Today I’m having trouble remaining optimistic about, well, everything.
My friend Inka, who was scheduled to have a baby exactly one week after me, gave birth to her son yesterday via cesarean-section after a scary bout with pre-eclampsia. Last I heard, mother and baby are doing fine–and Daddy, too. They had everyone pretty worried there for a little bit. So congratulations to Mike and Inka and their new little guy–although it’s a shame we can’t plan on betrothing our kids at birth. We were counting on getting 2 fat cows and everything had they wound up with a girl.
My ex’s mother, Cheyenne’s grandmother, is in the hospital with a coma, and things don’t look good. Apparently she’d been laying on her living room floor for 3 days with bleeding on the brain before anyone thought to check in on her. My ex is getting married Saturday, and Cheyenne was scheduled to fly out to California with his mom for the event. The plans aren’t completely blown to hell; Mike’s brother will be Cheyenne’s escort instead, and yes, as of now, the show will go on…but I think they’re all dealing with a fair amount of shock, grief–you name it. I can’t imagine. I will have to say something to Cheyenne as far as an explanation on why her grandmother won’t be coming; I have a feeling she’ll know something serious is up and I’ll have to come out with the whole story in order to avoid blatantly lying to her. What a horrible, sad situation.
Caleb was officially laid off Friday. We’ve remained as positive as possible about the whole mess–and let me tell you, it’s a mess. What do you do when you’re almost 9 months pregnant and you have NO INSURANCE? And that’s only a fraction of the entire problem. Right now we’re dealing with Caleb’s old boss, who was demoted and who is now covering Caleb’s old territory of Oklahoma, Kansas, and Missouri (speculation as to why Caleb had to lose his job, anyone?) This man–we’ll call him Barry–decided that the best way to win over the business that Caleb had cultivated over the years would be to talk serious schmack about Caleb. Fortunately or unfortunately, he seriously underestimated the relationships that Caleb had been paid to develop with just about all his dealers–he got a call from one of them letting him in on what Barry had been saying, and I quote: "This man was attacking your integrity; he was defaming your character, and I thought you ought to know about it."
So much for keeping it professional. What the hell? So, Caleb politely called the president of his old company, who he was always pretty tight with, and respectfully put him in the know. We now wait for word from the inside as to what actually was said to Barry. I take small comfort in knowing he will probably crap his pants before he takes his bible-thumping, hypocritical foot and shoves it in his mouth after a conversation with the head honcho himself. I’d love even more to see Caleb finally give Barry a piece of his mind if not a punch in the face, although I know such dreams will never come true…but I really do hope he craps his pants.
I’m big and pregnant and emotional right now. I feel like a beached whale–and I say that with the utmost authority because I’m as close to a beached whale as any human’s ever going to get. My least favorite activity? Rolling over in bed. Not such good times. I get pissed off easy. I can’t sleep at night. I cry over everything; I miss my mommy. All Dogs Go To Heaven is a sad movie. Cheyenne looked at me funny. My grampy died 5 years ago. My husband rubs my back too hard. I forgot to buy spinach at the grocery store and I don’t want to drive back because I can barely fit behind the wheel. I worry about my dad’s health. I want to see my sister’s promise ring. I miss my dog. I have to clean up after the dogs I still have. My hands are hot. Mia won’t stop asking me for ice cream. I’ve officially cracked–and I’m done with pregnancy. I can’t fathom going for 5 more days much less 5 more weeks.