The end of March.

Hard to believe it's here already. Next Sunday marks a year since we lost our sweet Roo cat. I still cry about her. In fact my eyes are spilling over as I type this, and I won't blame it on hormones. Kiki is sitting next to me, a big lump on the couch with her prim little paws and her grouchy old man face, as beautiful as can be. Does she miss her sister? I don't know. The grieving process for cats is not something I am an expert on. When Kiki is dragging her red toy around at night and howling, is she sad? Or just crazy? Has this year pass quickly for her?
I miss Roo everyday. We talked about naming the baby after her, or finding names that have Roo sounds in them (Ruth, Gertrude, etc) but I think we've decided not to do that, though I guess we will just wait and see til we meet the baby. Maybe he/she will look like Roo... black and white with a moustache and a freckle eye and long whiskers.

Does this make me sounds crazy? Perhaps. But I don't give a fuck. Kiki is sixteen now. Sixteen fucking years of my life have been spent with this cat. She is my best friend who never judges me, is never mean to me, is always up for hanging out, and sometimes throws up on my bed. She lays with me when I am sad, she is always happy to see me when I walk through the door. She is funny and bitchy and weird and awesome.... like me.

Trever and I were discussing last night how some people don't understand this bond. And even though he hasn't known her as long as I have, he loves my cat(s) like they are his own. I know some people think it's insane, that we won't go on vacation this summer because we don't want to leave Kiki behind. There are lots of other reasons, too, like not wanting to drive 6 hours with a two month old baby, take an hour ferry ride with a two month old baby, and be on island that is not near anything should anything happen to said two month old baby... but a BIG part of the decision is that I really don't want to leave my cat alone for a week. I fucking LOVE my cat. I would MISS her. She would MISS me. And who knows how much longer we have together?

Kiki has been sleeping in the crib. Trying on the hats I've knit for the baby. Hanging out in the baby's room, puking up hairballs on the floor. And before you feel the need to tell me that it's OMG SO DANGEROUS FOR CATS TO SLEEP WITH BABIES let me just say: I am not an asshole. I am not a fucking moron. I KNOW THIS. Holy fuck. But also... there is no baby here yet. And if Kiki needs to sleep in the crib to establish the fact SHE WAS HERE FIRST, then you better believe I am going to let her. Not to mention, I KNOW my cat, and she does not like children. She is terrified of babies. The first time she met Cassidy, when she was maybe six months old, her tail puffed out and she took off. Those few months when I lived at my sister's house, Cassidy was two. Kiki wanted absolutely NOTHING to do with her. Trever's ten year old sister? OH HELL NO. She doesn't even like his eighteen year old sister. Kiki is not interested in you until you can buy booze. Sure, she will be curious, no doubt. Also, annoyed. But let me assure you all out there in the world, Kiki will not be sleeping in the crib in the baby... because Kiki will be sleeping WITH ME. That's right, I will bedshare with my cat, but not with my kid.

friday: snow day

Trever shoveled the walk this morning, and we took a walk in the snow for coffees & easter candy. Other than that, it's been a day indoors... watched a terrible movie we rented from vudu, started a crappy knitting project (one day I will learn how to read a pattern, I swear), pet Kiki A LOT, ate too many jelly beans and peanut butter eggs, and now we are listening to Childish Gambino on vinyl. Hopefully baby is listening from the womb, cause we LOVE him (too bad his lyrics are not kid-friendly AT ALL.) There is a little dancing happening, by a skinny guy in long underwear, while he sorts out the non-baby crap in the baby room.

Today was supposed to be our 28 wk appt, which will now happen monday evening. It's hard to believe. I thought that time was moving so slow but now all of the sudden it's all very real and very close. Spring is coming and so is this kid. I finally got my registry done, for the most part, and sent out the e-vite to our baby shower. It's non-traditional for sure. The last thing I want to do is sit in a room full of women who watch me open presents and coo over everything and touch my belly. No fucking thanks. We are having it at a bowling alley, which is actually what my sister when she had her shower six years ago. That way, dudes & kids can come, and people can drink beer and bowl instead of just staring at me. Our birthing class is the first weekend of April. We still need to sign up for a CPR class, and I need to send in the application for baby's health insurance (please Mass Health, do not let me down - adding this kid to my policy will make it that I am only working to pay for insurance, and that does not work) as well as figure our our birthing plan. Get the baby out. That's about all I have so far.

We are doing okay, I think. We'd be doing better if we found a bag of cash, but who wouldn't be.

I am going to make cupcakes now.

This sums up Kiki's day.

Slow.

Time is flying but I am not. I move so much slower these days. I can only imagine how I will be moving in one month's time. It's frustrating to need to ask for help at work because I can't move twelve 35lb boxes anymore. If no one is there to help me, I am stuck waiting. And I hate waiting. It's not that I am impatient, it's that I like to move at my own pace, which is generally a little faster than everyone else's. A good example of this: I am perpetually early. I always have been. When I was in high school and I would usher at church on Sundays, I would have to get there by 9:30am, and I was ALWAYS late since I had to rely on my fucking slow ass (ex)step dad to drive me there. I always got to school early, so I would have enough time to goof off, or when I was a senior, enough time to smoke a cigarette across the street and then freshen up in the bathroom before class started. Once I got to college, it was worse. I remember getting to my Painting 1 class and having everything all set up and ready to go by 8 am, even though class didn't begin until 8:30... I was always there before the teacher.

Since I have stopped taking the MBTA to work and have started driving, the only way to not sit in a shit ton of traffic each day is to get to work between 6-6:30 am. The store doesn't open until 8:30, but I always have things to do... unless no one has moved boxes for me the previous day, and then I just have to fuck around or find a few small boxes, or attempt to drag or kick a box down the hall. And then even when I am ready to go, everything just takes longer. I have to stop working so I can pee every half hour to forty minutes. I need more water. Then I need to pee again. Then I need a snack. And another snack. Have to put lotion on my hands from touching cardboard all morning. Have to listen to my coworkers talk about things that I just don't care about.

It's all bugging me.
And now I am at home, and there is still quite a bit to organize and straighten and find homes for, but here I am moving slow, too. I get overheated. I need to pet the cat. My sister calls. I need to sit down. I need second breakfast, and then early lunch, and then lunch dessert. I just can't move as quickly, now that I am carrying around so much extra weight.

I just want things to be done. I want to find a dresser/changing table for the baby room. I want to find a home for all the guitars. I want the turtles to stop fighting and just eat their damn fish. I want to find my muffin pan so I can make cupcakes and eat three of them. WHO LOSES A MUFFIN PAN? Apparently me.

Wow. That was all a big long whine. Sorry about that. On a good note, I can now SEE my stomach move when I feel the baby move. Fucking WEIRD and COOL and totally like a science project.