I am that urban legend...the woman who got pregnant (and so far has stayed that way, touch wood) naturally once she got referred to the RE. I am also a crazy cat lady. Don't hate me please, I am not a bad person. I promise.
I take only two pills a day. Folic acid and iodine. They are small pills, easy to swallow, and I have no problems popping them. I don't complain.
I wish the cats had a similar attitude towards pills.
Mid December is worming time for poor Toffs and Cleo. It happens every 3 months, and I generally do it myself, unless they happen to have a vet appointment lined up at the time they are due to be wormed. Typically, Toffs handles it well, and I can get a pill in her in one or two tries. Cleo, on the other hand...she finds super-feline strength and the ability to spit out what I think she must have swallowed.
But I made a mistake this time. I thought I would just pill Toffs after I had expressed her bladder. BAD IDEA. It is not easy to pill an already f*cked off cat. She squirmed, she bit, she frothed at the mouth until we were both soaked in spit. And the pill just kept coming out no matter what I did. So I gave up and went after Cleo. And for once, Cleo took it well.
Of course, Cleo proceeded to go out and get into a cat fight, and get herself bit on the leg, which means a round of antibiotics for her. And the Moose, who had to take her to the vet because I needed to be at work, was given the choice between an injection (more expensive) or pills (cheaper). Which did he choose? The pills. So for 5 days I have to pill Cleo twice a day. And I still need to give Toffs her worming pill (I will get her when she is sleeping today...a sleepy, surprised puss puts up less of a fight). If I make it out of this week alive it will be a miracle.
Would you want to get your hands anywhere near the fangs of this beastie? This is an old pic of Toffs being wild. Oddly enough I don't have any pics of Cleo looking crazy. I will have to remedy that.
Next worming will be March (about 22 weeks for me) and the one after will be June (35 weeks). Not looking forward to that last one...
I've read a few posts lately from ladies in their first trimester who are very weepy, crying over various things they wouldn't normally cry over.
I don't seem to have this problem. I have cried only once, over something I read that would have made me cry normally.
Instead of getting weepy I just get angry. Really, really angry. I might be the incredible hulk.
I am usually pretty chill. I don't get worked up often, or for very long when I do. Most things roll right off my back, or get internalized until I eventually explode (once or twice a year, tops). But pregnancy has made me irrationally angry. I can go from normal to totally f*cked off in 1.5 seconds now, and over things that would normally maybe annoy me at most. I am happy to report that the Moose has escaped my wrath thus far. He is such a good Moose. Various coworkers have been my intended targets, and I am happy to report that I have not yet said anything I regret to anyone. I have come very, very close.
So today, 9 weeks 1 day. Victims so far: 0 Well, maybe the 2 girls I yelled at last week at work. But I maintain they had it comin. Still queasy, still no puking. No weight gain. Still tired. It's hot here now and that makes it all worse. Some jobs in the heat make me dizzy. Boobs only a little sore, but nearly overflowing. And my fuse is short. I feel like I should come with a warning label, or a color code system. Green means I am fine (or queasy), yellow means shut up, orange means keep out of arms reach (or throwing distance) and red means start running. Now.
Cheeseburger pizza, with green pepper, onion, beef, and PICKLES, drizzled with mustard.
This one requires a bit more of an explanation. I wanted cheeseburger pizza for dinner instead of stir fry. So I sent the Moose to the grocery store to buy mince (ground beef), sauce, cheese, mustard and PICKLES while I got started on the base. He was taking a lot longer than he should have, but he doesn't do the shopping, so I figured he was having a hard time finding something. So I hopped in the shower, and missed a text from him. This is what the text said: "C nt find ur pickles".
He came home without pickles. Pickles are what make cheeseburger pizza AMAZING. Plus, you know, pregnant. Pickles. MUST EAT ALL THE PICKLES. For shame Moose, coming home without the pickles!! Why couldn't he find the pickles?? Because New Zealand calls the ones I wanted gherkins, and I call them pickles. Lost in translation (though I had shown him the empty jar of exactly what I wanted before he left, so no excuses). So I had to run to the store to get my beloved pickles. As a side note, I have always loved pickles, and have been known to eat a pickle after eating ice cream. As a palate cleanser. This is not a pregnancy thing. This is how I roll.
So the text. I chose to read that first word a bit differently, which sort of turned the sentence funny. So Moose, for shame missing the "a" in "can't" and allowing me to accuse you of calling me the c-word. And also, "ur"?? You are 53 years old. You know what grammar is, and yes I know you can't figure out predictive text and refuse to use it. Stop being lazy.
Now, I hate spiders. With a passion. They are evil and are out to take over the world. But I tolerate, TOLERATE, daddy long legs. They don't even look like real spiders. Now I don't want them on me, but I will let them live. Even in the house. Even in the very small bathroom. Even on my artwork from my time living in Japan. Until Mr. Daddy Long Legs shits on my artwork. That dark spot circled in black is spider shit. The other flecks are a part of the cardboard the painting is on, but this one is darker and noticeable. I did chase the spider away from the poo before I took the picture, but I couldn't get him off my painting, so I had to get the Moose to remove him.
Spiders, you are all on notice. I will set Cleo on you. This is what she does to the plastic spider Mom and I have been shipping back and forth for two years now.
That is a super fast motion mauling.
I might even forgive you for slipping me the tongue while I was mouth-breathing in my sleep.
If you maul the shit out of the spiders. You did well with the centipede the other day. Keep it up.
But seriously, don't ever lick me in the mouth again.
The Moose and I met with the midwife the other day, and I think we will like her a lot. She is the youngest in this area, but she has worked as a pediatrics nurse, and is very much about collaborating with doctors and such when she feels unsure about anything. Midwives in New Zealand are supposed to operate independently, and that can lead to some issues with complications. There was one here a few years ago who botched a birth and left the first time mum alone and bleeding badly. And she is still practicing. Needless to say I avoided her and her company. Anyway, my dutch midwife refuses to do home births due to the risk (thank god cuz I would never ever ever want to do that!), she doesn't put pressure on a new mum to breastfeed as she recognizes that some women simply can't, and she is willing to refer rather than tackle something herself which may be out of her league. And she has promised to be blunt, which I appreciate.
I will be getting a call soon to set up the next ultrasound to screen for Down's syndrome and the likes, and will be meeting with the midwife again in four weeks.
I also set up our xmas tree. It has been in the Moose's family for ages, and he reckons it could be 60 years old. I've found it a little sad looking, and have tried to hide the obviously cardboard tube with some tinsel, but once the ornaments are up it looks rather retro chic. But if this pregnancy results in a healthy bubs, we will be needed a bigger, stronger tree...one that is child proof. Because it is all I can do to gingerly decorate this tree without breaking it.
Of course, it never seems like xmas when it is summer out, and even though this summer has been rather cold, I have been caught off guard again. I haven't quite finished xmas shopping for my family, and to get presents to them in time, I probably should have sent them a week or two ago. Oops.
Which reminds me, I need to go down to the farmers market to buy some more fancy olive oil to send home. Best go now before I forget again.
My very spoiled cats of course think the world revolves around them. And it probably does a little more than it should. They know they are at the top of the pecking order around here. All they need to do is meow. Want in that closed door? Meow and it opens. Want in that closet that someone rudely shut you out of? Meow and done. Can't live without having a treat just now? Sit in the kitchen and Meow loudly for a few minutes and someone will cave (or sometimes, when not respecting the true position of the cat in the ranks, they will chase meowing cat from the kitchen). Want to play footie? Don't bother trying to Meow, just randomly attack a leg. Playing will happen to prevent more violence.
Want to get us out of the house? Sit outside and meow. So when Toffs did this the other morning, naturally (knowing my position in the food chain as SHE WHO OBEYS THE CATS OR ELSE) I went outside to see what they were up to. I hung out a bit with Toffs near the fence, and was aware of Cleo skulking around under the kitchen window. There was a rustle from the other end of the yard, and my first thought was "oh crap, here's one of the damned tom cats, now we'll have a fight" but neither Toffs nor Cleo seemed concerned, and then this little lump started working its way down the yard. Toffs and Cleo both sat perfectly still and watched as the hedgehog made its way past them (and about two inches past my heels), under the climbing hydrangea and under the fence into the neighbour's yard. No attempts were made to play with it, to intercept it or chase it away. If it had been a bird, it would've been dead. They did both follow the hedgehog into the neighbour's yard, but I think that was more because Toffs realized she needed to get away from me before I expressed her bladder, and Cleo was seized with a sudden burst of wild that needed her to climb the tree at the speed of light. But I can be left with only one conclusion.
Hedgehogs are higher up the food chain than cats. Or at least my cats.
*One night a couple of years ago I caught Toffs and a young hedgehog giving each other a bit of a sniff and smooch. It was pretty damn cute.
**The cats have got a little hedgehog toy that I can stuff with catnip, and they do maul the shit outta that.
I am a big fan of the bloggess Jenny Lawson. Love her book, love her blog, she is my kinda crazy.
The bloggess googled "Jenny meme", and challenged her readers to do the same. I was a bit hesitant, but in the end caved because I needed to kill a few minutes before Downton Abbey. Lots of stuff in other languages, but a few funny ones, the odd disturbing one...and this, which had me in stitches...
Hmm...Might be time to invest in a fire extinguisher. (the little girl looks a little like a straight-haired version of my niece).
I have always had vivid (and sometimes strange) dreams. And recurring dreams. In fact, I will dream nearly the same dream every night, with some sort of theme. I often dream of water (the beach, massive waves in the ocean, fishing, watching fish, travelling down a river or over bridges), of hiking, of work (ugh), and in the past few months, of shopping centres (sometimes I am shopping, sometimes just travelling from place to place or looking to meet someone somewhere). Some of the most annoying dreams I have had involve really really needing to pee, but not being able to find a toilet with adequate privacy that is actually clean! Seriously, the worst public loo is nothing to some of the ones in my nightmares! And I have nearly the same dream over and over and over with slight variations.
But these pregnancy dreams are beyond strange. They aren't recurring like my usual dreams, and they are quite detailed down to (gasp) logical conversations that I can remember upon waking. In general, the dreams are completely random. I've been dreaming of going to a hockey game (ice hockey of course). I've had a scary Doctor Who type dream (sadly David Tennant was missing...in fact, I don't think the Doctor was there, but plenty of scary aliens were!). Last night I was taking the cats for a walk through the woods (with Cleo running ahead with her tail stick straight in the air as she does), when a bear crossed our paths (but didn't seem to see us). And the strangest one so far...I dreamt not that I was being chased by a serial killer, but that I was a serial killer (I'm not, promise) and that I was interrupted destroying evidence by my coworkers. The details of these are very clear when I wake up, but by the end of the day it gets a bit foggy.
I've only dreamt twice of the baby. Once that it was the due date, but the bubs wasn't coming and we were waiting and waiting. The other time was about buying clothes but not knowing the sex of the baby, and all the clothes were either blue or pink and I wanted green or something more gender neutral!
Dreaming aside, sleeping is now just about my favourite thing to do. Sadly I haven't been able to devote as much time to this new hobby, but since I am meeting the midwife tomorrow morning, I decided to take the morning off so I could have a nice sleep-in! I am ridiculously excited about this (the sleep in). In fact, if I go to sleep now, I could get about 11 hours, minus at least 3 trips to the bathroom, one fuzzy alarm clock name Cleo wanting cuddles, and one Moose who must get up early. I had been getting about 7 hours of sleep, but I am making more of an effort to go to bed early (I have to be up at 5am every day). I don't nap very well (I get insanely grumpy when I am woken up), and lately I haven't had time to try!