So, until Wednesday, I have nothing new to report on the pregnancy front. Well, nothing with a basis in fact as opposed to going off of things like “my nipple itches.” (I so hope someone find this blog by Googling “my nipple itches.”) Which, incidentally, it does…
So, the weekend, yeah, the weekend (BTW, the scary story, turns out gross, but OK)…
Our niece turned two. Her b-day was great. The C’s had a blast. Highlights:
– The birthday girl took an immediate dislike to all things Little C. She spent five minutes “punching” him in the face with a noisemaker thing while he shouted “H, stop it.” And Aunt Minta was laughing too hard to break it up.
– The only other girl still lurves her some Big C. She spent the entire time serving him play food (and real cake) and fixing his hair. At one point he ran up to me and exclaimed “R keeps telling me what to do and trying to make me eat!” my response “You better get used to that, I think she’s going to end up marrying you…”
– I handled myself with grace around G’s mother (aka The Mega Bitch). Of course, that means I didn’t speak to her, but the upside is, I didn’t shout at her. Go me!
– Also, while getting food for the C’s I overheard a conversation about who “the third” is in the family that’s pregnant. See, two in G’s generation are pregnant, so obviously there MUST be a third. I resisted the temptation to turn around point to myself and scream “It’s ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!” ala Jim Carrey from Liar, Liar. Go me, again! Although, if G had been in the room I probably would have done just to see him crack up (and he would have).
– Managed not to punch obnoxious cousin would wouldn’t shut the hell up during the Bengals game. Laughed my ass off when one of her cousins told her to shut up or he’d lock her outside, though.
All in all, as get-together’s with G’s extended family goes it was pretty good.
Sunday I was all go-go-go in the morning. Which is the anti-Me. Which leads me to believe all progeny will be more like G, and I will never again get to go from Friday night through Monday morning without leaving the house after said progeny gets old enough to express its will (provided it lives that long, let’s all cross fingers, now), which is a fair trade for a child/children. Right, there was a point, yes, we were out running around on Sunday morning, this was after some rather *ahem* raucous expression of marital love, we ate breakfast (obviously starving after expending so much energy) then headed to a big box electronics store. You know the one I mean, with the blue and yellow logo. We found my FAVORITE canceled-after-one-season show EVAH on DVD and then I got cramps. I got must-lie-down-now cramps. I got my-underwear-must-be-full-of-blood cramps. So, I went to the car and laid down, kicking myself in the ass the whole way for getting so out of control with the sex, certain I had killed the baby with nipple play and well, you know… Gar drove me home, just knowing that I needed to lay down. He dropped me off and went to the grocery (our turn to cook Sunday dinner). I went into the house and thought… maybe I should try using the restroom before laying down. My tum is a bit grumbly. I think we know where this is going… Yes, they were poop cramps. No sooner had I gotten it out (apparently that breakfast place worked on my constipated innards pretty darn well) than I felt completely better. Well, you know not crampy anymore. So G calls with a question about the sausage (apparently one package said “mild” and another said “sweet” or something), and I answered the phone with “It was poop cramps.” Which is now the joke of the week.
All done boring you with tales of nieces and nephews and poo 🙂
(That is not a promise that it won’t happen again…)