They're coming to take me away, ha-ha!

(Hey, I'm not dead! I know, I'm surprised, too.)

Pregnancy makes you do weird things, and think that doing these weird things is alright. For instance, let me set a scene for you:

The other day, my oldest sister and I were at Toys R Us looking at baby things. You'd think we'd have gone to Babies R Us for this, but we live in one of the sparsely populated square states and so that was not possible. Whatever, it doesn't matter, don't judge us because we're primitive.

There we are, walking around all lah-dee-dah looking at this cheapo-cheap kiddo crap (Seriously, have you looked at all the plastic in that store? Mother of Mercy!) and suddenly I get an odd, crampy, strange feeling in my downstairs and come to a jerky halt. My sister looks over at my expression, which must clearly say, "What the fuck?" so she asks what's up and I don't think to lie, so I say, "I think there's a foot in my vagina," and she chokes and stares, aghast at her baby sister's droppage of crotch-speak in a place meant for buying of child-type things for children who may have their midget-sized ears within hearing range of words she doesn't deem fit for the kiddos. (Vagina? The other day I said "You've got to be fist fucking me!" while holding a four month-old. She would have been so scandalized. What? Don't look at me like that, it's not like the baby understood. I clean it up around kids. Or so I thought.)

I said this very out-loud, in a toy store, for what may be the first time in history those words have ever been uttered in that place. And she was in shock. I think she almost threw up.

Well, she shouldn't have asked.

I realize I'm only twenty-one (and a half!) weeks along, but man... I could have sworn that my little acrobat baby was standing on one foot right down inside my pelvis, and it wasn't very comfortable, so God forgive me for saying the V-word in the Toys R Us. I was overcome by the urge to share this strange happening, although I'm sure "outburst due to being overcome by feeling of foot in fanooter" won't stand up when the men in white coats are filling out their commitment papers and need something to put in the WHY section.

Look, okay, so I'm still not really showing very much. All of the pregnancy books and calenders and websites and articles say that I should be over run by strangers giving unsolicited belly pats every time I step out my front door, and that has yet to happen, probably for two reasons. One: I hate strangers and I think they can tell by my getthehellawayfrommeyoufuck glare I give them when they get too close to me, because strangers are notoriously perceptive, and two: The belly, she is not there very much. So. I mean, I can tell a difference, but it's not like KA BAM! here's an obviously pregnant girl! More like pfffffffft (that's my farty noise) here's a chick who looks kind of bloated and should probably lay off the salt.

This lack of belly scares me when I let it, and I think that in an effort to counteract the fear I have become really, "Oh my goodness, so there's a foot using my cervix as a trampoline right this instant, glory be!" about things. Because hell if I'm not going to marvel in this while it lasts -- be that 9 months or 9 minutes. I'm all in. You may want to buy a pair of shades to shield your eyes from the shining glory that is my child-like sense of wonder.

In other news: We close on the house in three days, and can start moving in that day. Which means I should probably finish packing but eh, packing is for losers and I'm nothing if not a WINNER who wins at winning, and who the hell am I kidding? I just don't want to stuff crap into boxes anymore. This is not a good time to decide I don't want to pack anymore, as my entire bedroom and kitchen still need to be rounded up, but... Feh. I'm kind of done with it and have decided that as opposed to doing any more actual packing, I think I'll just take arm loads of my junk to my car, drive to the new house, and unload said junk. We're only moving across town.

It'd be very green of me to save the boxes, don't you think?

But WHINE!

So, the house we're in the process of closing on... We had the inspection yesterday, and would you believe it took five (5!) hours to inspect our sweet little home-to-be? No, me either. I wouldn't believe that an inspection that was supposed to take 2 hours instead took that long.

You know what else I wouldn't believe? That the entire roof is shot. Oh, yes. SHOT-shot. Like, if you were to walk on it, you'd fall through and cripple yourself, thus leaving your family to limp along on one income while you spent the rest of your life eating through a straw and rolling the dice when it came to bed sores and diaper rash. That kind of shot. Or the kind of shot where it could collapse in and crush you all in your sleep one night because the wind picked up just a titch. We're talking TOTALLY SHOT.

Riddle me this: How in the hell can someone, in good conscience, put a house up for sale that is topped by a roof that is about to collapse?

And man, let me tell you, it doesn't LOOK about to collapse. It's beautiful, especially when seen through the dewy eyes of someone that really, really would like to live beneath it. It's a pretty, normal little roof on top of the pretty, normal little house that we've already gone and picked out paint colors and furniture and even outside plants for. Because we're stupid and like to tempt fate, that's why. We started acting like the deal was final before it was, and now I want to shake my finger in the owner's face and tell them things like HOW DARE YOU and SHAME ON YOU and DON'T YOU KNOW WE'RE NICE PEOPLE? And also maybe add in a SHIT and PISS for good measure, because fuuuuuck. (Is it possible to whine through the Internets? I'm really giving it my best here.)

Dude. We're nice people. We do nice things. We're involved in charity and we love our big, messed up families so much, and we're just trying to carve out a little corner of the world for ourselves and our baby, and these LIARS are trying to sell a house with a bunk roof. A house we love. A house we can see our child learning to walk in. A house we want to build a life in and CAN'T now because do you know how much a new roof costs?

Between 7 and 25 THOUSAND dollars, depending on things like size, material and mold issues. (By the way? We have mold issues. Of course we do. Son of a bitch.) That's 7-25K that the bank won't include in the loan now because why do they want to give us more money to move into a house that's not a wise investment in its current state? (Keep in mind, the roof is THE ONLY problem. A huge problem, yes, but the ONLY problem in this PERFECT house that is EVERYTHING we want.)

So there are two possible outcomes here: Either the home owners will cut the cost of the new roof off of the agreed selling price (haha... right..) OR they will back out of the deal and try their luck at selling our... errr... their house to people that might not want to foot the cost of a very expensive home inspection and so might not find out that the roof is about to collapse and kill them in their sleep.

Piss and m-f'ing moan, you guys. This is really trying my patience. These people are not the nicest (WE ARE! WE ARE THE NICEST! THEY ARE THE ASSHOLEST!) and that's fine, you don't have to be nice, but wow. Can't you at least be honest and decent and maybe not try to sell us a house with a roof that could crash down and kill our unborn child? Or at least be up front about it and say, "Hey, just to let you know, here's the deal, because we don't want you to get surprised by a 25K ass reaming in a few months when oops, the shingles fly away and you have a really, really, really big sky light instead of a silly roof, ha ha! Also: fit your infant for a helmet because they're stylish AND practical in case of collapse!"

In the face of this newest house-related development, and contrary to what my whining would lead you to believe, I am choosing to think that the home owners will do the right thing and either fix the roof or cut the cost of the repair/replacement off of our costs. That's what nice people would do, it's what honest people would do. It's what people who care how happy complete strangers are would do. I really hope it's what they do. I'm trying to be very zen about this, and not imagine myself shoving pieces of bamboo under their fingernails until they agree to do things my way while I ask if they remember how I was nice before they fucked me out of my house? Haha! THOSE WERE GOOD TIMES, HUH, MEANIES?

...or something. Anyway. Keeping the ol' fingers crossed, and staying positive and calm because The Bean doesn't like the stress that I'm already so prone to. And really, stressing won't do anything for this situation, so bah. Does anyone know how to knit? Or maybe another soothing activity that doesn't include huge needles that I could use to exact my bloody revenge?