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Maybe Baby and Bed Bugs

It never rains but it pours with my kids.  Much as I love them, they can (intentionally or otherwise) generate more drama per square millimeter than anybody else I know.

My oldest daughter’s due date is the 5th but as of her doctor’s appointment this morning she’d already dilated to 4cm.  So… yeah, probably not going to make it to the 5th of April when she’s that far into the process.  More like tomorrow or the next day, if not tonight.  She was glad – that early and painless dilation means easier labor once it’s the real McCoy.

Meanwhile the youngest and her boyfriend had been tickled pink to have been given a free sofa and loveseat.  Now they’re more like bitten red.  Turns out their generous “benefactor” neglected to tell them the furniture was infested with bedbugs, so they’re not only out the seating arrangements but are going to have to break the bank rewashing absolutely everything they own and have to find some way to get a bed.  No seven-months-pregnant woman should EVER have to sleep on the floor, but it’s not negotiable for the time being.  There’s gotta be a special level of Hell reserved for someone that petty and mean-spirited.  My poor daughter is one giant swollen red bedbug bite, head to toe.  She had an allergic reaction to the bites, and is more than a little concerned about the baby.  On top of everything else they also had to get rid of their baby bed because it, too, unquestionably now harbors the damned bugs.

I’ve assigned G the task of narrowing down a spectrum of available products for the storefront.  I have great instincts on some things but he has real a knack of knowing what people will buy.  It makes sense: his father and grandfather were carpenters, his dad had a furniture store and G spent many a year appraising things for auctions.  It definitely gives him a leg up when it comes to gauging prospective sales. I turned him loose on the wholesalers’ website and gave him our parameters.  Here’s hoping he’ll actually do what he says he’ll do.  It’s always up for question whether or not he’ll carry through.  Sometimes he comes through like gangbusters; other times I might as well have talked to a rock.  I’m hoping a healthy dose of flattery does the trick.  If not, there’s always relentless nagging.  I prefer the former approach and I suspect he will, too.  Periodically I remind him of his alternatives, heh.

Time for me to call it a night and curl up with a paperback, a cuppa, and the TV remote, in no particular order.

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