bed rest stories.

I. Weird cats and ghosts.

My cat is being totally weird. She sits in the doorway that leads from our living room to the foyer and just...STARES...at the front door. And, usually, all I have to do is say, "Come on, Tasha! Time for bed!" and she'll follow me--yes! just like a dog!--into the bedroom. Where she will insist on lying down right next to me, which leaves me very little room to move around once Charles joins us. It's all about HER. (I sense sibling rivarly/jealousy coming once the baby gets here.)

But lately, she refuses to budge. No, no. She just wants to sit and...STARE...into the foyer, at the front door.

The other night, we had our living room windows open. And I was standing there, staring at her staring at the door, thinking: You are one weird cat, cat. And suddenly I smelled cigar smoke.

I smelled the cigar smoke a couple of weeks ago, lying on the couch late at night (with windows open), and it had kind of freaked me out. I thought maybe we had somebody in our backyard, smoking a cigar, contemplating how to best rob us of all our cool stuff. So I'd closed and locked the windows.

However, THIS time, I don't know. I don't know if it was because I have a really weird cat, or if it just popped into my head...but you know, my dad smoked. Which he should not have because he had heart disease. In fact, nobody should smoke--it rots your lungs and will lead to an early death. But my dad smoked, and his favorite was cigars. And so I immediately turned around and thought: Daddy?

This happened to me once before, a few weeks after he died: I was leaving my parents' house through the garage, and right as I got to the driveway, I suddenly smelled cigar smoke. It was so overwhelming, I actually turned around, looked into the garage and said out loud, "Daddy?" And then I thought, okay...maybe one of his old jackets has that smell. But no, they just smelled like, well, old jackets that have been in a garage for 3 years. And then I thought, okay...maybe a neighbor is outside smoking a cigar. But no, I was all alone.

And so I concluded that my dad was letting me know he was there.

During both of these incidents, I was kind of freaked out--I mean, hello! Ghosts are SCARY. Even if they are ghosts who love you. But I wasn't actually scared scared...just sort of...cautious? But also emotional, because maybe my dad was letting me know: I'm here. He would do that, you know.

I told Charles about the living room/weird cat/cigar smoke incident and he said: "I think you're right: Tasha IS weird. But I think she just saw a bug flying around."

"Well, what about the cigar smoke? Explain THAT!" I said.

"You watch too many episodes of Paranormal State and Ghost Hunters."

I'm going to set up vigil every time I see my cat acting all weird. Maybe it will happen again. I just hope he's here to see his newest granddaughter, and that I'm not being sent any crazy "A Christmas Carol" warning messages. I really think God should pick a far, distant ancestor ghost for those.

II. Men in Stores.

I ran to Target the other day (after being told to go home and do bed rest) (because I NEEDED things for my bed rest. Like books. And trashy magazines. And caffeine-free Coke.), and some guy in Army fatigues looked at me and said, "Wow! Twins?" And I took a deep breath and said, "No! Only one," and walked away.

Then, I was at Barnes & Noble (I've already read 1 1/2 of my Target books) and a store clerk passed me and--here, I'm thinking he's just thinking out loud to himself--(or, alternately, he has Tourette's) and says, "No way!"

I ignored him and continued looking at the table of books.

Then I looked up, because he'd stopped.

"Should you even BE here???" he asked.

"I'm just fine--I promise I'm not going to lie on the floor and start giving birth like a farm animal," I said.

"Oh."

He walked on, I finished my shopping, and wouldn't you know it: guess who just haaaaad to be MY cashier.

"Promise you aren't going to burst water everywhere and give birth right now," he said as he rang up my books.

"I promise I'm not going to burst water everywhere and give birth right now," I said. Fake cheerfully. And then I paid. And then I left.

You know...about 2 months ago? I loved when people were all: "When are you due??" Probably because I was still quite mobile, not on bed rest, my skin didn't feel like it was stretching over a balloon that someone just kept making bigger and bigger with no end in sight, and I had ankles I could physically see (some days they come back; some days they disappear).

But now, I'm really feeling quite large. And so I'm thinking about carrying some pre-made cards with me to hand out to these strangers. My pre-made cards will say: HI. YES, I AM PREGNANT. NO, I WILL NOT HAVE THE BABY IN THE NEXT 5 MINUTES IN YOUR STORE. YES, I AM ALMOST DUE. NO, I CAN WALK AND FEED AND DRESS MYSELF JUST FINE, THANK YOU. YES, I'M SORT OF UNCOMFORTABLE. NO, IT DOESN'T KEEP ME FROM LIVING A NORMAL LIFE. YES, THERE'S REALLY A BABY IN THERE. NO, IT'S NOT TWINS.

People are weird.

III. Medical Offices.

I got in trouble the other day with Dr. M. I've been on bed rest, but I went out to eat with my friend Carol. We had Mexican. Salty, salty Mexican. And I was sitting, but I was also sitting--not lying--for a good 3 hours of dinner/conversation. And so the next day, of course! Blood pressure's back up, 6 lbs of water retention all back.

Dr. M was a comedian: "You're lucky I'm a nice doctor and not one of those mean ones who say 'Go to the hospital.'" and "So you thought you could fool the doctor. Nope! You can try to tell me you had dinner out, but I know...you were just on your feet too long, doing too much." and "Maybe I'll make you do a FORTY-EIGHT hour urine test this weekend now that I know you hate the 24 hour ones so much. We like to make our moms who don't follow directions pee into a bucket as much as possible."

Actually, Dr. M, I think that's also what they do to prisoners down in Guatanomo Bay. And it's not called "taking care of yourself."

He actually was quite personable and funny. And he told me the baby is head down and he can tell: "This baby is getting ready to come out!" Which sounds much more official coming from a doctor than a midwife. For some reason. And he had kind blue eyes. And called me "kiddo" a lot. Which made me feel safe; I don't know why.

But as I left (he only made me do a 40 minute fetal monitor and get a blood test...he was just kidding about the peeing in a bucket test. HA! HILAROUS! Doctor humor), I watched the nurses interact with him.

On the one hand, I could tell Dr. M is one of their favorite doctors to work with--they were relaxed and jokey with him. On the other hand, I could see how deferential they were, and how careful not to say something that might offend Dr. M.

I wondered: is this how all doctor/nurse relationships are?

Or maybe they were just like that because they knew Dr. M would threaten to make them pee in a bucket for 48 hours, too.

Doctors can be mad scientists, I bet.