Office Birthing

HP is a prego who I work with and am very fond of, but I keep having these horrible dreams where she is having the baby right in my office. Most people would think this is just an unfortunate occurrence caused by my brain ruminating over the mysterious horrors of childbirth one day – the reoccurrence of the dream, of course, is because the images I wake up from naturally cause me to dwell on the idea of it more and soon I find myself trapped in a freaky little cycle where my inescapable terror of an imagination has the best of me.

What if this isn’t the case though? What if this is really just me developing powers of clairvoyance at the age of 27 and this is actually going to happen; HP is actually going to birth a tiny human right on my office floor.

If she has her baby in my office, I don’t know WHAT I am going to do. Whenever they have babies outside of a hospital on TV someone always yells to get hot water and towels and—at first—a voice in my head calmly says, “Okay, this is good, I have access to both of those things here,” but then the panic sets in, “Hot water? What the hell is that for?!”

...Do I dump the hot water on the newborn’s head?

Be clean!

...Do I make HP dip her hand in the hot water so she has to pee and forgets that she’s supposed to be giving birth? 

Is she supposed to be at a pre-teen slumber party for this to work?

... Do I just use the hot water to scald my eyes blind because birthing is a horrible sight and I’d probably have nightmares for the rest of my life??

Actually, I’m hoping it’s just for making us both tea when it’s all over and done with.

Of course, the sudden realization of not knowing what the hot water is for then strips me of any confidence I may have had in my knowledge on birthing and I start questioning the more obvious call for towels. 

The assumption is that they’re for bundling the new baby up in, or layering on the floor to protect the office, or just for cleaning everything afterwards? Maybe I could use some to ball up and place under my knees so they don’t get sore kneeling on the floor, or to wipe the sweat off my brow since telling HP to push will probably be exhausting for me. To be safe, I have decided that I will need enough towels for all of these scenarios.

I know she is due in November, but she could have a baby at any moment, that kind of thing happens. I need to talk to a paramedic or something so I can straighten this out before the baby is born—and in the meantime, maybe I will have a towel closet installed next to my desk.

Just Now...

I was choking and no one was here to give me the Heimlich.

It was so scary.

I could have died.

Iced Tea is dangerous.

Breakfast Cake

Mornings can make or break your day; which side of the bed you get up on could mean the difference between getting through your day like a normal human being and having a complete meltdown by 5pm.  The reason for this is because the start of a day decides the starting point for your mood, which will determine how well you deal with whatever gets thrown at you during the eight hours that follow.  You want to avoid getting up on the

wrong side.

I imagine a gator would be on the wrong side of my bed.

Today, I had a really excellent start to my day.  I woke up and realized I was out of cereal, so I made myself a bowl of ice cream with Hershey’s syrup to eat with a slice of breakfast cake.  Breakfast cake is cake you eat for breakfast; it can be chocolate, vanilla, red velvet, frosted, unfrosted, anything—just has to be eaten for breakfast.  I once had a boss who introduced me to this idea and I really don't know how I got along before it.

If you haven’t had breakfast cake before then you should try it—assuming you are of age. Once you are 24, you can eat whatever you want for breakfast.

After breakfast I came into work and dealt with jerks for eight hours straight.  Is it a full moon or something?  Work isn’t like this every day for me; yes, I deal with crazies on a daily basis, but to be completely saturated in them from nine to five without a break is out of the ordinary.  Fortunately, since I started out my day tremendously well, my mood is still pretty darn good.  If I had started out my day like most mornings, I would be in serious trouble right now.

Clearly, starting my day off without cake is actually dangerous – and not just for me, but for everyone around me. 

Danger for me: Jail. I don’t want to end up in jail— I would have to choose a gang to become a part of and learn what shanking means. Also, I'm pretty scrawny and defenseless (think female version of Leonardo DiCaprio as Arnie in What’s Eating Gilbert Grape?, only less retarded and somewhat prettier), so I would almost definitely be made someone’s bitch about ten minutes into it. 

Being someone’s bitch in lady jail sounds like it involves a lot of hair pulling and pinching, especially if you disobey your new dominating prison friend.  This doesn’t bode well for my survival since I don’t follow directions well and bruise easily.  Plus, I don’t like the idea of not shaving my legs and I have to imagine you aren’t allowed a razor in there. 

Hairy Jail Legs

                                

Danger for everyone else: Death.  Anyone is a possible victim if I go on a murdering spree, including the elderly and small handicapped children.

Small Handicapped Child

The end.