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A Move, A Reunion + A Big Kaboom - Part Three

 The Big Kaboom

As you might imagine, sleeping when you're this pregnant is not easy. I'm not as bad off as Deb of the Microscopic Bladder who, nine months into her gestation, was up approximately 15 to 20 times per night tinkling the porcelain and swearing mightily under her breath. Nope, nowhere close, actually... I've actually slept through the night as recently as this week - a feat for which Deb turned her garden hose on me in unmitigated outrage.

But you can pretty much count on my being up at least once. So, picture a hugely pregnant woman, sleeping comfily in her bed with her windows thrown wide to cool the room. Perhaps she's smiling, dreaming of her Muppet famiy or drooling on her Snoogle.

In any event, picture what might happen when an enormous KA-BOOM!!! explodes through the room, ricochets off the walls, shakes the windows with its force and echoes throughout the canyons surrounding her house. Flocks of birds flee from the trees throughout the neighborhood, branches crackle and splinter from their sudden departure, and a sound suspiciously like fire can be heard between heartbeats slamming in her chest.

Yep, after peeling myself off the ceiling, I shoot out of bed at lightspeed, throwing open my bedroom door and running to the sofa, yelling for The Varmint.

"Wake up! Wake up! The studio exploded or something, I think something's on fire!"

Whiskers smashed to one side of his face, his head creased into a sofa cushion pattern, the still-sleeping (!!!) Varmint is confused and disoriented for a moment. As I bolt past him, headed to see what's burning outside he yanks me back with a curt, "Stay in here! I'll check it out."

He grunts as he pulls on his shorts and steps into his thongs. I can't help wondering aloud how on earth he could have slept through something that loud. Louder than thunder. Louder than a car crash, even. He looks at me.

"Are you sure you weren't dreaming it?"

"Of course I'm sure," I reply indignantly, my scruff immediately up, "I nearly pooped myself it was so loud. This was no hormone-fueled delusion. You are the freak of nature who unbelievably managed to sleep through it."

He grunts again and trudges outside. I can hear him sniffing as he crunches through the leaves of our untidy backyard. A few minutes later, he returns.

"Nuthin. No smoke, no fire that I can see. That sound of fire you thought you heard was just one of our sprinklers pouring into the alley. And no smell of smoke, either," he sighs as he crawls back under his blanket and flops to face the back of the sofa. "I think it was a hormone explosion."

I take a moment to compose myself, and feel a surge of pride at not choking him then and there. I'm getting good at this self-control stuff. Just then, the living room lights up red as a fire truck races silently by our front windows. Then another one!

"See?! See?! Two firetrucks just went by," I yell. "It's not hormones! I'm not nuts!"

"My eyes were closed, I didn't see them," he replies, completely unfazed. "So you're still nuts."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am --"

"It's 5 o'clock in the morning. If I say you're not nuts, will you let me go back to sleep?"

"Yes."

"You're not nuts. Now goodnight."

I stalk back to the bedroom, shut the door, and stick my head out the window one last time to sniff for smoke. Nothing.

"God dammit," I mutter to myself. "Where's a fire when you need it?"

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I am a writer and lazy artist who loves travel, architecture and design. Right now, I'm into photography. My fabulous husband (a.k.a. The Varmint) and I are also the principals of a San Diego-based creative agency - and new parents to the divine Baby Mak. Read More >