Pontificum Scriblerus

I just have to document this, because I've been dealing with it for days, and my patience is about this big (indicating tiny), and my temper is about this long (indicating miniscule). All the dumbass things people do and say to me are just unbelievable. We'll start with the plain old, "when are you due?" It's harmless by itself. But try answering that same question 10 times a day! July 6th. July 6th. July 6th. Then, I try to change it up: A few weeks. Pretty soon. Not soon enough. Then I try to ignore the question, but they usually repeat it, and I can't be rude, so I start over. July 6th. July 6th. I should have just had a Tshirt made and wear it, or a plaque or something. "When are you due" is okay, I can handle it. But sometimes, after it, comes some other brilliant comment. Usually, it's "Oh, my god! That's soon!" or "Wow, that;s coming up!" This is when I cock my head like a cat and look at the person. ...

We've graduated to weekly appointments now, and have the lucky privilege of internal exams at every visit. Last week, I was told I was 50% effaced and 2 cm dilated, which, apart from sounding disturbing to a lay person (my mom almost fainted when she heard the word "effaced"), also sounded really promising to me, so when I exhuberantly cried "What does that mean?!" and the OB cold-bloodedly answered "Nothing," I was pretty incredulous... Surely, I'd be in labor any second now? But I ain't. What I IS, though, is edematous, at least 1+, especially at the ankles. I look at them and I'm like, hey, didn't the medial malleolus (little bone) used to reside here? Also, I is a giant internal lava lamp. At least, that's how it feels. It's getting more and more science fictiony by the moment: the belly morphs into various shapes, vibrates and hops at random times, and occasionally, sprouts temporary limbs that later resorb back into the fl...

We have moved. We all remember how well I deal with change? Well. On the day of the move, I arrived to the new apartment early, and was immediately hit by a brick of panic. The new place has wall to wall carpeting, you see. And I have a serious aversion thereto. I think, nay, I KNOW, I was traumatized as a child. My fear of wall to wall carpeting goes way back to the days of early immigration. When we first got here, after staying with our "sponsors" for a few weeks, we needed to find our own place. A fun aside story is how we got our first place. Rent control was still a thing , and there was a rent control apartment owned by a Russian lady of the "first wave," ie, having arrived in the late 70s and acclimated and "Americanized," by her own declaration. The rent was set at $300, unless the apartment was furnished, in which case the rent was $600. So this philanthropist and helper to her brethren immigrants rented the apartment to us as furnished w...