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Ribbed...for her pleasure



We have a winner!

With this comment...

I wish I could come up with a witty response, but I'm so busy panicking about my wretched infertile loins and the state of Georgia trying to make effing miscarriages a crime (as if having the damn things isn't awful enough) that my brain is flatlining...

Random-panic ...Danielle has won the Let's Panic About Babies! book and gift basket.  For no reason at all, I am now wondering if the gift basket's "back" massager bears any resemblance at all to the pink fairy armadillo so many of you correctly identified.  (If you can look at the drawing above without wondering where you'd insert the batteries, you're a better person than I in pretty much every way.)

But panic no more, Danielle, about the Georgia miscarriage thing, which proposes the death penalty -- Ha, made you snort your coffee!  Wait, oh, God, you're choking! Shit, y'all, what do I do? -- in cases where women cannot prove there was "no human involvement whatsoever in the causation" of their loss.

As monstrous as that idea is, it doesn't appear to be an immediate threat to our inalienable right to lie on the bathroom floor crying, whispering, "This just can't be happening."  According to RESOLVE, which mounts particularly strong and effective advocacy efforts in Georgia, "[Republican state representative Bobby Franklin] introduces this same legislation every year[...]  The Bill has not been assigned to committee and is unlikely to receive a hearing." (Which isn't to say there's nothing to panic about: For crying out loud, Georgia, personhood again?) 

So just relax, Danielle, with your nice basket of stuff!  Get it?  Just relax?  Just...rel...oh, never mind.    Or at least don't panic about that particular measure, although I admit it might keep me up at night if my state had kept re-electing that creep since 1996.

At any rate, I'm a little too cheerful today to get ranty, so let me direct you to Keiko Zoll's post at Hannah Wept, Sarah Laughed about why this stuff is important even if you can't get pregnant. 

I'm in a good mood.  Our cat is home after a few weeks of cancer treatment, and spent all night sneezing gently on my face, and while it doesn't sound nice to get periodically sprayed out of a sound sleep by a burst of atomized cat snot, I assure you it was wonderful.  My tooth extraction went well and the oral surgeon pronounced himself pleased; although I'm saving the offending molars in case I want them made bionic and reinstalled someday, I believe I can put it behind me now and save my remaining Vicodin for my next fancy dinner party. 

And the stories you told in the comments -- I really did laugh at some of them, because, egad, what else can you do?  (Answer: Get a little teary, which is what I did with the others. I am sorry someone said those things to you, and awed that you didn't go all rabid fairy murder armadillo on their ass, because, damn.)

Thanks so much for reading, entering, and sharing.  Do read all the comments if you can, but in case you're feeling fragile, I'll just highlight some of the funniest. 

My husband's grandmother, spry for her 82 years, was playing with my 6-month-old son last Thanksgiving when she (quite loudly) asked him: "How did you get so cute when your parents are so ugly?"

Yeah, standing right here, Grandma.  -- Adria


I once started a family feud by not allowing my dad to take my then-newborn daughter for a ride. On his HARLEY. IN A SNUGLI.  -- Meim


After three failed IUIs, a failed IVF and the subsequent adoption of our beautiful son, my best male friend from college quipped (on my Facebook wall), "Why didn't you guys just try the old fashioned way?"  -- Jess H


Waiting for a bus with Kid 1, less than 4 months old, tucked napping neatly out of sight in a Maya Wrap. He woke up and shifted himself up from his curled up position and grabbed the wrap, pulling it down so he could see out of it and check out where we were.

Old lady nearby: "Oh my gosh! It's a baby! I thought it was just an ugly purse!"   -- deezydubya


I delivered my daughter by emergency C-section. Later that day, I was telling my mother, who had also delivered her children by C-section, how disappointed I was that I did not have the dreamy no-intervention birth I had planned. My sweet and well-intentioned mother began listing of the benefits of having had a C-section rather than a vaginal birth, beginning with, "You'll still be a snug fit."  -- Julia


I don't know if this counts because it was something I said to a friend who posted on Facebook announcing her first pregnancy. She asked all of her BTDT friends what she would need upon the baby's birth. Asshole that I am (thinking I was being hilarious), I responded, "Miracle blanket, marriage counseling, and Zoloft."

It was her FIRST BABY.  -- Kate


Worst comment a terrified 22-year-old could ever hear, from a friend of a friend (so, an old-lady stranger), no less: "Gawd, you're carryin' low. I hope your bladder innin't wrecked. Thanks to Jimmy I cain't laugh, walk or breathe without peein' my pants day and night. Ah mean it."  -- AdirondackJen


I was about 25 weeks pregnant and ran to our local walmart to get groceries. Standing in line to check out, a man gets in line behind me. I make eye contact by accident and thus the "encounter" begins. Oh hi. Are you pregnant? (I am fat-ish, and this is my first child, so in the beginning I am kind of excited. This quickly goes downhill.) So I answer the questions. Yes, I am pregnant. 25 weeks. It's my fist. I'm having a boy. Then Creepy McStalker asks if I am HAPPILY married. I answer yes, very much so. And he says, "Oh, yeah, yeah. Me, too. You know, you just get tired of chicken all the time, and want a little steak now and again," and winks. So apparently fat-ish knocked up girls = steak. Obviously.  Well this freaks me out, so I turn my back and unload my cart at the register. I turn around again and he tells me not to take offense. Sometimes it's just nice to put your dipstick somewhere else. I left ASAP and called my husband. He asked what I was wearing. I told him a hoodie and maternity jeans. He told me I was asking for it.  -- Kristen Wiley


My friend was excitedly telling her mother than she was expecting her third child. Her mother replies "What do you want THREE children for?" My friend is HER third child. -- Jill


As my first child was, uh, crowning during labor, my husband (my. HUSBAND.) took a peek and declared, "No way is that going to fit."  -- shriek house


Oh, there are so many stupid things it's hard to narrow down one, but my favorite "advice" was from my large, loud stepfather to my husband.


And then the waiter asked him to please be quiet.  -- Krystyn


And finally this one, which is a special kind of awful, but also a special kind of did-you-just-do-that? hilarious:

When hearing of our seventh miscarriage, someone said to me, "Maybe the babies aren't sticking because you guys are 'mixed,'" complete with a "stirring a bowl" hand gesture.
My husband is brown and I am white.  -- Angela

Akeeyu sums it all up perfectly: "It's a veritable cornucrapia."

And finally, a special bonus shout-out to Jessica, whose evil genius impresses and inspires me:

That animal looks a lot like the anteater Beanie Baby my husband found in some old stuff the other day. For some reason it scares the crap out of my two-year-old -- it's a tiny stuffed animal! -- so now when we don't want her to touch something we put the anteater on it.  -- Jessica

May that serve as a warning to us all.