Prenatal Insanity

I've always hated the stupid ways people use the word "insane," like my high school friend getting all, "Oh, I'm totally insane.  I ate, like, three bowls of cereal that night.  I'm crazy."  Dude, no, that does not count.  Of course, my other powerful pet peeve from those years is the canonization of Winnie the Pooh, et al, by my middle school friends.  "I'm a Tigger girl!" said the one who wore Tigger sweatshirts every day, and the whole crew of them were giddy about visiting the Disney store at the mall for even more Pooh paraphernalia.  Oh, and going to the mall was dumb, too.  I feel really bad that my kids will someday have to survive the teen years.

Which is to day, I feel like an asshole for using the word "insanity" against long-standing principle, but the last few days have been fucking rough.

Heather and I agreed that we would skip all errands today, her day off, other than dropping off my car for a tire change in the morning.  We'd spend the rest of the day sharing quality time.  My hormones were not having it, though: Quality time is for suckers! 

The morning started with a big spat over dropping off my car for a tire change.  I don't even know how to map it out, other than that it involved shouting over the sound of a toilet flush, Heather accusing me of being over-sensitive, and a discussion of whether it was appropriate for a chick to work at a tire shop.  It was really unpleasant for both of us. 

After dropping off the car (with barely-contained mutual hostility), we went to Starbucks, then to the park for a peaceful breakfast that wasn't to be.  It might have been too optimistic an effort, under the circumstances, but the alternative was driving back home all mad, so we risked it.  Or anyway Heather decided and I was too lazy and lacking in forethought to jump out of the car.

First it was just tense rehashing, and then it was rehashing accompanied by sobbing while we sat at the lake, and then it was sobbing in the car again.  We picked up the car (within an hour, as the lady said), went home, and sobbed in bed.  For a while.  We decided that, for the moment, conversation was unsafe and sleeping was a better tack.  I just could not be trusted to hold a rational conversation.

(c) Lamont's Facebook page

I couldn't sleep, so I got up and started fussing around on Facebook.  I first saw a post by my good buddy Lamont about rabbit feed for "lactating does." (Lamont works in a feed store, so it's not like he's just wandering in lactating-rabbit circles, not that I'd judge.)  They make cookies and tea for lactating humans, but what if this is even better?

The second thing that sparked my interest was a video wherein the cast of The Lion King sings "The Circle of Life" on an airplane.  For no legitimate reason, I watched 30 seconds and burst into tears.  Like, not getting wet-eyed because it made me think about welcoming a

baby to the world, but full-on ugly-crying.  I couldn't even identify it: was it the sentimental thing, or did it just make me happy, or was I sad for the uncomfortable-looking flight attendant?  No clue, but I couldn't watch the rest of the video.  I went into the bedroom for something and Heather woke up.  "What's up, baby?"  Reader, I could not even get the words out to tell her about the goddamn video without falling apart.

So now I'm eating Girl Scout cookies-- an unexpected but delightful gift from the tire shop-- and doing my best to numb myself into mindlessness while Heather sleeps, doing her best to avoid the ferocity of my prenatal nature.