Once Upon a Funasaurus Marrying a Princess Pregnancy Idiot

Today The Funasaurus and I celebrated two years of marriage (when did that happen?) by eating burgers and chocolate cookies for dinner. We like to stay sophisticated like that.

Remember how I told you that my child seems to favor Beyonce, particularly the “Single Ladies” song? That was well-proved again after watching tonight’s episode of Glee, and its many iterations of that song, making my child sit up and wiggle each time the uh-oh-oh comes on. (Yes, I totally watch that show, just like everyone else. It is unexpectedly living up to the hype. Way to make musical theater mainstream, Fox. Who knew you could pull it off?) Apparently my child is not the only one.



I seriously cannot get enough of this video. Feel like my child is doing more or less the same thing on my bladder these days. I only hope she is that cute.

Speaking of the child…I am 36 weeks along. I am due in late-ish October, but potentially she could come sooner. Since we haven’t gotten around to getting a car seat yet (I hear we might want one of those) I’m hoping she continues to just stay where she is, abusing my bladder, for just a little bit longer.

The symptoms only get worse from here on out, though, including my pregnancy brain. The thing which led me to believe that it would be a good idea to try and catch a wasp that was in my house and save its little life by putting it outside today. Let me just tell you now so that you do not make such a silly assumption, wasps are indeed fucking ungrateful little bastards. Ungrateful little bastards with very pointy, venomous butts.

The full story starts with Sugar making some very excited noises in the stairwell today, and after a few minutes, I got curious as to what had made her excited enough to leave the Pooping Pigeon Show for such an extended amount of time. I find her and Tatum staring and pawing excitedly at the stairwell where a wasp is casually wandering along like he owns this ‘hood. As trips to the emergency vet clinic danced through my head, I waddled as quickly as I could to the bathroom, grabbed a hand towel, and decided to try and capture the thing and release it outside. The capture went well, the cats’ disappointment was palatable, and I waddled quickly to the front door, where I shook the towel…but nothing fell out. Feeling fairly badass by this point, I blithely looked around the towel instead of running for cover like one should know to do when one has captured, terrified, pissed-off, and forcibly removed a wasp from its ‘hood. Naturally, the little fucker was still clinging to the towel, looking for someone upon whom to unleash his rage.

Look no further, wasp! I am here, bloated and stupid and poking my sausage-like finger nearly in your face. Merry Christmas.

So that stung a lot. The towel is still outside, and I panicked, sure that I had somehow damaged my unborn child forevermore. I called the doctor, but only got a voicemail. So I called urgent care, but they said they couldn’t help unless I came in. I wasn’t sure if I was dying or perhaps overreacting just a little. I called my pediatrician friend, left a I’m-trying-to-be-cool-but-please-help! voicemail, and finally turned to Google, who assured me that unless I was having an allergic reaction, I, and my baby, were probably fine. Love u, Google.

This evening I went outside to collect the towel, and I’ll be darned, but the wasp’s corpse was still on the thing! So I tried to wipe it off, but wasp corpses are very clingy. Except it’s not really a corpse, because it suddenly sprang to life, not very excited about being wiped against the cement step.

Pregnancy brain is a very real thing, folks. It makes you something beyond moronic. Even morons tend to understand the concept of “once bitten, twice shy.” Take note. Also, please send Benadryl.