My Thursday has thus far consisted of the following:
- Waking up after having apparently slept in some grotesque cirque-de-soleil position that makes my shoulder feel like it's trying to jump ship.
- Fasting to have vials and vials of blood taken out to check multiple hormones I can't keep track of. Fully anticipating someone calling me to tell me I'll soon be able to grow a beard.
- Mr. T, the BFF, is having a minor surgery today. When I had my chemical, he brought me the traditional miscarriage gift of a stuffed strawberry with feet, as you do, who is now the keeper of my fax machine. I am hoping that CVS can help me come up with something equally as unnecessary and irrational to bring to him tomorrow. Perhaps a porcelain figurine of a bear or some sort of shellfish.
And now, some irrational fears on future children.
The Dancing Bear
Though Bub & I are essentially the same person with different volume levels, my husband is extremely introverted. I am not. This is quite a pleasant arrangement - I need quiet, he needs noise. I've been in relationships with men who are as noisy and outwardly goofy as me and it could only ever turn into a never-ending dance off of one-upmanship.
That being said, if I had to deal with a tiny version of Bub's volume level, or if he had to deal with a tiny version of mine, we would be screwed.
I was born with a gift-curse of having whatever comes into my head come out of my mouth. As a 4 year old, I regularly danced on tables in restaurants and once told a border guard that his mother in law was a pig because I thought it would make him laugh (it did).
A normal boring restaurant is Bub's nightmare - too many people. Now if G-d willing in a few years we have a child, I am equal parts delighted and put off at the idea of Bub having a daughter that danced on his table and told the waiter his wife was a gold digging whore.
Equally as frightening, the idea of being in charge of not embarrassing a child with Bub's wallflower tendencies. I would embarrass an outgoing child. I am equal parts delighted and put off at the idea of a tiny Bub having to deal with a Mother fighting the urge to dance on tables and tell the waitress she admires her breast implants.
We have two dogs and a cat.
Phoebe the corgi we've had for 6 years. She was my idea - so skinny Bub out of nowhere got the type 1 diabetes, and was told that walking would help with keeping sugar low. Just as I would not run unless I was being chased by a large blood thirsty bear, Bub would not walk without the threat of something peeing on him if he didn't. Enter Phoebs.
We saw her at a big dog adoption, both loved her, but Bub thought she was too big. In the end, I won.
Luna the giant puppy we got in March. I had begged for a puppy for my 30th birthday in January to no avail. Then, in the mystical inexplicable way which is Bubba he suddenly said one day "let's go get a puppy", so we did.
Now, try as I might to explain to these dogs that they were my idea - chase Phoebe around and tell her "Daddy thought you were too big! and you're a corgi!", whisper to Luna that she is technically my 30th birthday present, they have both selected him as their human.
He is the most interesting man in the world. When he walks from office to bathroom, living room to bedroom, they follow. When he's working, they dive under his feet and try to engage him in play.
When he gets home from work, cue the epic furry breakdown of desperately running around and trying to find gifts to bestow him with - even the cat occasionally gets in on it. It's the 3 furry wise men bestowing gifts unto the apparently everyday newly born Jesus. At 7 PM in this house it's the canine version of some charmingly spectacled girl in a tweed skirt passing out simply because the Beatles came on TV. If they wore bras, they would be throwing them at him but seeing as they do not, they just bring him socks.
What if I have a kid who selects Bub exclusively as it's human?
Lick Your Face
Though I highly judge the behaviors of the dogs that were, excuse me, my idea - I am no better. Bub gets home, and I quite literally tackle him and lick his face for a good half hour. I flash him when he's in the kitchen. I swat his butt when he walks by. I am used to only having these furry bitches as competition.
(Sidenote - can we please have a prompt day, where everyone titles their entries "A Weird Little Glimpse into My Marriage"? Just a thought.)
So what exactly happens when you have a small person in the house? You just kind of... nod a hello and then go about your already busy day, maybe catch up around bedtime? Where is the face licking?
On the random front - I watched "Melancholia". Anybody seen that?
Okay so I was told it was going to be long and boring, and I'm telling you it requires a very certain mood which I happened to be in at the time (artsy fartsy) but I loved it.
Definitely weird, definitely artsy fartsy, but I got it. The jist of it is (and I'm not giving anything away here) the story of two sisters and how they handle the world, and oh ps a planet called Melancholia is headed towards a collision with Earth.
The whole point to it, I thought, was how one deals with melancholy (surprise, surprise). You have one that when sadness arrives soaks in it until her fingers get all pruney, and another one who instantly goes into trying to make things better. One is so used to feeling awful that the actual end of the world is taken with a shrug, and the other is so used to trying to make things better that she only loses it when she realizes that's not going to do anything. So the jist of it was - Dancing Bear or Debbie Downer, when sadness wants to get you it's going to get you. (Now what IF girl can't relate to that?)