Tales from La La Land

Slowly but surely things are starting to change all around us. We have cleaned out the spare bedroom, which was acting as a storage space for extra luggage, boxes of photographs and whatever random crap Laef throws in there when he “cleans” the living room. The items have been moved to a storage unit so that a crib can be moved in at some point. Our bedroom has been re-arranged to make room for a bassinet and and a rocking chair.

So, with each passing week we seem to make small progresses towards the eventual arrival. The saddest part of this transformation was my trip to Motherhood Maternity last Friday. I had grand plans of being super cute all through my pregnancy, and somewhere in that dream I was still wearing all my normal clothes.

False.

Right now I am at that awful not-yet-showing-a-full-baby-bump stage. But my pants absolutely do not button, and I look like I spent the weekend drinking 72 Coronas followed by a dozen Krispy Kremes.

I bit the bullet and went to the Maternity store. Um, nothing will erase sexiness faster than elastic-wasted cargo pants. But, fuckin’ A, I’m SO much more comfortable now. I gave in. Without a fight. Comfort > Cute pregnant lady.

Sigh.

However, while I might be dressing more mommyish and Laef might be doing all the mathematical equations to come up with some sort of reasonable way that we will afford daycare and diapers, we are failing miserably at parenting the two living things currently under our care – the tree and the cat.

The tree apparently needed to be watered daily. We did not know this. We gave it water the first day, and then noticed last weekend that it was looking a little meek. It was completely devoid of water, so we refilled it. Which of course was Sanch’s signal to investigate and drink said water from the tree stand.

Which is then Laef’s cue to hop on Google to find a solution.

“Oh. You’re supposed to water Christmas trees daily, and once it gets dry, there is no reversing it.”

Me: “Well, it will always be dry because that Fucktard will always drink from the water when we are not here.”

Apparently there is some kind of cat forum on Google because the next thing I know Laef is peeling an Orange and throwing the rinds under the tree.

Me: BLANK. STARE. “We are not putting random orange peels on the floor.”

Laef: “Cats hate the smell of oranges!!!!!!!!! Look, look, he’s running away.”

Me: “Great, so we are going to just have random orange everywhere.”

Laef: “I’m going to rub this on our bedroom door. And the sink! AND my clothes!”

At which point I completely drop the whole thing because when MacGyver comes out to play, everyone might as well step away. It was true. Sanch wouldn’t go near the tree for the 2.4 hours that the orange peels remained fresh.

But after two days the orange peels were dried up and crusty and lacking any sort of potent cat-killer scent. I was home alone last night when I suddenly heard the furious slurpping sound of one Sanchez Morris stealing the water from our dying tree.

At which point I screamed at the cat and shooed him away. He tried to go back for more several times despite having his OWN BOWL OF WATER because he knows I’m the “easy one”. I would like to know why cats never want to drink their own water. Apparently the water from the sink, toilet and bathtub is muuuuch better.

Anyway, when Laef came home I relayed the story.

Me: “Um. I think you can throw away the orange peels. They’re no longer working. I had to yell at that bitch twice.”

Laef: “You have to stop yelling at him. The baby can hear you. We don’t want it to think all we do is yell. At the cat.”

Me: … “Anyways, the oranges. You can throw them away.”

Much later that night, I am sleeping peacefully when I hear the sound of the cat going batshit crazy all over the house. It is clear he has found something totally awesome to play with, and is furiously running all over the living room.

Laef comes in and says, “Guess what that little fucker is playing with?”

ORANGE PEELS.

Yeah, that worked.

The cat completely dominates us, and the tree is slowly dying. And Laef wants me to squirt the cat without yelling at it. Meanwhile, because Laef put off throwing away those orange peels, God only knows where the one went that the cat was playing with.

Maybe the baby will find it when it’s crawling around.

We’ve got t-minus 6 months to figure this shit out.