I got home today, stood dancing as I watched the mail get sorted, and then, with no treasure from the mail fairy, ran to the bathroom. Smoo and I both do this: get home and run for the can. I want to say that I actually have to go that badly when I get home, but there may also be something suggestive about walking in the front door that makes me have to pee…
At any rate, after returning from the loo, I sat down in the living room and gathered my gadgets to me, only to notice that my right hand and forearm were tacky with some clear, viscous liquid. Where did it come from? I do not know… work? the shrink’s office? the chocolate shop? the car? the bathroom? Really, all I needed to do was wash it off and remove my pants, as it seemed to have transferred itself to the right leg of those as well. I did this and returned to my seat on the sofa, but kept dwelling about the mysterious crap on my arm. The dogs began licking my feet and face, and this did not gross me out, but the unknown substance on my arm sure did.
The problem, it occurred to me, is the same as the problem with pain. The reason labor pain was easy was because it was a known pain — the pain of cramps, albeit multiplied in magnitude. A pain that turns out to only be a bad sprain is far more worrying (if less painful) because it is unknown. Therefore: dog saliva? no problem. Smoo’s spit-up as a baby? piece of cake. Mysterious goop? nervewracking!
