Mr. F would like to add that on your next visit to the Urban Paradise, he shall wallow at the bottom of the kiddie pool with a fin on his back. Nature will break your heart.
When I was a kid, I was terrified of the drain in the basement floor. I imagined it led to a whole network of subterranean metal-walled cells and the whole concept still stinks of despair in my mind.
Also, when I'd head to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I'd step quick and only look ahead in case someone was waiting in the dark to grab me. I also wouldn't look in the bathroom mirror, lest I see something in the dark. Actually, now that I think of it, I haven't had either of those thoughts since I got knocked up--I think pregnancy upgraded my anxiety firmware in that I *need* to know what's in the dark, because I need to kill it dead.
Now I just have intrusive thoughts of kidlet disaster. This week's tummy bug spurred a few gems like, "what if she's so dehydrated her kidney's are shutting down?" and "hey, is that a snore on the monitor or is she choking?"
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When I was a kid, I was terrified of the drain in the basement floor. I imagined it led to a whole network of subterranean metal-walled cells and the whole concept still stinks of despair in my mind.
Also, when I'd head to the bathroom in the middle of the night, I'd step quick and only look ahead in case someone was waiting in the dark to grab me. I also wouldn't look in the bathroom mirror, lest I see something in the dark. Actually, now that I think of it, I haven't had either of those thoughts since I got knocked up--I think pregnancy upgraded my anxiety firmware in that I *need* to know what's in the dark, because I need to kill it dead.
Now I just have intrusive thoughts of kidlet disaster. This week's tummy bug spurred a few gems like, "what if she's so dehydrated her kidney's are shutting down?" and "hey, is that a snore on the monitor or is she choking?"
Oy.