Third Trimester A.K.A. The Longest Freaking Span of Time Ever

Looking back at all of my previous blog posts, it seems like pretty much all my creative writing energy has gone to complaining about being pregnant and all that being in said situation brings.

I realize that this makes it seem like I have not enjoyed the process at all and cannot wait for it to be over.

That is good, because it is totally the case and I would really like to stop being pregnant any old time now.

If only solo slow dancing could induce labor...

To elaborate, I have been in what my OB has told me is called pre-labor since last Monday. 10 days of inconsistent, but unpleasant contractions, extreme fatigue, and back pain. Oh, and if no one has ever experienced what a ripening cervix feels like, allow me to enlighten you.

It BLOWS.

Plus, my darling baby girl has gotten pretty big, so now has the ability to both grind her head against my pelvis and kick the shit out of my ribs at the same time.

"Oh, is Momma trying to sleep? Time to show off my sweet ninja baby moves!"

We actually did have a false alarm five days ago, since my contractions seemed to have gotten fairly consistent, but by the time we drove to my OB (who is an hour away), got all the monitors strapped on, and had the nurse dig around for like fifteen minutes to see if I was dilated (which I wasn't), they stopped and we got sent home. Of course, as soon as we stopped to eat, the contractions started up again, because my baby is a troll.

So at this point, I'm just waiting for my water to break or for the contractions to get so bad that I want to punch someone in the face.

Right now, I only want to Vulcan Death Grip annoying people, which is only a step above my normal status.

So yeah, super ready to get this baby out. I am so tired and I don't even have the ability to grimace properly about it because of the whole Bell's Palsy thing. I can move my bottom lip a tiny, tiny bit now, which is great, but from other pregnant Bell's people I've talked to, I won't see any real progress until after Ripley's born.

Oh, and I've tried pretty much everything on the holistic list of inducing pregnancy already, which ranges from spicy food to sex, which is really hard to do when you've got a 20 pound, moving beach ball attached to your torso.

I can officially say that the lists are a conspiracy and put in place only to give poor pregnant women false hope because the world is cruel.

Well, I for one am giving up hope. I'm going to be one of those pregnant women who stay pregnant till like 45 weeks, and give birth to a 15 pound monster baby. We all know my pregnant luck. This is a definite possibility.

Congratulations, Sylvia! You have won the shit pregnancy lottery! Yaaaaaaaaay!

Bleh.

At least Ripley is doing well. Got that at least!

...

So. Freaking. Tired.

You and me, adorable fluffy bunny. You and me both.

By the way, if anyone utters the phrase, "Oh, you think you're tired now, wait until you have a newborn!" I will puke on their shoes.

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Bell's Palsy: Because Just Being Pregnant Wasn't Hard Enough By Itself

No cutesy intro to this one.

Friday morning, I woke up with a rather irritating pain in my ear, along with a tingling sensation across the left side of my face. My tongue was numb as well, but I chalked that up to the delicious leftover gyro I had for breakfast that I heated for far too long in the microwave.

Oh, yummy gyro, why would you burn me when all I want to do is love you?

Grey's parents were visiting from Nebraska, so I decided to try to not make a big deal out of it. I had been clenching my jaw while I slept, which I have never done before, so I figured that's where the weird face feelings were coming from.

It being the 4th of July, we hopped in the car to hit up the beach. The entire time I was getting more and more anxious, since I was beginning to lose the ability to wink in my left eye, and it seemed like I was talking more heavily out of the right side of my mouth. When we posed for a picture at the beach, I noticed that I actually could not smile with the left side, at all, which was horrifying.

There are several things on Friday that I would have done differently, and this moment was one of them. I did not go to the ER right when I noticed that I had lost complete control of half of my face. I didn't want to ruin the day out, and since my face did not appear to be drooping at all, I pretty much brushed it aside and tried to ignore the problem, hoping it would go away. It wasn't until about three hours later that I finally insisted on going somewhere to get looked at. Since it was Bell's Palsy, there wasn't anything that could have been done within those three hours to have really made a difference, but if had been something worse, I may have caused myself more harm by not wanting to be a drag on the day.

I was making myself sad, so here's a kitty.

However, I did end up doing to the hospital, where I got diagnosed with the fun affliction known as Bell's Palsy. Wheeeeeeee.

What is Bell's Palsy, you ask? Well, since I am now a lot more learned about it than I was just a week ago, allow me to learn you all a little something.

Bell's Palsy is a disorder that goes after the nerve that controls your face. This leads to weakness, or in my case, complete paralysis of one side of the face. No one is quite sure what causes it, though it is guessed that it is caused by a variant of the herpes virus, which means there is a good chance I have herpes in my face, which is gross. It's also much more likely to hit people who are diabetic, or, lucky me, women in their third trimester of pregnancy.

Wheeeee.

Another "fun" fact regarding Bell's Palsy; there's no real method of curing the disorder. It comes as it pleases, and leaves the same way. A good chunk of people who have had it being to start seeing recovery within two weeks to a month, but some people don't see real improvement for six month to a year. A few don't even recover at all, and there is really nothing you can do, medication or therapy wise, that is proven to be effective in all cases.

Now, me being the over-researcher that I am, found that a round of steroids has been shown to help at least improve your chances of recovering quickly and completely. I did not receive those from the doctor I saw on Friday, since she was afraid of what it might do to the baby.

This leads me to the second thing that I would have done differently; if you are pregnant, and at the the ER, INSIST that they call an OB to get an opinion. The person I saw was not a trained OB, and knew so little about Bell's Palsy that she left the room to go read an article about the disorder. An OB would have been able to tell her exactly what to do and what was safe for the baby, since this is something that they do see on an occasional basis. I almost missed my window of opportunity to take the steroids (you should begin the treatment within 72 hours for it to do any good), and all because I saw someone who didn't think to ask an expert who would have easily been on call.

Oh, and steroids are totally fine in the third trimester, by the way. I went in again to the ER on Sunday, determined to get some medication, and the doctor I saw actually had the sense to check with the OB on call. So wooooooooo taking lots of pills that don't affect my baby, but hopefully do fix my face.

What with hypermesis gravidarum and now this joyous experience, this is kinda what breakfast looks like now.

Side note. If you are doctor and someone comes in with half of their face not moving, that is an inappropriate time for jokes. I mentioned that I didn't have a new driver's license for Michigan yet, and would probably be waiting until the Bell's hopefully cleared up before going to get a new one. His response was, "Well, at least you'd be easily recognizable if it does stay that way."

What I should have done. Instead, I just burst into tears, which was actually just as effective.

So yeah. Bell's Palsy.

....

Man, guys, this sucks so freaking hard. Like, really, this pregnancy has been really goddamn hard. I throw up all the time still, I can't poop, my heartburn is barely in check, I can't sleep, but I could deal with all of that, especially since Ripley is doing so well. It was manageable, and there was a light at the end of the tunnel and I was so close to it. Five weeks, and I could switch all that out (except for the sleeping bit) for a little mini pooping human.

Now this.

I am trying really hard to stay positive, though. It doesn't do me much good to get super depressed about this, and as much as I would like to stay inside and just hide until I am looking a tiny bit more normal, that just isn't an option for me.

The outside world is where you go to get slushies, and slushies are too delicious to deny.

Plus, I find myself thinking about the type of person I want my kid to see me as. If I hide away and allow myself to get completely swallowed up by this, what does that show Ripley about strength and determination? It's okay to cry, and it's okay to be sad, but I don't want her to think that the best way to get through a bad time is to sit and be consumed.

So, I'm going to get up every morning, take my giant handful of pills, put on eyeliner even if my left eye is not cooperating, and keep living, not just for me, or Grey (who has been amazing with all my emotions and hormones and crying at least three times a day), but for the person we're bringing into the world.

Also, the cats wouldn't leave me alone if I stayed in bed all day being sad, because that would mean a possibility of an empty food bowl.

Pictured: Cat hell.

On the plus side, I can use this as my smiley face emoticon now ----> :/







Oh, and I made a video on YouTube for this as well, which can be found here.

Oh oh, I have a Facebook page for the blog too, so you can like that too, if you want.

Moving Sucks

I'm going to go ahead and make a bold statement here.

Moving is awful and no one enjoys it, and if they do, they are crazy people.

These people are obviously sociopaths.

On that note, Grey, I, and all the kitties have arrived and are pretty much completely unpacked here in Michigan. I'd say that being pregnant made the whole experience even less enjoyable than other moves we've taken, but really, it was equally as unpleasant as the other four times we've moved since we've been together.

This is due in part to the fact that Grey's new job provided a moving stipend, which meant we could pay people to move the boxes for us. Well, to move boxes for me, since Grey is still allowed to lift things that are over 15 pounds, unlike my baby bearing self.

So yeah.

....

You know, I honestly thought I'd have more to say about this topic, but I really don't. Except for the fact that we left behind an entire kitchen drawer that contained my rice cooker, our blender, and several specialty pans, it all went pretty smoothly. I mean, we left Illinois on Monday, and we're already essentially done with the whole unpacking thing today, not even a full week later.

*sob*

I guess if I have any tips that I learned from this particular move, it would be to hire movers if you possibly can, because they are awesome, and pregnant or not, having extra people around to move your stuff is super helpful.

Also, realize your limitations. If you need to sit down, sit down. I had swollen ankles that could've doubled as flotation devices before I finally decided to give it a rest, and had to take pretty much a whole day or two off of unpacking for them to return to human sizes.

Grey also managed to obtain a bruised rib, so we were a cute invalid couple, sitting on the couch, him with a frozen bag of lima beans on his side, and me with my elevated elephant feet, playing Wario Ware for hours because of course the first thing that got set up was the TV and the Wii.

For future references, this is a TERRIBLE game to decompress to. Seriously, there is nothing more stressful than that freaking thumb wrestling mini game. IT'S IMPOSSIBLE TO WIN, WHY WOULD THE GAME DESIGNERS EVEN DO THAT?

Oh, and check all the cupboards and drawers because you will feel really, really dumb when you realize that with the power of two college-educated brains combined, you still managed to leave behind like $250 worth of kitchen equipment.

*wailing and gnashing of teeth*

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On Being Six and a Half Months Pregnant and Going to a Strip Club For the First Time

First off, yes, yes, I know, I have not written a blog post in forever. I'd apologize, but instead I'll just post a picture of me and my baby bump to distract you all, then move on to the topic on hand.

Also, too lazy to crop this photo, so enjoy my adorable owl toothbrush holder too.

So, life has been pretty insane these past few weeks, what with getting ready to move to another state and also continuing to bake fetus into screaming human baby. As we've gotten a good chunk of the essential moving things done, like finalizing on a rental house in Michigan, getting off of our lease here, and finding a good moving company to work with, we've been spending a lot of our time cramming in as much friend time as possible.

This allows me to awkwardly merge onto the actual subject you came here for; one of Grey's friends took him to a place called the Silver Bullet, and I, along with another wife, were invited to come, too. Fifteen minutes later, cue me waddling into my first ever real-life strip club.

New experiences, illustrated in neon.

I'll admit, I had major apprehensions about actually walking into the bar; not only have I actually never been to a place where the breasts swing sans covering, but I am (shocking) pregnant.

Like super obviously, having trouble moving between tables, pregnant.

I am currently the living, breathing physical embodiment of consequences from sexual desire. So, like the opposite of what I imagine people want to see at a nudie bar. (Or in the case of the Silver Bullet, a topless bar. Panties stay on in this establishment.)

Pictured: Motivation to keep those dollar bills and put them into a high- interest, long-term college savings account.

You know what, though? It was a ton of fun. I am really, really glad I went. In fact, I think it's one of the better things I've done for myself since I've gotten pregnant.

Weird? Maybe.

But, allow me to explain myself.

Also, if you couldn't tell, this is going to be quite the graphic, personal blog post. If you find naked people, sex, or the idea of naked people having sex disturbing, well, you probably shouldn't be reading my blog in general, because I had to get pregnant somehow, and it had at least a little something to do with naked people sex.

Spoiler alert, not how babies are made.

1. Going to a Strip Club Made Me Feel Pretty

Ever since I have gotten out of terrible, awkward puberty, I have been blessed with a healthy self-image. I, in general, have always thought of myself as a fairly attractive lady. Even when I was technically overweight or had terrible haircuts, I never really felt fat or ugly.

Then, I got pregnant.

Here is a list of things that have happened during pregnancy that has led me to feel less attractive:

• Throwing up. Like, a mountain of vomit.
• Nausea. Similar to vomiting, only without physical proof.
• Weird zits in weird places.
• My OB saying, after looking at my chart, "You look puffy, but you're actually a little underweight."
• Sweating. Never ending streams of sweat coming out of everywhere.
• The realization that nothing fits and anything that does will be stretched to oblivion after it has served its purpose.
• Going swimsuit shopping and discovering the tops that are normally sold in stores only have enough fabric to cover one boob. Barely.
• Hair growing everywhere. Leg hair thick and bountiful, hair all over my stomach, mustache, and two very long nose hairs.
• Ligaments stretching.
• Having the following adjectives used to describe you on a daily basis: huge, gigantic, humongous, big, really pregnant, Buddha.
• That one time a coworker, upon seeing me back up, went, "Beep, beep, beep, wide load coming!"
• Knocking over stuff with my wide load.
• Gas. Both the burpy and the farty kind.
• Being reminded constantly what a "cute" waddle I have.

Now, I do realize that there are more important things in life than feeling pretty. My baby is healthy, Grey got this new job, I have awesome and adorable kitties; life is more than satisfactory. I don't need to feel beautiful to feel happy. I'm confident in more aspects of myself than just my looks.

Writing blog posts in a timely manner is not one of those aspects.

But still, it sucks. I didn't feel pretty; I just felt pregnant, and, at that point, those two things could not be combined.

Strippers showed me that I was quite wrong.

To be clear, I do not mean this in a mean, comparative way; it wasn't like I walked in and the strippers were unattractive, and I, therefore, felt better looking being surrounded by ugly people. To the contrary, I'll be honest; those women were super hot. Oh, and they were only wearing tiny, tiny underpants, so there's that too.

Like this tiny. Only exaggerating a little.

Here's the thing though. All those hot, pretty much naked women kept coming up to me and telling me how hot I was. One of them even asked if I ever worked as a dancer myself. Never before have I been so flattered to be asked if I had ever been a stripper. Oh, and I got a hug, which was actually really sweet.

Also, strippers smell like cocoa butter and glitter. Just so you know.

Also, my huge, unruly boobs that I had become very self-conscious of were like stripper catnip; they just zeroed right in on 'em. Seriously, everyone of them went straight for me and the girls. It was pretty great. (On a side note, strippers are very courteous. They all ask for permission before touching and say thank you afterwards. Just good manners.)

By the end of the night, no one mentioned that I was huge or stopped to tell me that I was looking "super pregnant today." Instead, I was told several times that I was radiant, my skin was "so smooth", and that my hair was amazing.

So to sum up, if you haven't had the experience of attractive, topless people telling you that you are also attractive and wanting to touch you, let me tell you something; it is absolutely great for your ego. Seriously.

And yes, I did give out dollars, and yes, it is a possibility that these compliments stemmed completely from said dollars. To that I say this; I have spent money on stupider things that have not made me feel half as good.

A feeling that is worth a fat stack of one dollar bills.

2. Going to a Strip Club is Actually a Really Fun Couple's Activity

Now, I know what you are all thinking: it's one thing to have thong-clad women hanging all over you, telling you how awesome you are and how great your face is...

Yes, yes, shower me in your compliments.

...but a completely different thing if they do it to your husband, who is sitting right next to you, with a ring on his finger, thank you very much, ma'am.

Admittedly, even though I am quite secure in our relationship, and in how I know Grey feels about me, I was a little wary about the thought of watching another lady touching him. Or, in the case of what actually happened, a lady climbing on the table, throwing both her legs across his shoulders, then crab walking towards him, all of which was done with an amount of fluidity that I did not think possible by the human body.

Seriously, how does one possibly make this look anything other than stupid?

Surprisingly, I was not at all bothered by watching women put their boobs on my husband's head. In fact, it was actually, and I am being completely sincere, really fun. We held hands, tipped generously, and were both super impressed by how some of those ladies worked the pole. In the end, it was just something the two of us were doing together, and it was new, slightly taboo, and very exciting.

Like bungee jumping, only with more high heels and naked people.

I do not know what this says about me or about our relationship, other than the fact that we are probably weird perverts, but I don't really care to psychoanalyze it myself, especially when it works as well as it does. It's fun to hang out with my husband, no matter where it is.

Plus, he was always quick to agree with the glittery ladies about how cool I am, which, again, makes me feel good, and is worth a dollar.

(Grey, this does not mean I am going to start giving you dollars.)

3. Going to a Strip Club Reignites Certain Things That I Thought Had Left The Building For the Remainder of This Pregnancy

~POSSIBLE TMI ALERT~

You have been warned.

Seriously, I have no way to put this gently.

After the strip club, my sex drive came back. I thought it was gone for the rest of the pregnancy, but it came back with a vengeance. Like a killer whale seeing a baby seal after a long period of famine.

Graphic.

I don't know if it was because my self-confidence had been restocked, or if it was just being reminded that I was in fact a woman, and not just a walking incubator, but either way, it has found it's way back home.

Welcome back, little buddy.

Yep.

So there's that.

Moving on.

To conclude, here are some tips and tricks to navigating a strip club, regardless of whether or not you are pregnant:

• If you are unsure about etiquette, just ask. Strippers do not mind being asked, or at least, they are very good at masking any annoyances of being asked.
• Tip the girls. Seriously, it's just common courtesy when someone is doing their job well, and tips are their main source of income. 
• Don't be afraid to ask the stripper with the amazingly soft skin what kind of lotion she uses. (Cocoa butter. My skin is now also amazingly soft.)
• Keep an open mind.
• Write a blog post about it, so I won't feel so weird about having had such a good time and then telling the Internet all about said good time.
• Have fun!

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Life Happenings

Good news!

Grey got a new job! He's going to be the Emerging Technologies librarian for Ferris State University in Big Rapids, Michigan. 

I, for one, am greatly looking forward to his new uniform.

Bad news.

This means we'll be moving while I'm seven months pregnant.

Good news for you guys!

You will be getting a blog letting you all know how much I will have enjoyed moving while seven months pregnant.

There was going to be a longer blog today about something, but my fetus would like me to play video games instead, so, being a good mother, that's what's going to happen.

Milking the pregnancy card, hells yeah.

Actually, let's make this next blog post a wee bit more interactive. What would you guys rather read me complaining actively about: pregnancy books or existential crisises caused by tiny human in the womb? 

Comment below! Or don't, and I'll just play video games instead again.

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Making a Registry

Having reached the over half way mark of being pregnant, Grey and I decided to take the next step, as modern parents, to prepare for bringing a new life in this world: buying stuff.

Well, making a list online of stuff we need to buy, or, even better, have other people buy for us.

It's like Trick R' Treating, expect instead of knocking on doors for candy, we hope someone buys a crib because they're very expensive.

This is actually a lot harder then it seems like it should be, because I actually have no idea what babies need. Newborns, contrary to what I believed before I really started looking into it, require more things than just diapers and boobs to live, comfortably at least.

After typing in "What do Babies Need" into the Google and becoming instantly overwhelmed with the lists of all the stuff that I would need to buy in order to prove to my child that I do not want her to hate me, I decided to just go off of the still rather extensive "Registry Checklist" on the Baby R' Us's website.

At this point in the blog, I just going to make a list of all of the things that I learned, since this entire process was a learning experience, in that I learned that there are several different types of bottle nipples and I also learned I am still bad at being organized at doing things. Welcome to my world, people.

These all do different things, and I have no idea what that is and how it works, oh god, what is happening?!

1. Cribs Do Not Come With Crib Mattresses

This makes really no sense to me. I mean, I know mattresses don't automatically come with frames in grown up land, but that doesn't make sense either.

...

You know what, now that I've written it down, it makes more sense, because you might need a new mattress before you need a new frame. Maybe I should erase this first post and come up with a different number one.

Nah, I've gone too far. Moving on.

Inserting appropriate movie reference right about here. 

2. The Answer to Is "____" Blank Safe For My Baby Will Almost Always Be No

I'm not exaggerating here. Like two thirds of the things on the registry list came back with some pediatric group saying that it was not safe: crib bumpers, swaddlers, pretty much everything is horrifying, which is greatly appreciated from this first time parent who is still seeing all these things for sale and wondering why they are essentially selling me tiny baby murder tools.

Admittedly, that mini crossbow is really adorable.

Of course, this is another thing I'm learning rather quickly when entering the increasingly frightening world of parenting: everything is a controversy. Seriously, there is nothing the Internet will not argue about, especially about kids. Let's take swaddling, for example.

Or, as I like to call it, rolling a baby burrito.

Pro-swaddlers believe that this is the good way to prevent SIDs, which seems great, because I'm all in favor of not having anyone in my house suddenly dying. But, then, the anti-swaddlers say that swaddling can lead to hip dysplasia, or, when wound too tightly, hypothermia. So, looking at this, it appears my two choices are wrapping my baby burrito and then having her hips not work while she overheats to death, or not going the tortilla route at all, and put her at risk for SIDs.

Luckily, I do not believe everything I read on the Internet, so I'm going to go ahead and say these are probably exaggerations, but still, that's a lot of pressure to put when on someone when they're trying to figure out what their baby will need.

Also, there was a lot of articles telling me to not get a crib, and just a co-sleeper, which is not happening. (And I am NOT judging people who do this, it's just not for me.) Not that I don't enjoy the prospect of seeing my baby first thing every morning, (or smelling exactly when she poops, right at head level) but there is only one thing that I can think of when I look at co-sleepers at stores...

Behold: The Cock-Blocker, Co-Sleeper Edition

3. There Are Approximately 2 Million Different Types of Strollers, and Apparently You Need Them All

I am exaggerating for comedic effect, of course, but there are seriously a bunch of different types of strollers, and it is hard to figure out which one's you actually need, as opposed to just being a giant extra thing with wheels that costs $300.00 and will just get covered in cat hair and baby vomit.

I typed in cat stroller as a joke, and discovered it is real. Thank you, Internet.

So, to break it down, you've got normal strollers, travel strollers, umbrella strollers, jogging strollers, lightweight strollers, stroller frames, and double/triple strollers. There are also strollers I found online that cost over $2,000, which I call, HAHHAHAHAHAHAH no strollers.

From what I've read (famous last words, right) it seems like one, nice stroller, is all that is necessary, so that's nice, but also now we have to make decisions, and decisions are hard.

We can automatically drop out on the double/triple strollers, as there is only one human in me, and I will not actually be taking one of the cats for a ride along with baby. Umbrella stroller is out too, since those are the ultra-collapsible ones that are pretty cheap, and seem a bit flimsy to trust a newborn in. Originally, after actually going to the store and checking it out, we decided on a jogging stroller, since it folded up nice and easy, looked comfy, and seemed pretty easy to push around. However, after doing some more research, they aren't meant for babies under six months of age, either, since they don't recline.

I tried looking online at pictures on the website to figure out what a better fit would be, but ended up getting distracted by someone posting a video of Korean people twerking to classical music, so we're gonna put a pause on actually deciding for realsies till we can get back to the store and actually check out some strollers, hands on style.

I can't come up with a snarky comment. I just want to watch this forever.

4. Why Do So Many Baby Sheets Come in White?

Seriously, the entire wall of sheets at the baby store is mostly white with adorable characters on them.I understand how cute they look, but I also understand how hard poop stains are to get out of white sheets.

Don't look at me like that, Clint Eastwood. I have long-harired cats, and they get dingleberries.

Seriously though, we're registered at Babies "R" Us now, so if you ever feel like getting our baby something...

:)

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Oh Good, A New Thing to Stress About

Alright, let's start with baby updates before I plow into my new, and admittedly dumb, set of anxieties.

I've finally got to the point where I no longer look questionably chubby, but actually, no kidding, pregnant. So, now, a baby bump photo!

To be fair, my bump here is about 70% baby and 30% pasta. 

This has resulted in people coming up and, without warning, touching me and my belly.

For those of you who think that this is a good thing to do, I'm gonna let you in on what Grey and I's plan is for future baby gropers. We're going to look them dead in the eye and touch their belly, smiling like Stepford wives, completely silent.

I am almost looking forward to a stranger coming up to me and getting to experience this moment with me and my beloved husband.

I may also bite you. Also, do NOT type "bite" into Google images.

We also had our second ultrasound, which, unlike the first one, went super duper awesome. We found out she is going to inherit our short legs (sorry, baby, we're not made to be dancers), but is otherwise perfectly on track size wise. Really, the only thing of note is she went from looking like a mushroom to looking like the creepiest thing I have ever seen.

I'm not kidding, people. That's her eyeball.

Alright, so onto the topic of the blog!

I'll just cut to the chase. To add onto all the normal terrors surrounding having a baby, like growing the baby, and having the baby and then taking care of the baby, I have a new fear that a random blog and a podcast has instilled in me.

*deep breath*

I am worried that I won't love my cats after my baby gets here.

Please realize that I do not love my cats more than I do my people. I'm not a crazy person, I promise. I know the difference between pet love and child love. Even if I do have a picture of my cat's feet as my wallpaper, I do know that I love Grey more than them.

Look at how cute those feet are, though.

However, every since I heard John Hodgman of the Judge John Hodgman Podcast tell someone that as soon as his child was born, he, quote, "stopped loving his stupid cats," I have started looking at my three tiny, overweight, fuzzy kitty babies and wondering if my affection for them is on a countdown timer.

So, like I handle most of life's problems, I turned to the Internet. When I asked the almightly Google the question, "Will I still love my cats after I have a baby?," the answer I was given was, nah, probably not, they're just going to annoy you until you eventually regret even having them.

This has filled me with anxiety, which I then feel stupid for feeling because they are just animals, which make me feel even worse because they are not just any animals, they are my pets, which shoots me right back to the anxiety. It's a viscous swirl of emotions.

Much like this is a swirl of delicious, chilly flavors.

Here's the thing: I feel I owe it to my cats to keep loving them, because it was my decision to bring them into my home and make them a part of my life. Yes, they poop a lot and throw up on everything and ignore me when I tell them to get off the table, but they are my poopy, vomitty kitties and they make me really happy.

Momma, please don't stop loving me. I just want belly rubs and then to eat all the food in the house.

So, that's where I'm at now. Just worrying about how I will feel about my kitties after Ripley gets here. I suppose it's just something I'll have to tackle when we get there, and try not to stress about it too much until then.

I suppose I'll just have to fill the time till then with cat cuddles and unicorn costumes.

A face I could never stop loving, I hope.

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