Cervical Mucus, the zit that ate my face, and bird poop

If you are anything other than a good friend, you may want to stop reading this post right now. Mom or any other relatives...I mean you. Because what follows is something that I have an uncontrollable urge to announce to the world via the internet, but wouldn't say in the presence of anyone in person.

I am experiencing what can only be described as a practical joke played on my by the fertility gods. Two dead kids? yeah...well how about enough cervical mucus to cover Ohio? I'm.Not.Kidding. Before I was pregnant with Alex and Travis, I experienced what I would call a "normal" amount of cervical mucus. Now...now I can't walk farther than ten feet without my pants being filled. It's, in a word, disgusting. I wipe and it's like a freakin egg was cracked in my hoo-ha. And with each wipe I think to myself, "Disgusting," and then, "Hilarious...I can hardly control the laughter." Again, I feel like sending a big old F*** You out to the universe/God/fate...whatever force decided NOW would be the time to hit me with apparent super-fertility.

And through it all, I keep thinking to myself, "My nails, my hair, my skin...they all look great." And then...then do you know what happens? The post-pregnancy hair loss begins round about the beginning of the week...and a GIANT zit forms on my chin sometime during the night last night. Seriously, this thing is so big it needs its own zip code at this point. And here's where I am emotionally. Normally right about now, if I had had a LIVING baby, these things would be happening to me but I would be so exhausted from taking care of an infant that I so wouldn't care. Well guess what?!?! I CARE NOW! There is nothing like a handful of hair in the bathtub drain...and a giant red beacon on my chin...to remind me that I DON'T have a baby. So I cry as I clean the hair out of the tub. And I cry when I'm trying to cover the giant zit with makeup. Yeah...that's funny too.

But the bright side? At least I haven't been shit on by a bird. Uh...HADN'T been shit on by a bird. That's right. Out and about at lunch today, somewhere between the post office and the deli, a little birdie dropped a brown poop right on my left boob. ARE YOU SERIOUS?!?! So I ducked into the nearest county building...into the bathroom...had a good cry and washed my boob. And what do you think happened? Two things. First, there was someone in a stall that I didn't realize was there. I tried to laugh it off, but I'm afraid all that did was prove to her how absolutely mentally unstable I am. I only hope that she follows the girl code of ethics and does not reveal the secrets shared, however inadvertently, in the women's bathroom.

The second thing that happened? Oh, you'll love this as much as I do, I'm sure. The washing of the boob left a wet spot...on my boob...circular...that looked suspiciously like...oh HELL...it looked like my breast was leaking. And it wouldn't dry. And I was in a bathroom that didn't have those automated dryers (damn cheap county I work in). But the lady in the bathroom reassured me that she wouldn't notice something like that anyway (she so lied) and so I said, "I give up," and walked out. I still hadn't gotten my lunch and my stomach was protesting the prolonged drying time in the bathroom. So I walked out the bathroom, out the building, down the street, into the deli, and back to my office. I ran into two types of people. The people who didn't know me and stared (yeah, you're not going to notice the big water stain on a woman's left boob...give me a break). And the people who did know me, know my story, and assumed...yeah. I'm going to find that f***ing bird and kill it with my shoe. And I will take great pleasure in doing so. Because the sympathetic looks and the over-niceness of people over my wet boob was JUST.TOO.MUCH.

On the walk back to the office, I started to laugh. Yeah, crying too, but laughing nonetheless. What's next? A plague of locusts? It's laughable at this point. The last time I was shit on by a bird was when I was 15 or 16. We were at the community pool and an overprotective-of-his-turf pigeon shit on me. I thought THAT was embarrassing.

So here I sit...a load in my hoo-ha, a huge zit occupying prime real estate on my face, a shit stain on my shirt, and a wet boob...laughing hysterically as though I've lost my mind.

I think maybe I finally have.