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Saturday, 21 November 2009
Friday, 20 November 2009
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Thanksgiving Dinner
I had my Thanksgiving dinner over the weekend. It was fake turkey, mashed potatoes, those Pasta Sides chicken-flavored noodles, and peas.
I then spent two hours trying to get the remains of that dinner out of the recessed holes in my gums where my teeth didn't come all the way through. The oral surgeon says he is amazed that I haven't gotten an infection from this type of impacted wisdom tooth, because food can get under the gums and fuck everything all to hell, and that for me to go two years without any pain or infection is incredible.
Only one day of work left before I can stay in bed until I don't have crushing headaches anymore!
I'm so excited for a stranger to cut my gums open and pull my teeth out. Do I get to keep the teeth? Does anyone know? I want to crowd them together in a little jar and taunt them. "Yeah, you don't like how that feels, do you, teeth? Little asshole teeth. I hate you, so I'm going to crowd you like this for the rest of my life."
Thursday, 19 November 2009
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24 Weeks
“In the past few weeks, the top of your uterus has risen above your belly button and is now about the size of a soccer ball.”
Oh, how I laughed. My stomach is no longer the cute “bump” mentioned in all pregnancy-related media. It looks like there is something preparing to burst through my skin like an alien parasite. Or a baby dancing the can-can.
I can’t sleep on my back anymore, and it’s hard to get out of bed. Gizmo likes to sleep with his head on my belly, and I think he was alarmed the first time he felt something MOVE in there, so he keeps moving at night trying to get away from it. Of course, baby is wide awake while I’m trying to sleep, and I imagine a baby jazz player in a night club, smoking a cigar while playing the washboard bass with his feet.
Tomorrow I have my glucose challenge test, and I have to get weighed. Ugh. I knew all those brownies were a bad idea.
Wednesday, 18 November 2009
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Insulting Old Ladies at the Gas Station?
Some people are assholes and I realize that they get their laughs in fucked up ways. But picking on grandmas at the gas station? Come on.
My grandma is a cashier at the gas station down the street from my house. She is a charming, hospitable Southern lady. She shines in social settings. At least in public. However, she has been under a huge amount of pressure lately, what with her oldest daughter and her family kinda freeloading in her house right now.
Last week she had a long line of customers, and one man was standing off to the side, just looking at her. She thought he was waiting for the bathroom pass, so she said, "Can I help you, sir?" His response?
"No, I was just thinking that watching you try to work that cash register is like watching a retard on the Weaver bus." (For anyone who doesn't know, Weaver is the MR/DD school here)
She promptly burst into tears in front of a store full of people. According to the store policy, she is not allowed to respond. So she was sent home for the day, crying, because of some mean asshole who had nothing better to do. If it had been me, I would have been over the counter and clawed his face off.
Don't be a jerk to my grandma, or anybody else's grandma. It's not very nice.
Tuesday, 17 November 2009
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All Those Pumpkins
It gave me a funny feeling in my stomach to walk into the Circle K down the street, and find that the place was papered in little orange pumpkin badges with peoples' names on them. Absolutely covered, the staff had run out of places to hang them, and seeing it all made me want to cry a little bit. Everything makes me want to cry lately, but this was different, because all those pumpkins were from donations to the March of Dimes.
I remember going to the shoe store last spring and seeing a little display set up, a donation can and an impossibly tiny diaper. There was nothing in that can except a few pennies and nickels. I put in $20. All the medical technology in Ohio couldn't save my daughter, but maybe someday, the research by the March of Dimes could keep someone else's baby alive, thanks in part to all those paper pumpkins at the gas station.
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