According to my husband, our house should be a fortress from the evils of the world. By evils, I mean cockroaches. He showed me the empty spray jug of cockroach killer to prove it. So why I keep encountering them night after night, after all these weeks, is a mystery to me.
My house SHOULD BE a fortress from the evil cockroaches. But it is not.
I have been plodding through the fabulous insomnia of third trimester pregnancy. I toss and turn. I strategically pile up four different pillows. I sigh as loudly as humanly possible and hope it will reach through the vast, unshakable fog of my husband's slumber to convince him to abandon it and give me a back rub instead (Doesn't work, by the way. I've also tried audibly asking, but if he is already asleep, it's a lost cause. One night, I got a few unintelligible grunts and then he put his hand on my face. I have no idea if this is because he thought a) in his sleepiness that he was rubbing my back, or b) smothering me would provide both the comfort I needed and convey how much he loves me. ...I digress.)
Eventually, I heave myself out of bed and ease down the hallway. I get something cold to drink and maybe a snack.
This was the game plan this morning at my usual 2 a.m. wake-up, but I was rudely interrupted from rubbing my eyes and fixing my ponytail by a HUGE cockroach. It was easily as big as I am! Okay, not really. And from the way it was booking across the counter, it was thinking, "What the....?! She's like, 200 times bigger than I am!" And it wouldn't be wrong. (P.S. After I have this baby, Mr. Cockroach, I'll only be, like 198 times bigger than you are. Just saying.)
Why do I have to be such a sissy about these things? My mother would grab a cotton ball, smoosh the thing without so much as a flinch at the sound of the life crunching from its shell, and calmly deposit it in the trash can. I'd just say she's been lucky all this time- The cockroaches surely want to eat her and the rest of us, and for her brazenness, she's probably sitting pretty at the top of their international hit list.
Can you tell I squeal at the sight of a dead goldfish floating at the top of the fish tank? That I screamed so animatedly the first time I went to Red Lobster that the waiter hung out for awhile just to see if I'd even touch anything on my plate?
My drink glass is now empty and I really need a refill, but the anonymous monster in the kitchen is still there. He's waiting for me, I know it. Insomnia and cockroaches are ruining my third trimester.
2 comments:
Carry a phone book around with you for such emergencies. This way, you can toss it from afar and not have to worry about a) the cockroach jumping at your face while you're close to it and b) feeling the cockroach moving around under the cotton ball. Yuck.
But if this is your hubby's sole downfall - not saving your tired pregnant self from the bugs - you're doin' all right :)
Although if it doesn't improve over time, I say WAKE HIM UP!!
(Hope you get a nap today!)
Sarah- Actually, I DID wake him the other night to kill a wasp that had gotten in the house. Poor, poor man... I guess if I'm not sleeping, ain't nobody sleeping ;) I do like the phone book idea, however... I'll just tuck it into the enormous elastic waistband of my awesome maternity pants and voila! Insta-cockroach protection!
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