First off, a giant middle finger to everyone who has gleefully told me "Sleep while you can!!!" when finding out we are expecting multiples. Thanks for the assvice. YOU duct tape a bowling ball to your stomach, swallow 2 live ferrets, and then YOU sleep while YOU can, asshole. I have been waking up about every 2 hours at night, either to pee, or to attempt to pry someone out from under my ribs, or because I have inadvertently rolled on to my back and am slowly suffocating, or because the darlings have simultaneously decided that 2 am is a really ideal time to get the hiccups. Last night I woke up at about 4 am, because there was this strange rumbling sound. I opened my eyes only to be greeted by this:
That would be my cat Tink, about 3 inches from my face, purring her head off. "Well, hello," I said to her, "May I help you with something?" She just sat there, staring. Finally she licked my forehead, and disappeared into the night.
This maybe doesn't sound like a terribly unusual cat thing to do, but you don't know my cat. Well, maybe you do, and if that is the case I am sorry. My cat is not the snuggly, cuddle with you in the middle of the night type of cat at all. She likes me, and me alone, and mainly only when there is food involved. She has been downright rude to every self-proclaimed "cat magnet" who has ever set foot in this house. It's totally my fault- I got her 10 years ago when I first moved to Orlando, and I didn't know a soul here, so she was never properly socialized. I came to accept that she was more decorative than functional as far as pets go, and for some reason I love her dearly. Dearest, on the other hand, is not-so-secretly hoping that she falls into the pool and can't get out. ESPECIALLY since I have been pregnant and he has been stuck on litter box duty. Poor Dearest.
Lately, though, things with Tink the Standoffish Feline have changed. She is glued to me. If I am not moving, she is physically ON me (great, more living things in my personal space! Hooray!) or on the back of the couch with her paws on my shoulder, or on the counter head-butting me while I am trying to pee. What the heck is going on here? A few people have said "Oh, she KNOWS what's going on, see? She SENSES it." Makes me wonder exactly what she senses. I'm thinking she might be sensing that I am soon to be a source of dairy products and she is trying to chum up to me for that reason. Weirdo.
Coda, the ever faithful and loyal Wondermutt, has also been sticking within about 6 feet of me at all times, unless of course something that is a major THREAT occurs, such as a small child going by on a scooter, or the UPS truck pulling into the neighborhood, or a Sandhill Crane walking through the yard, in which case he goes into full alert mode, huffing and growling, hair on his back standing straight up, looking very menacing indeed, if I do say so myself. The way I am pretty certain that the babies can hear is that when Coda barks near me, they both jump. Really, he has been a great companion and I am already feeling some guilt, as I know how he is about to be displaced and there is no way to explain things to him. Poor guy.
In other mundane news, I ran some errands before and can I TELL you how much I would give for a full-service gas station? I have not seen one in this state, I guess because we don't have the freeze-your-ass-off factor that makes most people use full service. But for real. I don't know why, but I hate everything about pumping my own gas. I hate the fumes, I hate having to enter my zip code, I hate thinking I am going to get to clean my windshield only to realize that my pump is missing the little thing that holds the trigger down so I have to stand there and HOLD the damn thing, I hate getting ogled by icky Lake County guys buying Natural Light, I hate the new pumps that talk to you while you are trying to pump gas. I hate the whole experience. And I am not a ninny, I generally don't mind getting dirty,or doing things for myself, this one thing I just hate. Alas, there are no full service stations here so I stood boiling in the sun, forced to hold down the trigger and breathe the fumes. Grr.
Our little town has a little ghetto, as all little towns should. It's a pretty cute ghetto, as far as these things go, complete with many required ghetto components: a couple of thrift stores, a Dollar General (NOT to be confused with Dollar TREE, the far superior dollar store), a terrible Chinese Joint, a KFC, and a Bealls outlet. Also a Scuba store, which I really wonder about, like are people in the ghetto 60 miles inland really that into Scuba? Maybe they are. I just don't know. Anyway, I hit the Bealls outlet, just for an excuse to get out of the house, and I discovered many interesting things there. Did you know there is a whole line of baby Nascar gear? Oh, yes, there is! Little pink onesies that say "The Terminator" or whatever on them, and a little baby my-first-pit-crew plush toy set and everything. Woah. I decided to skip the pink burp cloths with "In Memory of #3" embroidered on them, but I did buy myself a couple of things. And by things I mean muumuus. That's right. I did not think I would buy myself a muumuu until I was at least in my 80's but for some reason, it just seemed like the right thing to do. They were light weight, inexpensive, and zip up the front! What could be bad about that for those first weeks home? So just a warning if you come to visit the babies, you might see me in a muumuu. Definitely my strangest impulse buy thus far.
That's all the news from here for now. 33 weeks. Stiiiiiiiiilllll pregnant.