Merry Christmas.

To you and yours.

Baby, it's wet outside.

 

The second photo...that used to be a corn field.

I'm a classy lady. Poopfarts.

I'm finally starting to feel a little normal (well, as normal as I can feel) after about a month since I first came down with the plague.

Let's just dive in, shall we? I must tell you about my vaginal ultrasound. I know you have all been waiting so long to hear this story. And now I begin.

Vaginal ultrasounds: friend or foe? 

I say FOE.

Yeah.

That bad.

I'm a very good patient and followed the instructions exactly. I drank (drunk? drinked?) 32 ounces of water 45 minutes prior to my appointment. And then had to wait an extra 30 minutes.

Not happy.

She leads me to the "room" where she is going to perform her torture and it wasn't more than an alcove with a curtain that didn't properly close. I know this might sound prudish but when I'm getting vaginally probed I'd like a little privacy. I don't think that is asking for much? Is it?

At least I'm prepared. My feet don't stink. My legs are shaved. I didn't eat all day so I wouldn't get the nervous farts. I think that despite the room situation this might not be so bad.

I was so wrong.

For the love of Jesus and Mary the woman who performed the ultrasound had the personality of a wall that had been painted Institutional Beige about 15 years ago and was peeling so badly you could see the Institutional Blue that it had been painted 20 years prior to that.

Mrs. Personality proceeds to push so hard on my bladder I thought I was going to explode. I know it's her job but she could at least say something comforting like "this is only going to last a few more seconds, sweetie" -- I'd even be happy if she said "this is only going to last a few more seconds, hobag."

When I asked her if she had to push that hard she SAID NOTHING AND PUSHED HARDER.

Bitch.

Then she told me I had to go pee and to make sure that I "peed twice." I wasn't quite sure what that entailed but I just said "okay" because if I didn't pee within two seconds I was going to go right where I was standing.

I put on my pants and shoes as quickly as I could so I could walk across the hall to the bathroom.

Mrs. Personality had the nerve to get pissy with me (no pun intended) and said "I have to do your vagina don't get dressed."

As hysterical as that sounds, I was pissed (this time, pun intended...I really, really had to pee) so I told her that she could still "do my vagina" but I wasn't about to walk across the hall with my ass hanging out of a gown and go into a bathroom barefoot.

I ran the 10 feet to the bathroom and nearly wet myself when I saw the toilet. I had to go THAT BAD.

I didn't need to pee twice because everything came out the first time. I honestly tried to pee twice by thinking more about peeing and willing my pee muscles to make something come out but it was useless.

I get back to the room, get undressed again and got ready for part two.

Part Two: Where Ultrasound Technician Tries To Reach Patient's Heart With Her Big Wand That Has A Condom On It And It Is Not Ribbed For Her Pleasure.

At this point I really wished that I hadn't spent so much time preparing for our little visit. I would have worn my stinky shoes. I seriously considered squeezing out a fart or two.

But I'm too classy for that.

Obviously.

That Happened.

I know I said I wouldn't post every day in December but I expected to post more than once every 12 days.

But I got sick with what I have diagnosed as the plague and the only thing I wanted to do with my computer was to watch countless hours of TV and movies on Netflix.

I have a lot to say (our Christmas decorations and tree are up and I'm a horrible mother and I had my ultrasound and the lady was a certified douche canoe and I was officially diagnosed with PCOS and I flew and didn't get frisked and we went on a pub crawl and I got sick and my husband is the best and our last pieces of new furniture arrived and we had a yard sale or two and by "we" I mean "my husband" because all I did was wander out in a delusional state of mind every few hours to muck things up...which I probably would have done even if I was feeling well...) but I can't right now so stop making me because I'm still weak and tired and I have to go back to work tomorrow.

I've missed you.

I'll be back soonish.

Promise.

xoxo

Good Wife

Tomorrow I shall dress myself in things that are free of metal objects (I even bought a non-wire bra just for this trip) and hope that I won't find myself being patted and touched in all the right wrong places.

(I don't really mind the touching. Just don't make me get naked.)

Then I shall board a plane and hope I can fasten that seatbelt before I find myself leaving a place that I believe is freezing when it dips below 70 and find myself in a place where there will be a high of 35 and a low of -1423 and wet snow showers.

And I will pray we don't crash.

I will have my emergency text message to my family telling them how much I love them and to take care of my baby already composed should such a situation arise.

And I will spend the next day going from bar to bar in this weather with my husband and his friends.

I will wear my Uggs.

I do not care how unfashionable they are.

They keep my toes warm.

I will miss my baby terribly.

I will have anxiety.

Lots of it.

And I will not have any anxiety medication.

So I will be drinking.

A lot.

Even though it may not mix well with the medication I'm taking.

While you will not find me on my blog (because I won't be able to figure out how to log in) you may find me on The Twitter.

And if you already follow me on The Twitter then you will likely stop following me after my first round of drunken tweets.

But it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make.

Because I'm a Good Wife.

Also, would-be robbers please be on notice: my house is protected not only by three angry, vicious Chihuahuas, AND one powerful, untrained, fiercely loyal 100 pound English Mastiff, AND a state of the art alarm system but by slightly deranged garden gnomes.

Nablopomonomo.

Ah, nablopomofo, you were fun whilst you lasted.

There were many days that I didn't think I was going to make it.

But I did.

Even if I copped out by posting a picture or two.

Or wrote something silly about fruit.

I wish I could say that I would post every day in order to satisfy my ones of followers.

Alas, I know I will not.

Although I'm doing pretty good so far for the month of December!

Hint: it's kinda what you are reading right now.

If you excuse me it's time for me to talk to my emotional 11 year old about appropriately expressing your frustration with math.

Another hint: it doesn't involve telling your mother she is stupid and doesn't know anything.

Even if it's true.

(Also, my husband heard about Khan Academy and if you have school aged children whose homework challenges them (or you, let's be honest) then you MUST go there NOW. It's BRILLIANT and FREE and AMAZING and COMPREHENSIVE and WHY DIDN'T I FIND THIS SOONER!?! We ALL need to be talking about this!!!)

She's currently eating cereal in the laundry room because we are the worst parents in the world and she didn't want to be anywhere near us and we told her she couldn't take her cereal and her anger upstairs.

Stop being jealous.

Until next time (probably tomorrow).