Hello and welcome to the MENTAL HEALTH HOTLINE.

If you are obsessive compulsive, press 1 repeatedly.

If you are co-dependant, ask someone to press 2 for you.

If you have multiple personalities, press 3,4,5 and 6.

If you are paranoid, we know what you are and what you want. Stay on the line and we'll trace your call.

If you are delusional, press 7 and your call will be transfered to the mother ship.

If you are schizophrenic, listen carefully and the small voice will tell you which number to press.

If you are depressive, it doesn't matter which number you press. No one will answer you.

If you are dislexic, press 69696969.

If you have a nervous disorder, please fidget with the # key until the beep. After the beep, please wait for the beep.

If you have short term memory loss, please try your call again later.

And if you have low self esteem, please hang up. All of our operators are too busy for your shit!

Friday, February 16, 2007

What do you mean I'm pregnant?

Okay, so I'm sitting here tonight looking around our disheavaled apartment thinking, "Oh my God! We're going to have a baby!" Yeah, I know, you'd think at this point in the pregnancy I'd have already figured that out. What can I say, I'm a tad bit oblivious!

So suddenly panic has set in. Not at the fact that we're bringing a new baby into this world. Not at the fact that we will be responsible for every aspect of this little girl's life for the next umpteen some odd years. No. I have no disallusions that parenting will be easy, but at the same time, I'm pretty confident that the two of us will make pretty good parents.

So why did I panic?

Well, frankly, we're both kinda packrats (I being the more guilty of us). That being said, I'm looking around our small one bedroom apartment, where absolutely every nook and cranny is filled with pointless stupid junk, and I can't help but wonder, "Where the hell are we going to keep this kid?"

Seriously. It was hard enough trying to figure out where we were going to put our fishtank. How in the heck are we going to squeeze another living human being into this space?

So, in a terrified struggle to be a good Mommy, I start picking apart all the possibilities.

There's a small amount of space on the pantry shelves between the crock pot and the canned goods.

The oven is always a possibility because we all know that I have no clue how to even operate that hot box-like feature, and since Daddy is rarely at home, it may be a good storage spot.

The living room closet is out of the question but there is a cozy little spot underneath the desk here.

The bedroom is pretty cramped but I suppose I could sacrafice my TV stand and the television that has not been turned on in about 2 months b/c after moving the extra TV into the bedroom I had a "lightbulb" moment reminding me that there was no cable hookup in that room.

It doesn't really matter that they warn you not to sleep with your baby in your bed because frankly, most of the time there isn't even room for me in the bed, let alone my other half or a small defenseless infant (at least Daddy has the ability to remove himself to the couch when I start throwing punches in my sleep).

As a last resort I could always keep the baby in the bathtub. No worries that it might roll out or crawl away. Unfortunately, we learned a while back that if the door were to be shut while the knob was in the locked position, there is no key to it! That's a fine thing for a pregnant woman to find out at 7 am with a baby hippopotomus pushing on her bladder. Thankfully, Daddy dearest is quick with a screwdriver and was able to remove the door hinges in no time flat.

As I sit here and worry that our darling daughter may have to spend her first days sleeping in the kitchen sink, it dawns on me that I really need to get on the ball. There's clutter to throw out, papers to sort and file, forms to fill out so the hospital is prepared for us, etc.

I've got less than three months to decide just how many empty boxes we really need to store in the pantry and find some miracle solution for the clothes that seem to pile up in various spots throughout the apartment. Or else I'll be digging through stacks of papers and various articles of clothing in search of a baby's binkie or worse, a baby!

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