But Will It Grant Me Three Wishes?
More and more, I find myself wanting this.
Dog people (and, indeed, most cat people) might scoff at the idea of spending $300 on a stupid litter box, but it seems the pregnant-er I get, the lazier I get. And my cats are drowning in their own fecal matter. (But, bless their hearts, such good kitties are they that they are willing to endure it and haven't taken to shitting and pissing in alternative locations just to make a point.) The hefty price tag is pretty much the only reason I have yet to order the damn thing--but as D-day looms ever closer, and the inevitable dealing with more fecal matter that will accompany it, $300 seems more doable with each passing day.
Not that I need to spend any more money on frivolous shit. I dropped about $100 yesterday on various and sundry articles of clothing for myself. To my credit, all but one thing was marked down on clearance--that being a pair of jeans in a size 16W, because Target's selection of maternity jeans was limited to one freaking style which I already own. I tried on the 16W in a dark wash, and for the most part, they fit reasonably well, and only look slightly like I'm wearing jeans that are just way too big for me. I figure they'll at least get me through another couple of months, at which point I'll give them to my mother, along with the Boots of Torture from my last Target shopping experience.
After that, I went to the newly-opened community center and bought a family membership. Which may have been a waste, considering Ben doesn't seem at all interested in actually using it yet, and Bob may never have a day worthy of getting to use the indoor pool. But I put the membership to use yesterday with a half-hour walk around the track and another hour or so alternately swimming laps and...well, floating. Because floating is good. Very good. And I plan to do the same today, as soon as I have clean and dry clothes to wear. (I'm not kidding--no laundry has been done in this house for a good 2 weeks.)
Bob has been at db's this weekend. I got a dbmail Friday afternoon, again pestering me about when he can have his makeup weekend. You know, to make up for the weekend his child was in the nut house? Yeah. I read the dbmail and suddenly I was overcome with this enormous sense of I don't give a shit. Trying to limit Bob's exposure to db and his shit hasn't exactly done a goddamn thing to help him, has it? It's really just given db something else to ride my ass about, hasn't it? And I really needed a break this weekend, didn't I? So I emailed him back that "this weekend is as good as any, I will bring him to you at 6."
Of course, he replied he couldn't this weekend because I'd already told him he couldn't have makeup time (yes, it's MY fault). But then an hour later he recanted and said he'd changed his plans and would meet me at 6. Frankly, I don't think he had plans at all, I think he just needed to do it that way so HE could be the one dictating the course of action, and telling ME how it was going to be.
At any rate, I spent Friday night in a very sour mood. I miss my Bob. This kid who has suddenly replaced him is a stranger to me, and not the child I know. I don't know who this kid is, but I really don't like him much at all. And the feeling appears to be mutual.
And I don't know how to get Bob back, or if I'll ever see him again. And that really sucks. Because Bob was a fantastic kid.
And as if that weren't enough, the fucking weather forecasters are being all cute and saying "winter isn't over yet!" while they cheerily predict temperatures dropping back into the 20s and still more snow and freezing rain.
My kingdom for...something. Anything.
Dog people (and, indeed, most cat people) might scoff at the idea of spending $300 on a stupid litter box, but it seems the pregnant-er I get, the lazier I get. And my cats are drowning in their own fecal matter. (But, bless their hearts, such good kitties are they that they are willing to endure it and haven't taken to shitting and pissing in alternative locations just to make a point.) The hefty price tag is pretty much the only reason I have yet to order the damn thing--but as D-day looms ever closer, and the inevitable dealing with more fecal matter that will accompany it, $300 seems more doable with each passing day.
Not that I need to spend any more money on frivolous shit. I dropped about $100 yesterday on various and sundry articles of clothing for myself. To my credit, all but one thing was marked down on clearance--that being a pair of jeans in a size 16W, because Target's selection of maternity jeans was limited to one freaking style which I already own. I tried on the 16W in a dark wash, and for the most part, they fit reasonably well, and only look slightly like I'm wearing jeans that are just way too big for me. I figure they'll at least get me through another couple of months, at which point I'll give them to my mother, along with the Boots of Torture from my last Target shopping experience.
After that, I went to the newly-opened community center and bought a family membership. Which may have been a waste, considering Ben doesn't seem at all interested in actually using it yet, and Bob may never have a day worthy of getting to use the indoor pool. But I put the membership to use yesterday with a half-hour walk around the track and another hour or so alternately swimming laps and...well, floating. Because floating is good. Very good. And I plan to do the same today, as soon as I have clean and dry clothes to wear. (I'm not kidding--no laundry has been done in this house for a good 2 weeks.)
Bob has been at db's this weekend. I got a dbmail Friday afternoon, again pestering me about when he can have his makeup weekend. You know, to make up for the weekend his child was in the nut house? Yeah. I read the dbmail and suddenly I was overcome with this enormous sense of I don't give a shit. Trying to limit Bob's exposure to db and his shit hasn't exactly done a goddamn thing to help him, has it? It's really just given db something else to ride my ass about, hasn't it? And I really needed a break this weekend, didn't I? So I emailed him back that "this weekend is as good as any, I will bring him to you at 6."
Of course, he replied he couldn't this weekend because I'd already told him he couldn't have makeup time (yes, it's MY fault). But then an hour later he recanted and said he'd changed his plans and would meet me at 6. Frankly, I don't think he had plans at all, I think he just needed to do it that way so HE could be the one dictating the course of action, and telling ME how it was going to be.
At any rate, I spent Friday night in a very sour mood. I miss my Bob. This kid who has suddenly replaced him is a stranger to me, and not the child I know. I don't know who this kid is, but I really don't like him much at all. And the feeling appears to be mutual.
And I don't know how to get Bob back, or if I'll ever see him again. And that really sucks. Because Bob was a fantastic kid.
And as if that weren't enough, the fucking weather forecasters are being all cute and saying "winter isn't over yet!" while they cheerily predict temperatures dropping back into the 20s and still more snow and freezing rain.
My kingdom for...something. Anything.
posted by Mitzi Green at 10:18 AM
2 Comments:
um. please tell me that you don't really scoop kitty litter while you are pregnant. i have heard that this is not healthy for the unborn child. i don't mean to alarm you, I only want to bring your attention to it.
in the meantime, i think your husband should be on litterbox duty.
Something? How about the purse your were oohing and squeaking over a couple days ago?
Floating is good - especially when pregnant. It also helps with swelling.
Post a Comment
<< Home