Only Happy Thoughts

We went to a friend's birthday party last night. As so often happens on birthdays, his mother related to us the story of the birthday boy's birth. And that story went something like this: The car broke down on the way to the hospital; they called an ambulance; the ambulance took awhile to arrive; she ended up giving birth in the ambulance.

It makes for a good story now, but I don't think anyone was laughing then. And I don't think this is a birth story I really care to emulate. Except the happy ending where they had a healthy baby. That part, I could live with.

Scary Movies

I don't like scary movies. I won't watch them. Frankly, my imagination comes up with enough horrifying scenarios to keep me "entertained" all on its own, without being goaded by Hollywood.

I am finding the same is true with birth videos. They are, of course, their own sort of scary movie.

We had our second childbirth class at the hospital last night, with our second video with recordings of births. And for the second time, I closed my eyes during the, um, close-ups. Yes, I did. And I'm not ashamed of it, either.

Listen. I'm not uninformed. I know exactly what's going to be happening to me and the baby during labor. I know it will hurt, though of course I can't know how much yet. And I really feel that a visual is not going to help me with this. I mean, I'm going to be experiencing it pretty soon. I really don't want to see it at this moment. Especially in a video that actually used this line during a shot of a baby's head crowning (that is, at the point when the head is coming out of the mom): "Many women experience a stretching or burning sensation at this point."

YOU THINK?

I'm all for educated childbirth, but I'm still going to keep closing my eyes during movie time. So there.

Damn

I'm having one of THOSE mornings. Those mornings when my brain is slower than our obese cat (everyone say hi to Pitty Pet!) and my well of creativity, such as it is, has dried up so much as to resemble Tucson in July.

Though I do seem to be on a roll with the comparisons this morning. And so, for lack of anything better, let's take that and run with it, shall we? Please keep in mind, I am totally making this all up as I type, not even going back to tweak anything and try to make it more interesting.

Let's hear it for stream-of-consciousness blogging, otherwise known as bullshit!

So, comparisons. Yes. Complete this sentence: Today, I feel as _____ as _____.

Examples:

Today, I feel as boring as Ben Stein.

Today, I feel as mindless as Paris Hilton.

Today, I feel as awkward as a trussed chicken (thanks, man-cub!).

OR, on a happier note:

Today, I feel as chipper as Kelly Ripa. (God help us all.)

Today, I feel as young as a lamb in springtime.

Today, I feel as serene as a lake at sunset.

Obviously, the first three are more about me, and the last three are more hypothetical in nature.

ANYWAY. Your turn. Go crazy.

A Very Belated Epiphany

I have this Gmail account. As you may have noticed by looking in the left sidebar. And Gmail does this thing where there are advertisements at the top of the screen that pick up on keywords in your e-mail messages to specifically target the advertisements. So if you have an e-mail in there that talks about, say, your garden, the little message at the top might be touting weed killer or flower seeds or something. It's all very clever.

But it puzzled me that I kept getting advertisements for various Spam recipes. Yes. Spam. The stuff in a can. Spam is not something I regularly discuss in my e-mails, and I couldn't figure out why the hell I kept getting these ad messages almost every day. And then it FINALLY clicked: I got the Spam ads when I was in my spam folder.

Sometimes I'm so slow I frighten myself.

Let Me Die In Peace

No, I'm not dying. Relax. The title simply refers to the way I feel when I WANT to die. Like when I'm hanging on the toilet and getting better acquainted with the contents of my stomach. That is, when I'm sick.

See, when I'M sick, I pretty much just want to be left alone to suffer in peace. I don't feel the need to have anyone around to witness me rolling around on the floor and moaning.

Or whatever.

I just want to be able to crawl into my little cave (bed) like a wounded animal and quietly endure until I get better or die. Whichever comes first. So far, I've always managed to get better. Even though it may feel like I'm dying.

Other people I know, however, wish constant attendance when they're ill. They want a witness to their suffering. This makes them feel better, I guess. I don't understand it, myself, but I have noticed it.

So which are you? A solitary sufferer or one who requires company?

A Vacation Paradise

My mom and my sister will be flying in from Arizona this coming weekend for my baby shower. I thought I should start building their excitement for their visit to our beautiful lakefront estate by posting some photos of what the beach looked like yesterday.



Don't forget your bathing suits.

Excuses, Excuses

Perhaps you were wondering where I could be this morning and why I didn't post at my usual time.

Or perhaps you don't spend all your time thinking about me and obsessively checking this site for updates. That is also possible.

But assuming you were wondering what had happened this morning to keep me from my usual punctual post, I wanted to let you know that I do have a life that may occasionally interfere with my (self-imposed) posting schedule. A life that requires me to drive A. up to his uncle's farm early on a freezing cold Sunday morning so A. could be there when his uncle used his tractor to pull Big Red out of the deep snow A. got stuck in yesterday when he was scrapping.

Hey, I didn't say it was an exciting life.