1) Last night went into the bedroom at 10:00 p.m. Didn't go to sleep until 1:30 a.m. Why you ask? Oh, just the damn cats. They were banging, clanging, fighting, crying...you name it, they were doing it. It's like they were just completely determined to try to make as much noise as possible and cause as much damage as possible. It was absolutely unbelievable.
2) Come home tonight to massive piles of cat barf. Lovely. I wasn't sure whose it was at first. I thought that Berkeley was acting weird this morning but on the other hand, I can't even begin to fathom how many massive clumps of hair Emerson has in her stomach (see point 3). So, I cleaned it up and then fed them. Emerson wouldn't eat anything so I thought to myself, "Oh, WOW. For such a little gal, she really got massively sick." Berkeley started eating, of course, but stopped early. Uh-oh. Big warning sign. RUN! I vacated to the other room so that I didn't have to witness the act and sure enough, when I came out five minutes later: more cat vomit! Joy. And does everyone know that I have a seriously throw-up phobia? I literally do. Just ask anyone. I haven't actually done the deed myself since I was around 8 years old. I run if anyone mentions being sick. I am absolutely petrified of it. Many people would tell you that it's a miracle that I can even clean up the cat stuff. Well, as long as I don't hear it or see it happening, the cleaning up is ok but I DON'T enjoy it. And I know that there is more just waiting to come out. GGGRROOAAANN. Berkeley is still acting weird... probably working on one of her enormous hairballs that probably rank as one of the top 10 most disgusting things I have ever seen in my life.
3) I have to take Emerson to the vet tomorrow due to her bald ass and tail. Literally. Her hips are bald, parts of her tail is bald. She seems to be acting normal (although I should note that normal for her is really quite weird). I'm hoping they can tell me what's wrong so that I STOP finding the clumps of hair. It really is madness.
So, in conclusion, I'm utterly tired from only getting about 4 hours of sleep last night due to the cats, I have been cleaning up barf all night, I am continuously picking up and finding clumps of hair all over (literally...earlier there was a huge clump behind the toilet), and I have to go to the vet tomorrow. Vets=trauma=crazy kittens. I really can't imagine being a real parent. I think the comparisons are similar: lack of sleep, dealing with sickness, weird problems, doctors. Now someone PLEASE present me with a GOOD argument of why any sane person would willingly bring that upon themselves (i.e.: having kids). I don't want to hear that 'kids enrich your life.' I always hear that argument. I just want to know what makes all the puke, exhaustion, problems, and yucky stuff worth it. I seriously doubt my ability to cope so an argument as to why I should ever consider it would be appreciated. I don't even like dealing with a 10 pound and a 7 pound cat on their bad days. Maybe I'm selfish and I don't have that mom instinct. Maybe I'm just not one of those super moms. Maybe I'm just not cut out for the job, the responsibility of it all. And that scares the living hell out of me since I know that someday I'm going to be faced with the decision of whether or not I want to become that person: the mom. I'm seriously starting to consider Tim's offer of him being a stay at home dad.
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Kids un-rich your life!
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