he and Earl Grey get Fancy Feast before we rushed out of the door for our appointment?  But, of course.

However, kick-ass pregnant female that I am, I actually managed to enjoy the morning with my equally kick-ass husband. (Although we get pretty stupid without sleep. I’m a little worried about our kid. And the people in our immediate vicinity for the next few months. Oh, well. We had fun.) I even, after a short nap (Cut short by little feet in my ribs, that is.), managed to run three errands in the unforgiving triple-digit heat. I rock, as does my life. And my noisy, demanding, adorable cats.

Chinese food hangover

At times, I feel an ache in my head after eating Chinese food that is not dissimilar to the phenomenon I have dubbed “Tylenol head.” Now why in the world would acetaminophen and MSG-drenched Chinese food produce the same effect??? Does Panda Express even put MSG in their food???? Why does it not happen every time????? Why am I using so many question marks?????? Ah, the eternal questions of life.

repetitive TV programming

It is mind-boggling how many hours of programming are occupied by The Golden Girls, Roseanne, and Reba. None of these are new or very recent shows (Reba has been off the air for two years already.), but they are on constantly and on multiple networks! It’s a good thing I like all three or this would be a very serious problem.

Pregnancy paradox

Tell me how to solve this one – how am I supposed to find a garment I love and feel comfortable in in which to give birth, which I am also supposed to feel comfortable with destroying???

The end for Jon and Kate

And by that, I mean the couple, not the show. I am a fan of the show, but I don’t really care at this point whether it ends or not. I understand why they started it and why they kept doing it. They needed to take care of their family and I, for one, am grateful for the inspiration and warm-hearted moments they provided during their first few seasons. I don’t think they are, or ever were, any more hungry for money or fame than the next person, but come on. Let’s be honest. If someone offered you a reality show and told you it would make you famous and rich, would you say no? Not even consider it? Especially when you have eight children to raise and put through college? I don’t think so. No one could have foreseen how this show would explode and I doubt that many of you who keep recommending they “walk away” would really find it that easy to do so.

I am saddened to hear of the end of their marriage, but I am almost as saddened by the sick, jealous comments I have read about the couple in the past few weeks. The Gosselin family turmoil has brought out a side of the American public that saddens, sickens, and enrages me. They are REAL PEOPLE. A REAL couple with children who are breaking up. This isn’t a primetime drama on the CW, no matter what storylines they may or may not have come up with for ratings in the past. This is no storyline, as far as I can tell. A family is really dissolving before our eyes and all that most see fit to do is to make terrible, inappropriate comments about real human beings with whom they aren’t even acquainted. You do not know Jon and Kate Gosselin or their children, people. No matter how often you have watched them on TV. Neither is perfect, but neither is the devil or a “fame whore” or any of the other horrible epithets I have read about them (mostly Kate) lately. Also, if I read one more time that Kate deserved to be cheated on, I will scream. For one thing, we don’t know that Jon cheated. For another, no one deserves to be cheated on. If you don’t like the way someone treats you, you speak up or you leave.

It seems to me that Jon and Kate were doing fine before the American public stuck their dubious two cents in. Everyone who has made a nasty comment about this couple should be ashamed of themselves. We are all becoming way too casual with what we say about others.  This callousness towards others is a big part of what is wrong with our country and the world today. When you say something terrible about someone else, it hurts you and the person about whom you have said it, no matter how famous they are. It hurts the world.

soap disposal

My husband and I were talking a few nights ago and we agreed that there are three classes of people – those who throw the last sliver of soap in the trash, those who throw it in the toilet, and those who smush it down the drain of the shower or tub. My husband is a smusher. I usually dispose of it in the toilet, but have experimented with the other two methods of disposal. Now we just  have to figure out what each group says about the people in it. And come up with snappier, less unwieldy titles for the toilet and trash groups.


Aggie outrage

Please, God, in the name of all that is holy, do not allow Rick Perry to become President of Texas A&M. Please, please, please. We will never realize Vision 2020 if this comes to pass.

Am I the only one ….

who waits as long as she possibly can after a hair appointment before washing her hair, in order to preserve the hairstylist’s handiwork for as long as possible? That first post-styling wash usually either makes me anxious or depresses me. Not only am I reminded that I just cannot replicate the results my stylist achieves, even when I buy the same products and tools, but my hair usually freaks out after being cut and looks worse than usual. It takes it about a week to recover. I have to admit, I have opted for somewhat dirty hair before rather than face that experience.

woes of a packrat

Why, oh why, is it so difficult to give up the rest of my videotapes when I don’t even have a VCR hooked up to play them on?

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