Home Alone

Last night was a very lonely, but mostly scary, night.

It was the first night that I have spent alone since the Husband and I tied the knot. To put it mildly, I HATED every second of being alone, at night, in an apartment with too many noises and shadows.

Steps I took to sleep soundly/make the night pass quickly/protect myself from rapists/murders:

1. Stay up really late moving around nursery furniture and almost put yourself into pre-term labor, all in the off chance that you will pass out from exhaustion, without any opportunity to think about sexual offenders.

2. Lock both locks on the front door for double protection.

3. Check all of the windows to make sure that they are securely fastened. Also, seal up all the blinds and curtains so no creepers can peek at you while you’re sleeping or heading to the bathroom for your midnight pee.

4. Lock yourself in the master bedroom.

5. Pull up the telephone keypad on your iPhone, so that you don’t have worry about the stupid thing freezing while you’re desperately trying to dial 911.

6. Consider putting your husband’s pistol on the nightstand, where it is easily accessible, but decide against that, because you’re afraid of accidentally shooting yourself or your husband, if he should surprise you by coming home a day early. Decide to leave the pistol in its case, but place it on your side of the bed, where you can hide and prepare to shoot while the intruder breaks down the bedroom door.

7. Turn off the bedroom light and say some prayers for protection, comfort, and quick sleep.

8. Lay down and touch your husband’s side of the bed with longing.

9. Suddenly wonder whether or not you should turn on the porch light to scare away serial killers. Consult the wide world of Google, only to find mixed opinions on whether or not the porch light will protect against violent assault. Decide that you should leave the porch light off, in case a predator has been watching for any change in behavior.

10. Feel okay about your decision to keep the porch light off, since the crazy cat lady has her light on.

11. Try really hard not to imagine your untimely and gruesome death as you fall asleep.

...

Needless to say, these tips were golden, as I was very much alive this morning when my phone alarm sounded.  That, or I shouldn't have worried about being murdered in the first place.

We will never know.

30 weeks

All in the Name of a Fetus

I have a photo collage to show you, dearest friends.

There’s a high probability that you do not want to see these pictures. There’s an even higher probability that I want you to feel sorry for me.

This is NOT what a heroin-addict's arm looks like. 

Or is it?

That is the aftermath of having your blood drawn four times from the same arm, after chugging a sick nasty sugar drink. Please notice the blood underneath the skin, which Dr. Google told me is a hematoma (which is also a bruise, but I prefer “hematoma,” as it sounds more fatal). I would tell you more about how you get a hematoma from venipuncture (poking through a vein, hitting an arterial something, etc.), but the last time I tried to look it up, I almost passed out on the floor of my cubicle.

I am happy to report, that I did not vomit or pass out this time!

Almost doesn’t count, am I right?

I attribute my success to my dearest husband, who held my hand during each blood draw, asked me “What Would Jack Bauer Do?” as the blood flowed, and watched three hours of granola birth videos while we waited.

All in all, those Brazilian women know how to push out a baby.

Cue the Dueling Fiddles

Once upon a time, in the Land of Kieren, there lived a small belly that, yes, shook like a bowl full of jelly, whenever its small inhabitant made any sudden movements. (See above.) This magical place was safe and warm, if not slightly cramped. Many times a day, it was lovingly stroked, massaged with shea butter, and even masked in fine fabrics with striped and polka-dotted patterns.

Oh, the life of a fetus is rather exquisite.

This tale, however, includes graphic content – scenes of fear and horror, even!

As Mother Kieren awoke her settled brains from a long Sunday nap, her eye caught a small movement, a movement and shape that was all too familiar (and sinister). Lo and behold, a full-grown-spawn-of-Satan was there, prancing around on the navy blue belly, threatening to attack with its poisonous tail.

People, I woke up with a freaking scorpion walking around on my stomach!!!!

So, I screamed and shrieked as I jumped out of bed, flipping the scorpion off my dress. (Husband eventually killed it with the National Geographic on polygamy that I had been dying to read. Some things must be sacrificed to defeat evil, I suppose.)

!!!

The terror of this story is apparent. Therefore, I leave you with these thoughts:

1. I slept with a scorpion and there’s no way of knowing how long that scorpion had been using me as a hiking trail. Heck, it could have been cruising around on my face, for all I know.

2. Maybe I should have attended the last two hours of church, instead of napping.

3. Why are scorpions attracted to me? Does pregnancy increase this attractiveness? (Please no!)

Also, lest I forget... This was my Facebook status:

Kieren just woke up and there was a scorpion walking on my stomach!!!!

Many responded with the appropriate "OMG" or "that's scary!"

(Thank you for your concern, fellow humans with feelings.)

However, I had one person "like" my status, without leaving a comment. 

Tell me, what is likeable about a near death experience? 

Please friends, help me out with this, as it is hurting my PTSD brain.

(Also, I blame the "like" button, not the friend who "liked" my brush with death.  A "thumbs up" is just so darn ambiguous, for a person such as myself.)

Failure x 2

Lately, I've been feeling a little bit cooped up inside this little apartment.  

Yesterday, I thought it would be a good idea to ride my bike to the fabric store... 3 miles each direction... on my beach cruiser.  

I was wrong.  I got a terrible farmer's tan, I thought I was going to sweat/dehydrate to death, and my legs fell off.

Rocking the tan at a baptism.  Yes.

Today, I thought it would be a good idea to take free public transportation to Scottsdale Fashion Square.

Mistake #1:  I got on the wrong bus.

Mistake #2:  30 minutes later, at the bus depot, I realized that I would have to make two trolley connections, instead of one, which threw off my whole plan.

Mistake #3:  I got off the second bus to think about things and, meanwhile, both of my busses left.

Mistake #4:  I walked the whole mile home at noon in the Phoenix sun.

Oh, and I also got blood on my new skirt.