To take advantage of our last Friday together as a couple flying solo without kids, we attempted to go out on a date.

The night began with a wholesome meal consisting of grilled cheeses made on my hand-me-down sandwich maker and french fries. I dipped mine in BBQ Sauce because that is something I have done since I was 5 and discovered that McDonalds has the best BBQ flavoured sauce on the planet.

To set the mood after dinner, I cleaned the explosion of melted cheddar cheese encrusted down the sides of the sandwich maker while Mark scooped clumps of cat shit out of the kitty litter.

My black cat, Sebastian, has another eye infection. The poor guy is a breeding ground for conjunctivitis. Since it’s viral, he gets chronic pink eye infections every time something stressful happens in his life, like getting shoved into his cat carrier and apparently, the introduction of baby gear into a household. He peers with suspicious eyes every time a baby swing, vibrating chair, bassinet or mobile that projects dancing stars onto the ceiling makes an appearance. He is also a jealous little suck who pouts when I kick him out of the complicated mesh of white frills that is the bassinet beside my bed. Now he must get a ¼ inch strip of pasty medicine in his eye three times a day for 10 days. As a result, he has become as clingy as a fleck of lint and insists on hourly petting sessions.

After dishes and pet duties, we headed out for some frothy goodness and a chance to sit in comfortable and perfectly plush pregnancy appropriate chairs at a nearby coffee shop.

And then we walked around the mall because it was raining outside. Mark bought a new pair of jeans and I became jealous that I could not even attempt to fit into them.

Once home, I had the bright idea of being romanticized by candle light in a sensuous bath filled with gossamer apple scented bubbles. Being the Veritable Venus that I am, I insisted we could both still fit in the tub together, despite the nine months of belly proliferating from my midsection. It was a slippery squirmy struggle of limbs repositioning horizontally, vertically and sometimes perpendicularly at angles that should never be attempted without adult supervision. Eventually we both managed to contort our bodies in a way that fit us both comfortably. It was like having heaven served on a bun. Nothing sooths an aching back better than the warmth of water and man hands. Also, little else is as funny when sober as bubble bath head art creations or watching a hyperactive baby make disfiguring bumpy distortions along the outer confines of his gestating capsule in an attempt to either stretch his legs or violently kick enough to make like a prison inmate and bust outta there.

Then, it was 11:00 pm and we fell asleep talking about getting haircuts the next morning.

The End

Labels: Mark, Pregnancy