Wednesday, August 5, 2009


So with all the trouble I've been having trying to stay upright and alert in my impregnated condition, I've been told to relax, try to take it easy, and not get stressed out.

Last night I attempted to watch television while holding on to the right side of my bulging middle section and fighting back tears, convinced someone had shoved an invisible machete into my womb. Big V tried to get my mind off the excruciating pain by asking the world's stupidest questions of all time: "How do you feel?" "Are you ok?" "Do you want anything to eat?" When that wasn't proving to be effective he tried placating me by tuning the television to the Duggar Family show. Have you seen this? Smiling, pleasant, well-spoken mother of 18. Yes, EIGHTEEN! And she birthed every single one of them. And never has a negative word to say about anything, much less the blessing of pregnancy. This particular episode focused on the "Bradley Method of Natural Childbirth." Natural. As in no drugs whatsoever. Kudos to you, Mrs. Duggar, but I'll be ordering a double epidural straight up, with a tequila chaser. I've already packed my tip money.

Poor Dotter was nervous, you could tell because she kept running to get me things she thought would work, including an ice pack she insisted on holding directly to my stretched flesh. I tried everything: shifting positions, large glasses of water, the exercises Mrs. Duggar suggested, breathing techniques and a shower... the pain finally subsided around eleven o'clock.

At least I could finally try to get some much needed sleep. I have claimed six of the most fabulous pillows ever to be strategically placed around my body, under my abdomen, between my knees, against my back and holding my head. Big V has been left with the one flat joke of a pillow. (I really hope he can hold his head up straight again someday.) Once placed in my dreamy featherly fashion I fell fast asleep.... finally... I could r e l a x . . . .

Until Dotter came running in our room scared out her little mind at 3:30 in the morning... dog barking hysterically... I'm hitting V to "get up! get up!" (Like I'm going to go check out what has Satan sounding so flippin ferocious!) And I'm holding a shaking Dotter who happens to be squishing Cletus the Fetus which is making me feel like throwing up while V is staggering down the hall in his boxer shorts... and then I hear V talking - talking loud - and someone talking back to V and I'm all like, "Dude! It is not proper social ettiquette to come calling at this early hour!" But all I can seem to make myself do is reach over for my glasses so I can see who is about to murder me and my child.

Eventually V came back to the bedroom to check on our safety... ok, really he just stomped back into the room, muttering to himself, and flopped back down on his side of the bed.

"Uh... wanna tell me what that was all about?" I ventured.

"Damn police." And he's turning over pulling the sheet up to his chin....

"Uh, yeah, I'm going to need a little bit more than that."

Apparently, as V staggered down the hall to see what was upsetting the dog, he also noticed flashlights being shone through our windows from the yard... which is what Dotter saw when she woke up seconds earlier. Getting to the door he noticed figures dressed darkly walking around the house and in the driveway, the offending flashlights now directed into his eyes. It was our County Sheriff's Department attempting to serve an old warrant to someone who hasn't lived at this address in years.

Now, I'm not a police officer and certainly wouldn't want to offend anyone in such an honorable profession, but I can't help but wonder - coming from the side of logic and common sense: You have this person, this bad person, who used to live here, but then disappeared to a place that you don't know... all you have is this old address... but when you look at the address you see that a few years ago it was sold and this new guy bought it (and he happens to not have any outstanding warrants). The new guy not only bought it, but has been fixing it up, and has this truck that's registered in his name sitting in the driveway. Still, you wonder if maybe there's a chance that new guy might know bad person. Hmmmm.... maybe you should ask....

At what point does "let's descend on the home like some ballsy third world militia plotting to grab hostages in the black of the night" sound more logical than "perhaps we should stop by around 7 or 8pm when they're home and just ask?"

1 comment:

rachael said...

Un. Effing. Real.

I tried Bradley Method. It's good. If you like pain. I ordered my epidural when my visualization of the contractions being like waves led me to think I was drowning and I started puking. Ding! Ding! Drugs, please!