kiwords

I was going to open this post with some claim about my mental illness number, because my secret wish is to be exactly like Joss, except married to my own husband, which doesn't even make sense, because Joss can only be married to Scott. Duh. But that would be disingenuous, because what I'm experiencing is nothing so cool as a skyrocketing mental illness number. No, what's going on in my head is more like...my brain is being eaten by rabid weasels. I'll be having a perfectly normal interior-dialogue sort of conversation inside my skull, when all of a sudden there is a shrill squeal of wild destructive glee, and rational thought gives way to great bloody swaths of emotion and OMG WHAT AM I GOING TO DOOOOO?

Rabid weasels totally suck.

Here's the situation: I am still pregnant. Jennie is supposed to leaveway, way early tomorrow morning. She's not just going home, though. She's going to an FFA meet that's very important to her - important enough for her to get up and leave the house at THREE IN THE AM. Got it? So there's a deadline for this baby girl to show her face if her big sister is going to see her before this summer. And that deadline is rapidly approaching. I should probably be in labor RIGHT NOW, as a matter of fact.

I am not in labor RIGHT NOW.

NOW! Add to that background the following fact: we are currently experiencing a snow storm that is, by far, the largest storm we've had this winter. We're under a blizzard warning until tomorrow morning. Forecasts call for 8 - 24 inches of snow by 6 AM. Roads between here and Wyoming (which is where Jennie is going) are closed. Roads that aren't closed all around the Denver Metro area are very very bad - snow-packed and slippery. Are you with me?

This leaves me with the following thoughts/weasel-inspired freakouts: Jennie is most probably NOT going to make it to her FFA meet. I am pretty sure this is my fault, because she came down here for Spring break so she could meet the baby, whom I have failed to deliver. Shut up, the weasels say SQUEEEEEE. Therefore, Jennie will hate me for all time.

ALSO! Roads! Snow-packed! Icy! And I could (theoretically) go into labor AT ANY MOMENT. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS? I am going to end up being that woman on the evening news who gave birth to her baby on the side of the road. IN A BLIZZARD. WHILE HER STEPDAUGHTER HATED HER.

To sum up, I am worried about the following possibilities; Jennie will go home tomorrow. Jennie will NOT go home tomorrow. I will have this baby tonight. I will NOT have this baby tonight.

Oh, and weasels.