Archive for August, 2010

The one where I procrastinate. Again.

Yeah, I’m procrastinating again. This time I’m not putting off school work, but rather doing the dishes. I no longer have an excuse for not doing them, so I should probably just get off my ass and wash them. Thing is, that’s where the pregnant spider attacked me and I’m kinda afraid that she’s hanging out in my sink, waiting to kick my ass. And she’ll do it, too. Cuzz she’s a spider. A PREGNANT SPIDER.

Ok, since I wasn’t able to write about it the other day (stupid intarwebs thwarting me), I guess I can write about it. See, I was washing out the crock pot so I could get dinner going. There I was, barely awake from nap time (which has become mandatory since Squishy came into the picture), standing in front of the sink with my pink dish gloves on.

Yes, I said pink. And no, I didn’t buy them. They were for free, so I can forgive them for being pink. This time.

Anyway. There I was, standing in front of the sink, pink gloves on, hot water and apple scented dish soap all foamy and full of the cleanness. I happened to glance down at my left arm and there she was in all her pregnant glory. Ginormous, black and possibly furry, though I can’t be sure about the fur cuzz she was sporting the biggest fucking egg sack I’ve ever seen. I’m talking an egg sack like the kind you only see on spiders in nature shows. There was no seeing her back part, just that damned huge egg sack.

Needless to say, I screamed like the giant girl that I am and damned near sent myself to the ground with the way I jumped away from my arm like I could just leave it there. Pregnant spider seemed to think that was amusing and clung to my arm like it was riding a roller coaster. I finally shook it off my arm and saw it land on the floor.

Now, if you know me or have read my previous stories about being attacked by all things bug, you’ll remember that killing bugs, especially spiders, is not something I do. Anyone remember the Cup On A Mop® tool I constructed to try to kill the spider at work? Mhmm.

So, I decided that I was going to kill the pregnant spider. After all, if I just let her roam around, then she’d be free to birth her little spider minions and teach them to attack me as well. I didn’t have anything that I could play smashy with, so I went and got my tennis shoes on. By the time I got back into the kitchen, the pregnant bitch was gone. I have yet to see her or her freakishly ginormous egg sack.

Looking back, I probably could’ve played smashy with my cane. I mean, it’s got a ridged (yes, I mean ridged, as in it has ridges) rubber end on it so I could’ve smashied that thing in, like, three separate places. Had I not been fearing for my life, I’d have probably done just that.

What’s worse? A fly got into the house somehow and the cats track it every now and again. When it lands on the wall and they all sit there and stare at it, my heart stops for a minute cuzz I think that maybe they’ve found the pregnant spider. Or worse, they’ve found a nets of her heathen minions.



In which I attempt a resurrection

Hey. How’s it goin?


So, uh… It’s been a while, eh? How’s everybody been doing? Good? Mediocre? Long gone? Yeah. My bad. Again.

I actually have  pretty valid reason for not being around here for the last couple of months. For serious this time!

See, I have discovered that I must prove medical professionals wrong every chance I can. At least when I’m not mystifying them, that is.

So, a couple of months ago, Greg and I were planning on going out drinking. Now, usually, this wouldn’t be cause for any kind of planning. We’d figure out if we had the money to go out and drink, stay home and drink or go to someone’s house and drink and then drink. Pretty simple, yes? I tend to think that this is an occurrence that most any couple who drinks and would like to  drink with other people has gone through at some point. For whatever reason, there was something in the back of my head telling me that I should probably make sure drinking wouldn’t be something that I’d regret due to unforeseen circumstances that do not include being hung over. I went to the store and promptly bought beer for Greg, a new coffee maker for CHEAP! and a test.

Yeah. THAT kind of test.

I bought it completely expecting that the result would be the same as it has been since the doctors have began telling me that more babies were not an option for me. Occasionally, I would buy a test, just to make sure that my girl problems were actually the cause of missing girl time and be on my way when the results came back negative. Five and a half years with consistent negatives told me what to expect, but, as I said before, there was something telling me that I should make sure.

So, I get home and proceed to pee on a stick. Then I waited. Three minutes is FOREVER sometimes. Once the waiting was over, I looked at the stick and couldn’t believe it.

I managed to get an error message. Seems I don’t quite know how to pee on a stick. o_O

Thankfully, I bought one that came with two tests. I peed on another stick. And waited. Then I sat there for a while.

Turns out, that little voice telling me to make sure was also trying to tell me that I managed to get myself knocked up. Needless to say, I was a little taken aback. I mean, six years of hearing NO BABIES FOR YOU! and not actually getting pregnant in the five and a half years that I’ve been with Greg before this kinda made me think that there wasn’t going to be another baby around here unless I adopted or stole one from a friend.

BUT! that’s not why I haven’t been around.

I found out that I was pregnant pretty damned early on. Like, I was maybe five weeks along when I got that positive result and had it confirmed with my doctor. I knew I should wait until I was past the first trimester to say anything, just in case things didn’t go as planned, but I was too excited. I told everyone I could and plastered Facebook with the news. Everything was hunky-dory.

In my seventh week, I started to bleed a little and wound up passing a clot. This caused me to freak out a bit and I had a friend take me to the ER. We got there at 317PM and I didn’t leave until almost 10PM. Before I was discharged, I was told that I had a subchorionic tear, which is a tear between the placenta and where it attached to the uterine wall. The doctor told me that my chances of miscarriage were pretty damned high, told me I was on bed rest and then left. He had a specfuckingtacular bedside manner, let me tell ya.

My last ultrasound showed no sign of the tear, but I’m still technically on bed rest until I see my doctor again. I was supposed to see him Monday, but apparently five other chickies decided that they needed to have babies that day cuzz he ended up rescheduling all his patients. (Seriously, he had two chicks in active labor and three more that had walked into the triage area when the nurse asked if I wanted to wait or reschedule. o_O)

Hopefully, I’ll get the all clear tomorrow and I can be back all proper like. See? I told you I had a valid reason for being gone this time. 🙂

If I do get the all clear tomorrow, then I’ll be sure to post about being attacked by a fucking spider today. It may not be tomorrow, since the appointment is later in the afternoon and I have no clue how long I’ll be there. If not tomorrow, though, then Thursday. I feel like puking after this attack if that tells you anything.