I just got another “Status of the Parasite” email from the creepy BabyStalker website. Apparently F.T. has webbed hands and feet now. Gross. Also? It’s tail is almost gone. Double gross. Lastly?
In his brain, nerve cells are branching out to connect with one another, forming primitive neural pathways.
Which I read as, “In a matter of moments, the future overload will establish his psychic connection with the mothership.” Gross AND terrifying.
Also, I’m relatively confident from that description that the little abomination currently looks like this mythical sea creature. But with sharper teeth.
Meanwhile, I’m disgusting. Originally this trip back home was billed as a belated Christmas present to my parents – a solid week of just me without any of my usual attempts to see the ninety-seven high school and college friends that still live in the general area. But Mom has decided this trip doesn’t count. Because its more of a present for Rocco to have me gone.
She made this observation yesterday while we were wandering the aisles of Hobby Lobby (or Modge Podge Lodge or Glue Stew or whatever the name of that craft store was). It was immediately preceded by the exclamation, “Sweet Holy Jesus did that smell come out of you?”
Pregnancy = Raw, Primal Sex Appeal
As a side note, I thought I’d let you know that I decided that if my colon was going to sing a duet in a Broadway musical, it would be this song.
Back in an air-tight minivan, Mom spent the next two hours during our drive back to Virgina, acknowledging each time she emitted a “lady fart” and pointing out that none of us had lost consciousness nor leapt from the moving vehicle rather than experience another second of toxic fumes. And that Rocco owed her big time.
So today, be glad I’ll be making the nine hour drive back to New Jersey all by my lonesome in my own personal transportation bubble rather than causing some sort of TSA and CDC joint taskforce formation. And cross your fingers that F.T. doesn’t reach a clawed hand out of my hooch and strangle the doctor during my vagina-analyzing appointment tomorrow.
Oh one more thing, Veggie is convince this is my kid-to-be. Obviously it already takes after my mother.