Updated** Nopers

So I'm not even a little bit pregnant.

Except that I still don't know for sure, I'm just guessing based on the utter lack of symptoms, the negative pee test, and the fact that I had cramps so badly on Saturday that I wished for a swift death.

Ladies, you know what I'm talking about - the cramps which feel as if a sewer rat has climbed inside your abdomen via your belly button, which it ripped open with its bare feet, and has taken to leisurely gnawing the lining of your VERY SOUL one shred at a time, while using it's hind claws to scrape your cervix into bloody shreds of flesh and tears?

Those kind of cramps.

Except...wait for it...NO PERIOD YET.

Usually, my personal brand of rat gnawing cramps come at the same time as the hideous rush of dead uterus, but not this time.

Because of course not this time.

If I've learned anything during Operation: Baby, it's that my body is NOT to be trusted under any circumstances.

So I'm not pregnant. I think. Probably. Status pending.

So here: have some pictures while you wait.

Lily, secure in her guilt. That's a diaper she shredded. A BLOODY diaper.
And it was stuck in her teeth. And we found a piece in Scary's shit.

Scary, post-hair cut. She is so itty bitty now!

A visual demonstration of why I love metal shows. I'd go for the t-shirts alone.
But more to come on this...I've got some heart-to-sick, twisted heart coming with my favorite scary band, Fetus Heist.

***So Dr. Crazy Socks and I squared off this morning for the first time in, oh, a year-and-a-half. He remembered me, but not in the good way. He was - fittingly - wearing crazy socks, either some kind of pink trout or salmon, I couldn't bring myself to ask, and he confirmed that indeed, I am still crazy. More appointments pending, including one with a psychiatrist. Apparently Dr. Crazy Socks feels he is in over his head re: fixing me. Because of course he does.