changing lives since 2003 (ms_pooka) wrote,
changing lives since 2003

tumbling, caterwauling, tumbleweeds: the state of our nation.

oliver tried to somersault out of my uterus last night. for four hours. i'm totally serious. then he made me my throat feel like it was holding a pack of pins and needles in place (i might as well blame that on him too). i suppose a mother has to expect this inevitable time in her child's development to happen. testing the waters and boundaries of discipline is a natural phase for a child. seeing just how much he can get away with. much like whichever of our 1400 cats has peed in front of the shower three times in the last 15 hours. much like my two cats who got into their first physical fighting match last night with me in the middle. in case my anxiety over the frantic misbehaviours of my human child and the pins and needles in my throat hadn't been enough, i became guilt-ridden after pulling out my alpha-female restraining maneuver on ttyki at the food bowls once she started freaking out because oskar was within a yard of her. my anger increased as her caterwauling reached new decibel levels (and believe me, that cat can make some fucking unbelievably horrific noises) and her head got away from me containing a tooth which punctured the tip of my thumb which pissed me off even more which upset me even more when i turned enough to see that the fur on oskar's tail had exploded while he was on the other side of my arm attacking ttyki's backside and pulling out clods of her fur. my guilt increased even more after i unleashed a torrent of verbal abuse and threatening physical looking waves as i chased him screaming and crying into the bathroom and threatened to throw a plastic grocery bag of stinky sandals at him. i shut the door with him on the other side howling (unusual for him).

then i sat down on the floor and cried. and started having braxton hicks contractions. and wondered if the baby was going to squirt out some more. or be traumatized in vitro. or if my downstairs neighbor was traumatized in her sleep 10 feet below us.

and then i was fine.

and then i went to the bathroom to pretend to pee. and then i cried some more. because i couldn't contain my disappointment that our place is constantly a wreck and all nature of family and friends will be tromping through it soon and they'll think we're unfit to raise a child because they are ALL neat freaks. and then i'll find some more dried puke spittle somewhere. or we'll put something away and something else has to be pulled out. and then we're too tired or in want to enjoy our last moments of solitude to do anything about it. and then oskar will figure out that he can jump from my desk to the top of the bookshelf and eat the ivy that didn't die until i hear chomping noises on what might be a cat-poisonous plant and i yell bloody murder at him and he jumps down and runs away until he forgets how terrifying it all was and does it again later. and then i'll find some more dried puke spittle somewhere. and dirty paw prints. on the floor and on the kitchen counter. and then the kitchen floor will be filthy again three days after mopping. and more wads of tumbleweed cat hair waft by no matter how often i send the roomba out on missions. and then someone will throw up three times or produce constipated alien-like poo's on the floor.
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