Just Another Monday Morning

Last week I started to get some weird thing on my lip...it seemed like I might have burned it or bit it, leaving a smallish cut right in the center of my bottom lip. No big deal, I figured I'd buy some Anbesol, apply it sparingly, and in a couple days, all gone, right?

Cut to yesterday morning, the fucker is STILL there. And it's morphed into something that I can't even describe. Now I'm starting to freak out. Of course, I go immediately to the internet, which is telling me that I might possibly have some sort of cancer. Or VD. I gave myself about 10 days to live, and called my dentist.

Thankfully (because I am dying, I was sure of it), they were able to squeeze me in at 10am.

Ok, first horrifying thing about all this--my dentist, who I've been going to for 18 yrs, is a hottie. We all had crushes on him back in his heydey when he was younger and suave..one of my friends recommended him to her roommate, who even had a naughty little affair with him. God were we jealous. Either way, I was hoping that one of his associates would be in the office that day, so i wouldn't have to show him the horrendousness that was my mouth.

I got to the office and the hygienist whisked me into a chair. I immediately started gushing out my fears. At which point Dr McHottie walked in.

"Honey? What is it that you think is wrong with you?" he asked, slightly laughing on the inside, I'm sure.

"I don't want to tell you."

"Honey. Tell me what you think it is." he looked closer at my fat, nasty lip.

I explained that I was sure it was cancer or herpes. And that I wanted it gone, as fast as possible.

Then he really was laughing at me. He told me it was most definitely neither of those things (good, because if it wasn't cancer, but it turned out to be herpes, I was already formulating who was getting blamed for it in my head, and I didn't know how I was going to make THAT phone call!) That I most likely cut my lip, and it just got infected.

And that there was nothing he could do about it.

What?

No!

I have like, 400 dates this week! And I'm planning on kissing at least one of them! And I said as much to Dr McHottie.

If he was laughing at me before, believe me, the man was rolling on the floor in agony at me now. "Let it run it's course. Get some blah blah blah at Duane Reade. You'll be fine, I promise."

I want a second opinion!

Baby Fever

So, two good friends of mine had a kid over the weekend.

Well, the wife had the kid. The husband, he just stood around and smiled a lot.

It wasn't a surprise, this kid, I mean, I knew she was on her way. It's just weird to realize that nothing in the world can prepare you for the fact that these two people made a little person and then let the little person come out to play.

I was never that fond of little people.

Not that I hate babies or anything, but I just never really got along with them. They sort of just sit there and stare, and make smelly poops, and cry, and sort of disrupt all sense of life as you know it.

Over the last several years, just from the fact that friends my age are starting to have kids, paired with the fact that my boyfriend has a niece and five nephews {all who I adore}, I have gotten used to the idea that babies are a fact of life, and by golly, I might even like to have one someday.

I digress.

So I got the call today that these friends had this kid. And I was very happy for them. And figured that, when they got home from the hospital, and got settled in their home, like, in a week or two, I'd go over and visit and welcome the little monster to their family, along with a bunch of our other friends.

Except that, these people love me SO much, that they insisted that I stop by the hospital. Tonight.

I panicked. I hate hospitals. And the kid, she was only a day old. What was I going to say to her? She barely speaks English, for God's sake!

But I knew that the right thing to do was to pay a visit to the litttle newbie, and that I did.

I got to the hospital, and the first thing that struck me--after I got over the fact that the new mommy, freshly c-sectioned, was walking around, and even answered the door when I got there--was that the baby was so incredibly tiny, sitting in her daddy's arms. She didn't even look like an alien, like I imagined she would, but was cute as a button.

Once I stopped worrying that I was going to trip and fall and squish the little tyke, I started to relax. Another friend showed up, and it almost began to feel like a party.

Except for the fact that, I guess once a woman has a baby, her body is not her own anymore. You know--suddenly your boobs are not just for sexy time, they actually have a function. And it's ok to pull them out at a moment's notice, cuz the kid needs to eat.

So you're trying to just have a normal conversation and not pay attention to the fact that your friend is sitting there, with a tiny mouth attached to her tit. And you try to continue the normal conversation, and to not think it's inappropriate that your friend wants to talk about her nipple chafing, or her uteral contractions that she is still having. I mean, she's sitting there, literally half naked, chatting away like nothing...I don't know if I'm going to get used to this.

Me, when the time comes, am preserving these fun bags of mine. Yes indeed, I'm going the bottle route.