This is a jumping spider. He is definitely furry. In fact, he’s totally sporting kind of a Don Kingesque look.
He makes a great date on a random afternoon. Because really, what would you rather have in your face at any given time than a plump, furry thing that is prone to jumping this way and that?
(That’s what she said?)
He is bold… daring. Challenging me. Coming towards the camera and holding out his front legs, as if to say, “I am not intimidated by your sexy smile and your hot rack. (shut up, he knows where it’s at) Your sensuous, womanly curves do not make me feel insecure. I am more man than you have ever met. Now show me your egg sack.”
But I’m all, “Look, dude, inter-species flirting is really distasteful, and I won’t have that on my blogsite, so you’re going to have to take your rude comments somewhere else. Furthermore, my egg sack is far too demanding for the likes of you. You’d never do it justice. Now pose for me, bitch.”
And then he just shrugs and sits there, thinking it over.
I stand my ground. In fact, I tap my toe a little, with a slight grinding motion after the tap.
Finally he just gives in and vogues his furry, spidery little heart out.
Because, really, he knows I can just step on him and call it a day. He’s smart like that, so he gives me what I want before I move on.
Let this be a lesson. While I might not show you my egg sack no matter how artfully you woo me, if you get in position when I tell you to, I won’t step on your furry, little head.
(PS: This is clearly a joke, because everyone knows I’m a shameless whore and will show my egg sack to anybody.)
Ok, so. Since I’ve started talking about the death of this baby, I’ve been letting myself vomit all these emotions and feelings I’ve had onto The Internet. That’s infinitely cool and wonderful for me, personally, and you have all been so supportive. And I’ve been really glad of that. But I’ve also felt just a little, teeny bit uncomfortable, because some of you have said things that I feel give me far too much credit. Like that I’m really strong, or handling things with grace, etc.
And while I am incredibly touched by the kindness and love in those kinds of comments and messages, I have to be honest and tell you that I am really, really not strong or graceful. I’m just emotional and mouthy.
I let all these things flow because I’m weak, and needy, and insecure and unsure and I’m searching for meaning and grasping at anything that might make me feel better.
And I really have to do exactly what I always say I do (be honest and real here), or I’ll be a total asshole. Yes, I let myself be really emotional, and I am sharing with you guys these big, fat, weepy, sentimental thoughts I’ve been having.
I haven’t really typed any of the ugly yet.
Oh.Mah.Gah, the ugly feelings. The ugly, ugly thoughts I have. To be sure, I’m experiencing plenty of anger, shock, and bitterness. I am, by no means, immune to The Big Fat Ugly side of this whole thing.
In fact, I’m an Expert at The Big Fat Ugly.
The Oh So Not Strong OR Graceful Moments of late:
- On Thursdays they show shots of babies born that day, at a local hospital (the one at which Braden was born), on TV. I saw this the Thursday after finding out Fuzzball was dead, and busted out crying, snotting all over the couch, in a heap. When John came over to comfort me, I had the gall to wipe away my tears and tell him I was crying because those babies were so damn ugly. (Graceful much?)
- I was reading blog posts about ordinary things this past week… and seeing people complain about… regular stuff, and gee, that is normal and that is what we all do, yes? But right now, I am rolling in and out of The Ugly, Bitter Phase. I have been biting my fingers not to say things on these blog posts like, “Oh, Really? You’re upset b/c you’re leaking vaginally after you gave birth to a healthy baby? F YOU. I’m wearing pads and leaking after having my dead baby scraped out of me. Go hug your baby and shut up.” (And really, all apologies, b/c the post was great, there was nothing wrong with it at ALL. It’s just ME right now. I HATE feeling this way.)
- Braden has been really “2” this past week. More than once I have just covered my face and ears and just started breathing really hard, instead of responding when he was freaking out about something. As if he doesn’t need me. As if I’M the child here. I don’t know what I’d do if John wasn’t home right now. (Strong? Hah.)
- I completely, totally, insanely lost it and shrieked at John about his french fry selection when he brought dinner home one night. Then I refused to sit anywhere near him for at least the next 10 minutes to teach him a lesson. Later, I realized what a douchebag I had been. FRENCH FRIES. Ugh.
- I really, really, really, really, really, REALLY cannot handle people saying ANYTHING to me about God right now. This includes how I should feel about/towards Him, how I should be reacting Faithwise, what He has planned for the future, or why He let this happen, etc. I know people don’t know WHAT to say at a time like this, and are just trying to help… but in all honesty (that’s what I’m trying to do here) I am PISSED OFF. I am REALLY REALLY hurt and REALLY REALLY mad right now. Please just let me be mad and hurt right now. I have a right to feel this way. I don’t know how long it will take before I work it out. But I AM SAD, MAD, AND CONFUSED.
For the record, I have not resented anyone else for being pregnant right now – or for actually having healthy babies. Seeing complaints about issues surrounding pregnancy/birth makes me twitch a little, yes. But there is no actual resentment.
Mostly, I just feel sorrow when I think about the ladies I was supposed to “have a baby” with.
Like her (the first baby I lost would have been close to the one she’s about to have).
And look at all these ladies on my Pregnancy Roundup. I had so many plans to do fun things for them, celebrations and updates and photos and… well, I just can’t do it now. I can’t make myself do it anymore, and that makes me all kinds of Angry.
It’s the Big Fat Ugly.