Momalah Update #1 (left as a comment yesterday, but HA, like anyone other than me was going to slog through all those comments and find it):
Thanks everybody -- I just got off the phone with my dad, and my mom is out of surgery. Very, very sick from the anesthesia, but is at least in a private room. I'm going to call her later tonight.
The doctor said the surgery went "okay." Over-analyze that as you see fit.
(And the cake is from Balducci's, and seriously, I have eaten four pieces today.)
Momalah Update #2:
I called her last night around 8 p.m., and she sounded, well, "okay." Very tired, very sore, very much still throwing up from the anesthesia and pain medication (a fairly normal reaction for her, but still draining and NOT HELPING THINGS).
She had it together enough to send my dad home so he wouldn't have to drive in the dark, and she wanted to know how the baby was doing and laughed when I complained that he'd been hiccupping for the past hour and taking out his frustration with the hiccups on my ribcage.
And then she asked if Diana (who'd encountered car problems on the way to my baby shower) was okay.
So in summary: Even after major surgery, my mom is still my mom and has enough mothering left over to be everybody else's mom too.
Cake Update #1:
I ate six pieces yesterday. Also some grits and then some chocolate pudding. It was just that kind of day, I think.
Confession: I've fallen terribly behind on my baby-gift shout-outs and thank-you notes. And I'm hoping that by including this fact in this particular entry everyone will feel too sorry for me to be mad.
Especially Pratt, Miss Doxie, Dazed and Kathy. And maybe anyone else that sent something and I sort of lost the packing slip but will totally find soon and seriously, feel free to email me and be all, "HEY BITCH, I SENT YOU SOMETHING AND YOU HAVE NOT ACKNOWLEDGED IT. YOU SUCK, BUT I UNDERSTAND WHY AND WILL THEREFORE BE GENTLE IN MY REBUKE."
I also need to take care of some parking tickets. My life is fun.
Speaking of fun, our new hardwood floors were delivered yesterday. Yes! After months and months of nothingness on the home improvement front, we have made progress.
We almost didn't, as they delivered the wrong-sized planks, or something, but luckily our contractor was there and promptly send those bad planks back from whence they came, and then the correct planks arrived a few hours later and indeed, they look like good planks. (Pre-finished, by the way, so everyone can just back off the assvice ledge regarding sanding and varnishing around the pregnant girl.)
The floors will be installed tomorrow. Which of course means that seven hundred million other things have to happen on the same day. This is what tomorrow will look like, I'm predicting:
6:00 am: Wake up so I can shower before work begins at 7 lest the hot contractor guys see me unshowered and rumpled.
6:05: Remember that I am pregnant and therefore, no longer a sexual being and nobody cares. Go back to sleep.
6:55: Wake up, panic. Jump in shower.
7:10: Cobble together some sort of clothing combination from the four things that still fit. Argue with self over refusal to buy more maternity clothes this late in the game even though self is on the verge of going around naked because NOTHING FITS AND/OR IS UGLY AND CAFTANISH.
7:20: Ready for contractors to arrive. Yes.
7:30: Waiting. Yes.
7:45: Dog needs to go out. Do not want to walk dog until contractors arrive lest they arrive the minute I get her to the end of the street, far away, because that's currently the only spot she's deemed acceptable for taking a dump.
7:55: Dog is frantic. Put leash on dog, get halfway down stairs, hear intercom buzz because ta-da! Contractors are here.
7:56: Debate. Walk back up the stairs and buzz them up, while thoroughly confusing poor dog who will probably pee in the foyer the minute she sees big scary contracting men? Or walk down the stairs and just let them in, while thoroughly freaking out dog who will barkbarkbark and then set off that goddamn poodle on the first floor and then Ceiba will refuse to pee outside because she knows big scary contracting men are inside her house, possibly stealing her toys?
8:00: Since this is in the future, I have not decided which option I will take. Suspense! Tune in tomorrow! Drink your Ovaltine!
8:05 - 10:55: Here we have two distinct possibilities. Our nursery furniture is also scheduled to get delivered tomorrow. I did not want it delivered tomorrow, but the delivery guy was kind of mean and insistent that my furniture is to be delivered tomorrow, whether I want it or not. YOU WILL TAKE THIS CRIB AND LOVE IT, LADY.
So Option A: The nursery furniture will arrive at the EXACT SAME TIME as the floor contractor people, creating bedlam in the stairwell and much noise and my neighbors will open their doors a crack and give me Dirty Looks of Death and then Ceiba will barkbarkbark at them because they all smell like cats.
Option B: The nursery furniture will not arrive during the scheduled window at all, leaving me in a panic because guess what! I have a doctor's appointment and need to leave by 11, so if the furniture is not there I will have to cancel my appointment or ask one of the contractors to sign and pay for it. (The delivery fee is $70 CASH, and I have been reminded of this REPEATEDLY and it sounds sketchier each and every time I hear it.) This will all but GUARANTEE that one of the pieces will be missing or broken and I will spend the rest of the day trying to track the mean and insistent delivery guy down and have him return with my missing furniture and/or my $70 CASH.
And no matter what option actually happens, there is still the small matter that I HAVE NO ROOM FOR THIS FURNITURE YET AND HAVE NO IDEA WHERE MEAN AND INSISTENT DELIVERY GUY SHOULD PUT IT. HERE, LET ME JUST MOVE THE IRONING BOARD.
11:20: Doctor's appointment. Pee in cup, check weight and fundal height, doppler, see you in two weeks. May possibly bring up fears that everybody is right and I AM INDEED carrying a Godzilla Child who will not fit through my narrow, delicate little business down there.
Noon - 6 pm: Attempt to get actual work done, despite hardwood floors being installed and cut and pounded and God knows what else. Hysterical cat and dog and lots of people around to witness my cake intake. Also Advice Smackdown.
6:00: Need to leave to take Ceiba for her yearly exam and vaccines and whatever. Pray that contractors have already left or are ready to leave at the same time so I can lock the door and leave in peace without worrying that my neighbors will break in and steal my nursery furniture and/or cat.
6:15: Get dirty looks from vet re: the big cut on Ceiba's nose. Swear that we are not involved in some kind of underground Miniature Pinscher Fight Club. The cat bit her and seriously, she started it, because she's kind of a bully. Yes, a five-pound rat-dog bully. Shut up.
6:30: Pay vet bill, submit claim form for veterinary insurance that
is an exercise in futility because they never pay for anything, give dog a
dirty look and tell her how much the hardwood floors are costing us because she
JUST HAD TO PEE ALL OVER THE PERFECTLY-FINE CARPET ALL THOSE TIMES, DIDN'T YOU?
6:40: Get home, eat cake, pass out on couch, wait for Jason to get home and discover that the contractors installed the floors upside-down, or something.
Catch ya on the flip side, peeps.