Hide The Mess

Columbus. Cat. Brat.

I love that I'm off for Columbus Day. It's one of those weird bank holidays that sort of sneaks up on you. I don't have anything special planned, just a prenatal appointment and a couple of errands. I might bake some cupcakes or brownies or something. I'm just in that sort of mood lately. I think it's this time of year, during the spring and summer months I don't bake much, but come fall, I find myself looking at food porn and trying to find easy but (what I hope are) yummy treats. I like the Sandra Lee approach, semi-homemade. I like taking something out of a box and tweaking it a little. We'll see if I get inspired to do anything like that today or if the rain will sap all my early morning energy. (Highly likely!)

I've found Jacob (the cat) in the baby's crib twice now. I'm not sure if he's just discovered he can get in there or what, but that crib has been set up for about a month (or more) and neither he or the Old Lady cat have paid it much attention - except to hide underneath it. I have the door closed to the room now but I don't want it to always be that way. I'm hoping that when there is a baby in there making noise and such he won't want to be anywhere near that crib. I could be creating false hope for myself.

Yesterday I was a brat to my husband. He didn't deserve it and told me he didn't appreciate it and he was so right and I was so wrong and I hate it when I disappoint myself in that way. I apologized, he accepted, now I have to let it go, but that is one of the things I have a hard time doing sometimes. Letting myself off the hook and not spending a vast amount of energy trying to make up for my less than perfect behavior. Why can't I just let it go after the apology is accepted? Why must I keep the imperfection in my head and replay it and say mean things to myself inside my head about how I don't deserve this person and that I'm not good enough for him, because seriously, I know logically that is some serious bullshit. When I sit here and write that out I know it's absurd, but there it is nonetheless, pecking at my brain like a bird. Honestly, being pregnant has created an atmosphere for insecurity to breed, and I hate how easily that insecurity slipped in and started roaming around my brain. I do hope that after having the baby some of my confidence returns, that I feel more like myself and less like a big, lumbering, pregnant woman. We'll see. Thankfully we have just a few more weeks to go - if that long!

I can't think of a title.

Yesterday was such a boring day. My work is slowly dwindling down to nothing and well, it’s starting to remind me of that time when I worked at that place and every day I would get dressed, go to work, sit in my office and do nothing. It made me want to stab myself in the eyeball. I eventually asked to be the next in line when the layoffs came (my boss obliged, because seriously, I was losing my mind there, and I didn’t just quit because I wanted the severance thankyouverymuch). While this isn’t exactly the same, it does feel similar. Although, there are things I could be filing or cleaning or what have you but… yeah, not in the mood for that. I actually did a bunch of that a couple of months ago, so what’s left of my filing/putting away piles is all shit I didn’t know what to do with the first time around. I feel guilty because I see my coworkers work! work! work! but not too guilty because well, I can’t help them. That’s the point. They have to do shit without me. I do think that it will be fine while I’m on leave. I was stressed about it, but now, I feel like Mr. Backup is going to sink or swim. He’s going to have to figure shit out, because I will not be around to help him. I was worried at the beginning and there have been times that I’ve expressed concern to my supervisor that he depends on me more than I think he should, but that is getting better. Sometimes he asks me questions and I sort of just push it back on him to figure out, and a lot of times they are questions he already knows the answers to, he’s just insecure and wants reassurance that he’s doing something right. And I find that annoying. But I find insecurity in men in general off putting. So there’s that.

I must, must, must take the old lady cat to the vet this weekend. I have put that off for almost 3 months. She needs her shots damn it. I just made an appointment for the boy cat to have his front claws taken out. I do not want to hear about how horrible this is, I am about to have a baby, I have another cat who is declawed and it makes their fighting unfair, and well, this is just the way it’s going to be. I will not look that shit up on Google because I already have enough guilt about it, so just shut up! Oh and I will be a weeping mess when I take him in and when I pick him up because that is just how I roll. In fact, I kinda want to cry about it right now. Mainly because we have to leave him overnight and he will be scared and lonely and not know what is going on and yes I understand that I anthropomorphize my animals but I always have so deal.

Next week we start our childbirth classes. I am excited and a little nervous – mainly nervous because I think this will really bring home to me how close we are to having this kid in our house instead of in utero. Sometimes I still can’t wrap my brain around the fact that we are going to have a kid. Seriously. I’m going to be someone’s Mom. WTH? I do think I’m ready to not be huge and pregnant any more. I have actually liked being pregnant, for the most part, minus all my bitching about minor aches and pains. It’s been kind of fun. But whoa boy, some days I really long for my old body back, the one that could get up at 3:30am, spring out of bed and hit the gym. At this point I don’t think I could spring out of bed (or from any other reclining position for that matter) if you paid me a million dollars. This baby belly really does impede things. I’d also hoped that I would not be a complainer while I was pregnant and while you can’t tell that from reading this blog the last few months, I have kept a lot of my complaining inside my head or vomited it on the internet. (You’re welcome.) But I can see why it happens to pregnant women. Every day your body is changing. When one thing goes away something else happens to replace it. While we were on vacation I had the whole, OMG my belly feels like it’s been sunburned feeling, and I was also miserable and hot and it was humid and sticky. Then we got home the sunburn feeling subsided and was replaced with hemorrhoids. I am sure if and when these stupid hemorrhoids go away, something new and exciting will replace it. Like my boobs will start leaking or I’ll have some river of discharge from the lady parts or … who knows. It’ll be something though. That is what I’m learning about being pregnant. There is usually something that will beat you down and make you uncomfortable, and while I can’t control the things that are happening, I can control my reaction to them (sometimes!). I have been trying to just roll with it. Because I’m about to be one million times more uncomfortable during the whole labor and delivery thing. AND from what I hear, after the baby is born my lady parts are going to be a hot mess. I’m so looking forward to that.

Stop Calling Him Daddy.

Holy Jesus. I was so mad Wednesday I cried tears of rage. Jacob, the new kitty, hasn’t been feeling well so I took him to the vet. I don’t think it’s anything serious, he’s sneezing, and he doesn’t have quite the spring in his step and after a week and a half of keeping an eye on him, we decided it was time to have him looked at. The thing is, this vet, she doesn’t just look at him, she wants to run $300 worth of tests. And THAT is bullshit. Why she needs to test every single organ in his body is beyond me. She’s supposed to be “The Cat Doctor” but from where I sit, she’s just a vet who orders every fucking test imaginable at outrageous costs and won’t even VENTURE to speculate what could be wrong. I was there for three hours, spent a stupid amount of money and STILL don’t have an answer. I didn’t even come home with antibiotics – which is actually what I thought we’d get – because they were too expensive by the time this lady ran her five ca-jallion tests. We did come home with an IV bag and instructions to give him fluids, which, we tried but neither one of us are medically trained so poking a needle in him was harder than the little video made it seem and we were too freaked out to keep poking him over and over that way. There are a cornucopia of things that pissed me off about that vet visit – one was the way she kept asking if I needed to call “Daddy” to ask him about the costs – and I know she’s referring to him as Jacob the cat’s “Daddy” but it still got under my skin and every time she did it I would say – “Yeah, let me call my HUSBAND.” She also had the nerve to say to me at one point, when it was decided that I was going to just wait there for the tests and not leave him and have her call me later, she said, and I quote: “I guess his [referring to Mr. Florida] job is more important than yours.” As if to imply… shit I don’t even know what she was trying to imply but it was snide and rude and I swear to god if I had a time machine and could go back and re-do everything – THAT is when I’d leave. Screw her and her attitude and her medical speak that I cannot understand. And that brings me to one other thing that pissed me off. ME. I pissed me off. In a doctor’s office of any kind I suddenly lose my voice. I am transformed into this woman who can’t speak up for herself and if I’m honest, that’s where all my anger is coming from. I stood there and said “yeah” and “ok” entirely too much when in fact it was not “ok” and I did not understand as the “yeah” may have implied. I don’t know why I just don’t speak up, maybe it’s ego – not admitting that I don’t know or understand or maybe it’s feeling inferior and stupid that turns me into this person I don’t much care for. Whatever it is, I’m going to fix it. Damn it.

baby sling

It seems morbid for me to keep writing about Spencer dying, so I won't.
But just FYI: I'm not crying about it every day, so that is progress.

I want to get one of those baby slings to carry Sabrina around in. She's
so needy and wants to be carried around, or on my lap or UP MR
FLORIDA'S ASS all of the time, maybe it would be more productive to get
a baby sling and carry her that way. Is that weird?

duh

Me: I really wish my office gave bereavement days for pets.

Ian: They do. They're called personal days.

Oh. Right.
Duh.
So I'm taking one.

Maybe by Monday I'll be able to sit at my desk and not cry.

surprised by grief

I feel so sheepish in this sadness. Like it's some how odd or bizarre or quite possibly insane to feel so much grief over Spencer's death. After all, some people might say he was just a cat. Fortunately for me, I am not friends with those "some people". When I talk to The BFF, when I talk to my Mom or my Dad or my Sister, they all GET IT. They all have done this, felt this, known this particular sadness and for that I am eternally grateful. Misery does love company you know.

Sabrina (aka Mrs. Peepers) follows me everywhere, meowing at me, looking for Spencer and that breaks my heart into even smaller pieces. He was her baby, she still groomed him and put him in his place when she was annoyed, she was still his mother. I wish I could explain what happened to her, why he's not coming back. But um, she's a cat and it's beneath her to learn English.

I picked up his ashes this afternoon and whoa boy did that just start everything back up. The people at the vets office must think I'm ....

Before I could finish writing that sentence the door bell rang - the vets office just sent me flowers, in loving memory of Spencer.

So that's it. I'm going to go cry some more. Because one thing I do know is the only way out of this sadness, is through.

i am not ok. but i will be.

I wasn't going to write anything, but my heart is broken into a million little pieces. Because Spencer - Mr. Fat Boy Slim - did not get better as we hoped. He got worse. So much worse. And now I'm left with the second guessing, the "what if...", the "if only...".
But none of those things really matter.
I'm so sad that I'm wandering from room to room, stopping mid-stride to fold into myself and cry because he's gone.
I thought sitting down to write would help, give me something to do and think about - like does this sentence make sense or am I just babbling incoherently - writing always helps, the comforting click click click of the keys as I type. My thoughts are all over the place. I should backspace everything and take all my sadness and tuck it in my pocket. But it's too big for my pocket, it's spilling out.

if I start to think about it I kind of lose my mind a little bit.

You know the phrase "sick with worry"? That's me. I'm so worried that I feel nauseous. Spencer (aka Fat Boy Slim) started vomiting last night. I spent more hours awake with him meowing in that sad meow voice than I did doing anything else, including sleep. He went to the vet first thing this morning, all listless and sad and sick. Last night, between cleaning up vomit and holding a sick kitty we tried to figure out what the hell that boy ate. Was it soap? Did he eat a bug that was getting the last word? Did he eat something else completely random like a button or some string or... I don't know, just something.
Apparently not. That was ruled out.
What the vet did find is a mass about the size of a quarter in his chest.
This may be the cause of his vomiting. Maybe not. But probably. And then there were other words the vet said but honestly - I only remember some of them, like lymphoma and leukemia and chemotherapy and that it might be nothing like that, but maybe it is. And once a vet starts saying those words to you ... it's hard to remember the other things. I don't know what we're going to do but when I go back to the vet this afternoon I'll have a better idea what we're looking at here. I do not want to think past this afternoon, because if I do, if I start to think about it I kind of lose my mind a little bit.

apparently, cat vomit was the most pressing

Sabrina just barfed up, like, a log of food. I should have taken a picture of it, but I didn't think of that until just now. Damn. Anyway. It also appears that she does not CHEW her food very well. Unless this cat food works like corn and reassembles itself in the digestive tract. Although, since she barfed it up like that, maybe it never made it to the digestive tract? Hell, I don't know. Maybe she's just bulimic. AS I HAVE ALWAYS SUSPECTED. (Or as some would say: Like mother like daughter. And to those people I would say: SHE IS NOT MY CHILD. SHE IS MY CAT. Big! Difference!)
She has actually adjusted to the move with flying colors. She's lost some weight, so now when I call her a fat ass it's a term of endearment instead of an accusation. Mr. Fraidy Cat Fat Ass has not adjusted as quickly. Hence he is still portly. Although, I'll admit, the big fat belly that swings underneath him is considerably smaller. But still. He needs to run up and down the stairs a few hundred times a day, because his ass is still fat. Although, I'd actually be ok, if he just CAME OUT OF THE BEDROOM once and a while. I know he comes out to eat and poop and frolic around in the middle of the night, I just wish he'd come out during the day. When people (and by "people" I mean Mr. Florida) are home. I was afraid Mr. Florida would harbor some resentment that this big fat cat won't get near him, but he takes it all in stride and occasionally gets on his hands and knees and pokes his head under the bed to say hello to Spencer The Fraidy Cat. See? How sweet is that? I thought having the cats here would be sort of a pain in the ass for Mr. Florida, but when I come home from work, more often than not, there is cat hair all over his shirt because he and Sabrina have been watching TV or he's been working on the computer with her in his lap. Sometimes, I'm jealous because she will get in HIS lap but not mine. But then I remind myself that Spencer will ONLY let me hold and pet him and I feel better.
Obviously, I am petty.
And kinda boring. Shit.
This whole thing has been about cats. What the hell? I'm sure there are more exciting things I could write about, but apparently, cat vomit was the most pressing.

Bittersweet Adjustments

Bittersweet

Bitter: I found Cali a new home and it did make me cry to say goodbye to her. Even though I knew it was the right thing to do and the right place for her, it still made me a little sad. She’s a sweet girl and I’ll miss her constant chatter and how she rolls over like a puppy to have her belly scratched.

Sweet: I found Cali a new (awesome) home. With lots of room, lots of friends (ok, two friends) and a big screened in porch to sun herself and watch the birdies and essentially live the life of luxury. I have no worries that she will be loved and happy and cared for.

Adjustments:

Sabrina and Spencer moved into Mr. Florida’s house this weekend. Sabrina is no dummy and quickly figured out where things were and also figured out that if she is in the room with us she is going to get all of the attention with belly scratches and head rubbings she wants. And she wants a lot. She’s like a big love sponge. Spencer, on the other hand, is the biggest, fattest, fraidy cat on the whole planet. He spent all day Saturday and all day Sunday pressed against the wall under the bed. I was worried about him not eating or drinking anything, but Mr. Florida assured me that THAT cat would probably be ok with seven or eight days of no food, since he is GIGANTIC. Seriously. Spencer needs to lose some weight and I’m kind of hoping that the move to a bigger house, with stairs and rooms and places to run will help him do that. Please, do not burst my bubble and tell me that he will continue to be a fat, lazy cat who never goes up stairs, not because he isn’t curious, but because stairs would require getting up off his lazy fat ass, and he’s not going to do that. I need the illusion. Otherwise I’m just one of those horrible people who over fed her cats and now must live with the consequences.