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.

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