Something or someone is on strike

It's been a week since my last post and it was intentional. I have been fighting back a "preggo-meltdown" as I call it. No sense in boring my readers with the details and the one woman pity party I was making of it. Short story, my sciatic nerve is compressed and pinched even more and it has limited my movement even further than the whole "baby #4, mom over 30" issue was already. There are things going on with the physical house that are frustrating me. The other members of my household are prompting further frustration. The frustration is prompting me to be rather angry and cranky and really not pleasant or funny. It's hard for me to blog cranky. It's akin to grocery shopping before you eat breakfast. You come here to get a slight chuckle at the very least, not this whining BS that has been wanting to escape my brain via keyboard.
If you see me on the news, just know it was not unprovoked.

How's the weather for Dad?

I gave Devildog his Father's Day gift - a certificate for a 30 minute massage. If I could have gotten him an hour massage I would have, but it wasn't available. He looked at me and said "you need this more than I do". No, I need an hour and a half or two hour massage, mostly because my sciatic nerve is in varying states of compression.
I was in the room when Devildog was flipping channels between the NASCAR race out in the California desert and the Atlanta/Boston game in Boston. I almost envy Bostonians and other New Englanders with temperatures below 80 degrees. Here in Florida, it's been around 100 degrees. At 2:30 PM when I was eating my post-church lunch, Devildog flipped over to the Weather Channel to get the current conditions. It said real temperature was 97, but the heat index (you know what your physical person says the weather feels like?) was...are you sitting down in a safe chair? I'll wait, I really don't want to knock you over because the heat here does enough of that without my helping. Ok, as I was saying, the heat index - yea, 109 degrees. As in- Hell came out of its depths and decided to play in my neighborhood. It can return to rightful place anytime now, like yesterday would be nice. I am fine with 92 degrees, because that is a cakewalk by comparison.

This heat is enough to make any crazy person reconsider leaving the house. I know plenty of SANE ones that are hiding indoors too. And there's no leaving the house after dark either. At midnight it was still 91 degrees even. Hell hath no fury like its own presence outside your door.

Bravo Bug

I took Persnickety to the Pulmonologist yesterday, because she is on this narcotic cough syrup that causes things much like the effects of tripping on some acid or other illicit substance. I was allowed to sleep too late so my work plans got all mangled anyway. Why not just totally throw them out the window right? I finished working at one store and volunteered to schlep her to the shiny new doctor's office. Apparently in the 5 years since I moved from the large moldy apartment into this cinderblock crackerbox the powers that be made a certain roadway longer, and it now meets with another road that has been extended to meet the other one. Whodathunk it?
So I get in my mom-bus and there's a mosquito. I can't accurately take aim, so of course I keep missing the bug. I gave up for the sake of getting to Persnickety's house on time. In that 20 minute drive, my ankles became a smorgasbord of sorts. I carted Snick to the doc, and then since I was in the neighborhood of one of my service calls for the week, I dragged her with me for the sake of fuel efficiency. On the way, the pesky mosquito reappeared, after having its fill of my ankles. I tried smacking at it several times, and of course, with no success. Persnickety took one whack and caught the bugger.
She then turned to me and said "you can't kill it if you're giving it a round of applause"
Thanks Persnickety, for pointing out yet another inadequacy in my life: my ability to miss the target. Bravo.

Considerate Beast

I asked Beast to pass me my prenatal vitamins this morning since he was between me and the vitamins. He grabbed them from off the fridge, and as he opened the bottle for me he said "Here, let me open it for you. It's childproof and I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself."

I'm still kind of smirking about it 10 minutes later. My luck, he's going to be the one taking care of me when I'm old, volunteering to do so solely for the sake of making me need the Depends that much more from his entertainment. He'd be just weird enough to do that.

How to use an alarm clock

Clone was up early Wednesday, even after going to bed late on Tuesday evening. Later in the evening, we were driving to the yarn shop and she said getting up early was nice. I asked if Beast woke her and she said no, nor did his bumbling around the house wake her either.
"Well how did you get up so early?"
"um, well, I went to itch my head and I ended up pulling the lamp and that made my Dora alarm clock come crashing down on my head"

I laughed at this, immediately apologizing because she hates when someone laughs at her. At least she didn't shriek at me this time.

And here I've been all along, spending extra time setting my alarm clock so that it makes this obnoxious noise at me.

Babies, Turkey Timers, and Beverages

It's a fairly random post today. There were several chuckle worthy things that came across my path the past couple days. I apologize if I bore you with this but sometimes things in my head simply must escape.
In the cute category we have a friend's Baby R, who is about 6 months old. Sunday was a lovely brunch after church in the hall, and Beast nabbed Baby R. From Mama D., much to the relief of Mama D's arms. Baby R is a peanut but when it's your own peanut, your peanut weighs a lot. Beast had Baby R pretty much the entire hour or so we were there, playing with her, holding her, entertaining her. He's had previous experience with his own baby sister, who has become this 7 year old Clone of mine and isn't so easily entertained anymore. Mama D took the baby away from Beast, so she could make her goodbye rounds. I got a brief visit, and snagged Baby R from mom for a minute while mom said bye to someone else at the table. Beast walked up behind me and Baby R crawled up my shoulder to get to him. Mom nabbed R back and got stopped by someone else, and once again Baby R was reaching for Beast instead. Mama D wanted to kidnap Beast and take him home with her so he could help. I offered RW in his place because RW won't give her the same attitude he gives me. She declined the offer. I was so hoping...

In the not all that entertaining, but noteworthy category, we have the turkey timer:
It's starting to pop out, while I am losing sight of my feet. I'm small by comparison to lots of other people carting another human within. I now weigh the same as I did when I birthed the Beast almost 15 years ago. I'm not yet the same size and weight that I was with Clone. There's still hope for me to not get any bigger than that.
I do feel really badly for one of the teachers at Clone's school. She's due in a couple weeks and the poor woman is just huge. She needs to hire someone to walk around in front of her to hold up her belly. This is also her 4th baby, and 3rd girl. I'm telling you, pregnant over 30 is for the birds, girls are notoriously UNKIND to their mother's body, and the more babies that are baked the earlier things pop and become a pesky challenge.

In the Beverages category - a couple things. First of all, I had the WEIRDEST dream the other day. I only remember that I was sitting in a bar or some sort of gathering, holding a pint-glass full of lager (probably Yuengling) and enjoying the consumption of said beverage. However, I was house-sized pregnant in this dream. I have no clue why this baby has me actually wanting beer on a regular enough basis to call it frequent.
Also RW has been taking weekly (or as close to weekly) profile pictures of me, to chronicle the expansion of my girth. After dinner I asked him to do the belly shot, as we've come to call it. RW said we should just take the picture with me sitting in the chair because "You can't even stand up today." Devildog piped up from the other room to say "You're pregnant, you really shouldn't be drinking."
Has he been in my head while I'm dreaming or something?