Ooooooohhhhhhh... So that's why.....

So... I've been quite tired lately.  Like really tired.  I thought maybe my B12 was low, so I took loads of it.  Didn't help.  I went to be a little earlier every night.  Didn't help.  Thought that my student was just so emotionally exhausting that I couldn't do much else.  No cure for that, unfortunately.

Then I remembered that it was weird that I hadn't gotten my period yet.  It isn't unusual for me to be late.  But I had the cramps and the tender breasts (too much information?) and nothing had come of it.

Do you see where I'm going with this?

Because I freak myself out all the time when my period is late, I keep a pregnancy test in the linen closet just in case.

And 9 days ago I used it.

And those two little lines just popped right up.

Needless to say I was shocked.

And Stu wasn't too excited when I shoved the pee-stick in his face while he was half-asleep and said, "We're fucking pregnant."

After talking about our options we went to the drug store and got another pregnancy test.  Just to make sure.  And I bought the fancy one.  The ClearBlue Digital.  Spells out if you're pregnant or not.  And tells you how far along you are.

That one didn't hesitate either. 

Pregnant.  3+.  Apparently 3+ means that you're at least 5 weeks pregnant.

So... I don't feel so bad for needing naps now.

And I don't have to change the cat litter for like a year, which is the real bonus.  I think I might be more excited about that than anything else. 

Just kidding.  I'm excited.  And scared.  And nervous.  But definitely excited, because I have something the size of a piece of rice growing in my uterus.

I Touch Myself

Sometimes when I think no one is looking, I slowly move my paw down my belly and.... well, you know, touch myself.

So, I figured since I showed off Pedro's moobs, I should share my other cat's dirty little secret.   This is  the real Maya.  I'll let you in on a secret though, if I was caught touching myself, I wouldn't let myself be photographed.  And then let it be posted.  Maya the Cat is a hussy.  Some would say that she takes after me.  Now that I'm happily married, you'd all be wrong.

It's Beer O'Clock Somewhere

During my lunchbreak I sent my friend a message asking her if it was wine o'clock, beer o'clock or hard liquor o'clock.  I really wasn't fussy which o'clock it was, I just felt the need for a drink. 

We all have those days - where work is kicking our ass, family obligations are overwhelming, or the beastly children that live in the apartment above you haven't stopped screaming for the last two hours.  I had one of those days today.

In the real world I work one-to-one with students in school.  These students have behavioural problems, developmental delays or mental health issues - or a combination of any of these things.  I work with the same student for the entire year, helping them to nagivate their classes, de-escalating problem behaviours, communicating instructions to them, etc.  It's a rewarding job, it's more often than not a hard job, and it's an underpaid job.  Seriously underpaid.  *ahem* School board. *ahem*

Throughout most of my career I have been lucky to escape injury, although a troubling trend started this July when I received a concussion from a client in a residential program.  And my new student has chosen  hitting me as an appropriate expression of her displeasure at following the rules.  I can't say that I'm so excited by it.  We're really working on using words to express ourselves.

My new student is also a "bolter", and by bolter I don't mean someone who bolts sheet metal to the wall.  Do you even bolt sheet metal to the wall?  Thank god that isn't my job.  I'd be fired the first day.  Anyway.  She's a runner.  Which is swell.  I mean, I was going to try and start up an excercise regimen, but there's no need when I spend half the day blocking her escape from the school and the other half trying to tire her out by walking the indoor track.  It's good to look at the positives.

So, yeah.  Today was an ass-kicker.  And all I want is a beer.  And someone to make me dinner.  Someone to clean my house would be nice too.  And maybe to win the lottery.

But I'll settle for a beer.

And hope that tomorrow is better. 

Apparently the Cold Meds Work a Little Too Well...

This is a conversation that I had with Shannon (who's responsible for me writing this post) recently... Apparently I need to stay off the cold meds - or stop talking to Shannon.  Probably the cold meds - I ♥ Shannon too much.  As to why I had the cold... well, read this.  It's all Stu's fault by the way.  It always is.

S: You're not the spawn of Satan, are you?
Me: Not to my knowledge, but my parents aren't always forthcoming with pertinent information.
S: LMAO
Me: I'm glad that my potential satanic parentage has you rolling around laughing, Shannon... this could be serious! Maybe that's what's wrong with me...
S: srsly ROFLMAO
Me: Although, it could also be a handy excuse. "Sorry, I'm the spawn of Satan, if you make me angry, I will send you to Hell."
S: my office wants to know why i am LMAO and snorting
Me: "My dad is going to be really mad if you don't give me a raise... I mean reaaaalllyyy mad..."
S: *snort*
Me: I'm glad that my newfound lineage has given you such joy today. Just wait 'til Stu finds out that his FIL is Satan! Although, I suspect that most men always think that it's their MIL that's the devil
S: I bet he won't give you colds anymore.
Me: I should hope not - a few hundred years roasting in the flames of Hell should put a stop to that
S: LMAO oh, you are killing me spawn of satan
Me: I hope you mean that in a figurative sense - I wouldn't want my dear ole dad to get any ideas about claiming your soul so that I can have friends around when I visit him.
Me: I think the cold has infected my brain.

If you would like to see a picture of my dad click here.