So now, without further delay, I give to you:
The Best Of Pamela's Pregnancy
On Bovine Afterbirth:
Never in all my wildest imaginings did I ever think I would witness the miracle of Bovine Afterbirth. And NO! I do not actually have wild imaginings about cattle. Really, people. I like to drink the milk (raw) and I like to eat them (rare-ish). And that is it. I do not have the vocabulary to express the disgusted wonder and raging dry-heaves I experienced on Saturday when I watched a cow eat her placenta. Why? I can hear you asking. I can. WHAT WOULD POSSESS YOU TO WATCH A COW, OF ALL THINGS, CONSUME AN ORGAN THAT WAS JUST INSIDE HER BODY? Loud and clear. And all I have to offer you is the standard Car Crash Response. I just. couldn't. look. away. It was like a big gelatinous...thing. All sloppy. And steaming. And thing-ish. And that cow was eating it up. Maybe slurping is a better word to use.And even now, as I sit here in my comfy chair, grossing you out with neither rhyme nor reason, I find myself wondering: With all the calf nut talk going on over at The Pioneer Woman, and the ninety bazillion cattle they have, how has she never once mentioned that those beasts excitedly eat their own placentas? Because that? Is WAY GROSSER THAN DE-NUTTING A CALF. Way. Grosser. But know this. I, Pamela from The Dayton Time, keep it real.
On Being Six Month Pregnant and Starving:
And really? I have been awake for HOURS. OOOOOOOWWWW-EEEEEERRRRRSSSSS. Yes, yes I have. Not tossing and turning, mind you, because the disc between my fourth and fifth cervical ...maybe it's my lumbars, I can't actually remember... decided to go visiting my lungs or something, and it is nearly impossible to roll over. I'm not even to the Beached Whale Stage of my pregnancy yet, and I can't sit up, roll over, put my socks on, or fetch. And I'm not begging...yet...but if there are still dirty dishes tomorrow at this time, I might start begging.I needed help putting on my snow boots yesterday so I could gimp down the street to the in-laws' house for New Years' Day brunch. Sans socks, for the record. Also? I had to STOP EATING DINNER at my mother's house, because I couldn't sit up any more. And let me tell you, people, that it is a real son of a bitch to be six months pregnant, be starving because you're, well, six months pregnant, and NOT BE ABLE TO FINISH YOUR PASTA.
On Nude Grocery Shopping:
Would you rather walk naked through the grocery or store or lick all the meat at the butcher counter? I would WAY WAY WAY WAY WAY rather lick all the meat at the butcher counter than walk naked through the grocery store. Even though I shop at Aldi, and walking through the store takes, like, 29 seconds, I would not do it naked. Especially if the short people are with me, not that they've never seen me naked, heck, all of them have spent lots of quality time with naked ol' me. But if they were walking through the store with me, it would take about 90 years, and I'd freeze my naked keister off by then. Also? I'd be dead. Ninety years is a long time.
On Her Special Vagina:
Then she asked if the hospital could photograph my birthin' processes to write an article for the local rag completely accurate and reliable newspaper, to feature the remodel job on the Labour and Delivery Floor. I said, Sure, just so long as you get a really flattering shot of my vagina. I'd hate to have her all flashed out in public looking a mess. To which she replied, We aren't allowed to print a picture of your vagina in the newspaper. So naturally I answered, I was joking. I don't really want a picture of my vagina in the newspaper. It's special for me...well, it's special for The Mister... well, it's pretty tired out lately, so it would really like a vacation.