SOMETHING HORRIBLE HAS HAPPENED, Y'ALL.
My hospital cup -- the new one, the one I spent close to nine months dreaming of and plotting over, the one I looked forward to stealing like nothing else in the room save for those sexy mesh granny panties -- mysteriously cracked overnight in a good three different places, then flooded the top drawer of my nightstand and NOW I DON'T HAVE A SECOND SPARE HOSPITAL CUP ANYMORE, AFTER ALL THAT I WENT THROUGH JUST TO SCORE A FREE SECOND SPARE HOSPITAL CUP IN THE FIRST PLACE.
NOW what am I supposed to do? Have another whole baby just to get another cup? I mean, they are such great cups, you guys. 30-ounce capacity! With a lid and a straw and a handle! You'd get irrationally attached to this cup too, I bet.
And now it's useless, because I guess I put too many ice cubes in it, or something.
So the baby is officially my only hospital souvenir left, besides the aforementioned mesh panties, two dozen giant sanitary pads, some waterproof bed-pad thing, one plastic squirt bottle, a pack-and-a-half of newborn diapers, three things of wipes, a six-pack of formula, one nasal aspirator and a rectal thermometer. ALACK AND ALAS.
P.S. I was *thisclose* to titling this entry "One Girl, Two Cups" but then I didn't, because that would be kind of gross. But then I told you about the gross almost-title anyway. But I figure easily squicked out people probably stopped reading sometime around the second mention of mesh granny panties and foot-long sanitary pads anyway. Childbirth! Magical and beautiful and thoroughly effing disgusting.