Mike painted henna on my belly. I say he did a pretty darn good job for someone who claims he can’t draw. You’re supposed to keep the dye on there for about six hours before wiping it off but that’s proving difficult since it’s already starting to peel off. So, we’re sort of thinking of it as a kind of belly mandala.

We’ve had trouble with possums* the past 2 years; they seem to enjoy nesting in our cedar trees. Chani and Turbo, however, take great offense to this marsupial invasion. Much of Turbo’s day consists of patrolling the borders of our property in search of the elusive possums. Usually, he finds them in the same tree, a very bushy cedar that makes a great little nest for just about any critter of possum size. Much to his dismay, Turbo can never get close enough to the nest to actually the possum. So, in brilliant “doggy-logic”, he howls bloody-murder. Usually ending only when either myself or Carleen physically drag him from underneath the tree.

To put a stop to all this nonsense, I went down to our local Farm & Feed store and bought a live trap and some cat food as bait. Setting the trap that night, I went to work uplifted, knowing in the morning my rodent problems would be locked tight in a little wire cage. Arriving home that morning I was dismayed to hear, from Carleen, that in fact our little rodent pal was a small baby yet. Much too small and light to actually trigger the trap. Having a much larger mental capacity than the average rodent, I continued to set the trap, night after night, fattening the little guy up until one day he would be big enough to set it off.

One morning, however, I forgot to disarm the trap when I returned home. Carleen let the dogs out to run around and she came back in and I started breakfast. Twenty minutes later, Carleen asks me about Turbo and whether I had seen or heard from him in a while. No I hadn’t. Stepping outside she called and called for Turbo with no answer and she could not see him anywhere. Sensing the impending crisis, I jolted outside and headed straight for “the tree” thinking he must be absorbed in hunting his Arch-Nemesis. No. I see two sad little doggy eyes blinking at me from inside the possum trap. Perhaps I’m imagining things, but I’m sure he gave me a “First, that was cat food. Second, I get locked in this freakin’ contraption - what gives?” look.

*I apoligize for the Southernese here; but let’s face it, possum is so much easier to say and far less awkward to pronounce than opossum.

Incidently, it would be sort of cool if he was born on Monday. That happens to be Mike’s mom’s and sister’s birthday.

Mike and I went to visit our pediatrician last week and she seems like a very nice lady. Very laid back and actually has a sense of humor which is certainly a nice trait to have for a pediatrician. We also toured the maternity ward which impressed us a little more than we expected. They have some pretty tight security. All the exits have sensors on them. Upon admission, the mom and dad are given these security bracelets that match one that’s given to baby once it’s born. The only people who can get past the sensors at the exits are those where matching bracelets. So, as long as Mike and I manage to not loose our bracelets then we have no worries of some crazy nurse walking off with our child. They also have a bath tub that I can soak in for comfort and I’m also allowed to listen to my own cd’s during the delivery. I’m in the process of trying to put together a mixed cd right now. Which brings up an interesting question, what sort of music should a woman in labor listen too.