Okay, I can deal with the queasiness and occasional throwing up -- after all, I drink so much water that it's really not that bad. I can deal with crying at mortgage commercials and anything that starts with the letter "b" (or any other letter, for that matter.) I was not prepared for the onset of complete insanity.

See, I was supposed to take our little boy kitties into the vet today. I couldn't get them into their carrier (we got a large one that they could supposedly share for a while, hoping that company would make traveling less traumatic.) Oh, my. I got Max in and tried to get Bamf, who took off like a bullet. The rational part of my brain said, "Calm down, go get a toy, try to coax him out from under the table." Unfortunately, the raving, hormonal, insane part had already taken over my body and nervous system such that I found myself trying to chase this cat. I almost had him, he scratched me, and I threw a tantrum. I'm talking slamming doors, throwing things, screaming, all sorts of tantrumy stuff.

Whoah.

Needless to say, the kitty round-up went about as well as could be expected under the circumstances (which is to say, not at all.) Max even figured out how to get out the top of the carrier (which I hadn't latched completely in preparation for adding second cat), so I hid in the computer room and tried to calm down.

I needed to load some updated software so I could do some work but the installation CD appeared to be scratched such that it couldn't be read, so I ran it through Shawn's nifty little DVD Dr. It was great, up until I tried to remove the CD and didn't get the catch right and cracked the CD.

Crap. Time for another tantrum -- this one more crying and less throwing things.

Okay, deep breaths. Calm down. Think calm thoughts. Let's go try the kitty thing again.

Almost worked. Again, I got Max and put him in the carrier (latching the top this time.) I got Shawn's robe tie and finally managed to coax Bamf out from under the bad into arms' reach so I could grab him. Then when I went to put him in the carrier, Max jumped out, Bamf escaped, and I called the vet to reschedule.

Then (after a few more tantrum tizzies) I went outside and planted some bulbs. They're the first things I've actively planted in our yard, so I really hope they come out. Digging in the dirt helped. After that, I puttered in the garage, breaking down cardboard boxes, clearing trash and recyclables, and general, well, puttering. It helped.

I'd called Shawn to warn him that, if my head starts spinning and furniture starts moving of its own accord in my vicinity, it's not his fault and I really do love him; I'm just a little insane right now. He'd already planned to drive up after school for a doctor's appointment, but we found out he's written down the wrong day and had missed it. (Bummer!) He still drove up, partially to pick up some things, but I think also to take care of me. I curled up like a little kid in his arms and sobbed about Life Is So Terrible and then, mercifully, fell asleep. While I was crashed out, Shawn managed to burn a couple of copies of the damaged CD that actually work, so when I woke up, I was able to load the software.

Have I mentioned how wonderful my husband is?

I made him some KoolAid and a couple of grilled ham and cheese sandwiches, he read the first few chapters of What to Expect When You're Expecting, got a second cat carrier out of the garage for tomorrow's caging attempt, and then he had to drive back down the hill.
[*snif*]

But, after seeing him, I actually think I'm almost human again. And the cats are only slightly avoiding me.

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QotD

Sometimes pregnancy and a hangover are hard to tell apart.
-- Vicki Iovine, The Girlfriends' Guide to Pregnancy

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Last minute non-sequitor -- check out the cute, funky little purple froggy!