Wednesday, October 31, 2007

The Black Cat

We have a very friendly, sweet black cat named Wesley. About a year ago (after we'd had him for almost a year) we moved from an apartment into house and when spring arrived, he one day darted out the door and has pretty much remained an outdoor cat ever since. (Unlike our other cat, Sassy who is fat, lazy and likes to be outside for about 5 minutes as long as no loud cars go by). Wesley comes inside for food and a nap, but otherwise is very happy to spend his life outside, getting fleas and killing things.

Now today is Halloween, so being responsible cat owners, we have decided to keep him inside, which is no mean feat. Wesley is smart and fast so you have to think ahead every time you open the door. As for not letting him outside during Halloween...I thought this was a known thing. People do bad, scary things to innocent black cats this time of year. I have heard this time and time again. My coworkers apparently have not and seem to think I'm being ridiculous and overprotective and that nobody would actually hurt a cat just because its black and outside at Halloween.

I don't think I'm way off. Maybe its believing the worst in people, but I would never forgive myself if tonight happened to be the day he never comes home and would always imagine that he suffered a painful, torturous death at the hands of some Halloween-crazed satanist.

And for one night, birds and rodents in our neighbourhoods can forage for food in peace for it is the one night THEY may be safe from a painful, torturous death at that paws of Wesley, who is undoubtedly their own, personal boogeyman. Ironic, huh?

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Perspective

The other day I'm at the drugstore with Kieran shopping for devices that will tame my unruly hair. I'm sifting through an assortment of headbands, and absently hand one that I've decided to buy to Kieran to play with. A short while later, after I've moved away from the accessories aisle, I happen to look into the stroller to see that the headband is not there and he's playing with his soother instead. I retrace my steps through the store to see if he dropped/threw it on the floor but it's gone. I check beside him in the stroller - no luck. And then I look more closely at my 16-month-old son. He has the hairband alright, on his head, tucked behind his ears - right where it should be.

I've been pregnant now for around 120 days. Of those days, I have thrown up on at least 80 of them, usually more than once. This pregnancy has been almost a complete 180 degrees departure from my last and has, I'm just going to say it, been horrible. Of course, I want this baby, but its hard to feel unfettered maternal joy when, for the umpteenth time, the barf bag that you made use of in the car this morning had a hole in it and has leaked all over your pants. So, this barfapalooza, combined with the sheer amount of work that babies and toddlers require - not to mention the sleepless nights, early mornings etc etc. - has periodically made me question the wisdom of our decision to expand our family.

So as I continue to be mired in a vomit-flavoured haze and wonder why I decided to do this again, I just think of my boy as looks up at me in wide-eyed innocence, soother in mouth, headband on head, and I think, yes, I can do this again.

Monday, October 29, 2007

Backwards, as usual

I guess I'm doing this backwards. I should have introduced my blog and then launched into my rant, but I guess that's my impulsive, aggravated side rearing its ugly head.

So, yeah, I've been thinking of a blog for a few months now. Although I know lots of people who have blogs I don't really visit them all that often. Every few weeks maybe. But a few months ago, while innocently googling my new obstetrician, I stumbled onto a birth announcement, which turned out to actually be also a death announcement, for a baby said doctor had delivered that had died tragically shortly after birth.

Oh, it gets worse. The announcement was attached to a blog which this poor woman had started whilst blissfully pregnant, but morphed into a horrifyingly tragic tale of infant loss, miscarriage and infertility and she had links to dozens of other blogs all dealing with the same thing. A sane person would have clicked off and never gone back. Instead, I was hooked. Now there are a few of them that I check regularly because I find their stories so fascinating and almost always well written. Often they are hilarious. Sometimes heartwrenching. The few that find I read regularly are all people who are newly pregnant, like myself, so I identify with them for the most part. (Although their respective journeys' to becoming pregnant are fraught with fervent hope, danger and emotional upheaval and mine can be summed up, both times, as "WTF?! Already?!")

Then a couple weeks ago, a good friend of mine, announced she was starting her own blog (not pregnancy related thus far, which has been a nice break) and it made me think again that I thought I should try this. And now here I am. Bloggin'. Enjoy. Or not.

For Rock Chicks Everywhere...

So, I guess I’m one tough chick. I almost got into a fight at Tim Horton’s (how embarrassing) this morning.

Since I got back to work in June, I have developed a lovely morning ritual. Eric and I drive into work together, he parks at his office, which is about a 10 minute walk from mine. As I walk to my office, I stop at the new Tim Horton’s down the street and brave the insane morning line-up, wait the obligatory 15 minutes to get to the front before I recite “Large Steeped Tea with milk. Toasted 12 grain bagel with cream cheese” and hand over my $3.24. (Before anyone from the peanut gallery says anything about bagels equaling 4 pieces of bread, just shut it. I’m 4 months pregnant and baby wants a bagel, OK?)

Anyhoo, so I get in the lineup this morning and, as usual, we are backed to the door. About 30 seconds later a tall blond woman wearing a business suit, short skirt and tall boots comes inside and doesn’t get into the line, which has curved so that we are standing parallel to the door. Rather, she sort of stands there at the side, beside the man in front of me, disregarding the line, which continues to form obediently behind me. The man in front of me moves ahead and she immediately steps in. I’m a bit shocked and, before I can stop myself, mutter: “By all means, go ahead”. She WHIRLS around and stares at me in fury.

“EXCUSE me?” (belligerently)

“Uh, I was here before you.” Because she was so clearly in the wrong, I honestly wasn’t expecting her to react, but I’m in it now.

“No, you WEREN’T.” She’s pissed, which oddly I find amusing.

“Yes I was, but that’s OK, go ahead.”

“Well, I was here first, but if its SOOOO important to you, YOU go.” Her tone implying she is simply above this sort of petty interaction.

The friggin’ liar stares me down, and admittedly, she’s a tad frightening. Clearly, she thinks she’s good looking. But her face is seriously unattractive and her eyes are heavily outlined in black. Sort of like a rocker chick with a good job. And now, people are looking.

Still, I know I’m right, but I wave her off and she says: “Well, if you were here first, I didn’t mean to get in front of anyone….I didn’t do it VICIOUSLY.”

Viciously? No lady, you were either ridiculously oblivious or a total bitch. I’m leaning toward the latter. She turns around and stands there with her back to me and it’s sort of awkward for the rest of the wait. Later, as we near the front, she leans forward and says something to guy in front of her and he laughs, turns around gives her an nauseatingly obvious once over. Appreciatively. Guys are soooooo easy. And he talks to her a bit more and she laughs some more. I’m feeling ill, and for once, it’s not the baby. How can he possibly take her side?!

But, still what is up with people these days? I was just saying yesterday, after what can only be described as a harrowing trip to the grocery store where I almost ran into a old woman with my cart and then later, totally bashed another woman’s almost empty cart while in the checkout, that people are all too cranky. Both incidents were my fault and I apologized PROFUSELY to both people involved, but neither was nice about it in the slightest. OK maybe the old woman had a point (although I didn’t actually touch her- probably because she squealed in warning first.) But the one in checkout? What’s the big deal? Your cart was almost empty! Yet, she glared at me as though it was made of Grandma’s irreplaceable bone china. I think that is why I spoke up this morning in Tim Horton’s. Last Friday, I may well have just rolled my eyes at the woman as she stepped in front of me and said nothing. But not today. Sure, it may have been juvenile to be getting into a scrap prior to 9am over who was before whom in the coffee line, but I’m actually happier that I did.

Be warned business rock chicks everywhere…you may have met your match.