Man, did my smeller amp up its sensitivity or what? Last night, I could hardly sleep. Harry was in bed with us, smelling vaguely of sour pee (he wears a diaper at night right now), I could smell the foulness of the bathmat in our bathroom (which was, admittedly, way overdue for a spin in the washer), and even though it was all the way across the house, behind several closed doors, I could smell the cat box. Holy moley, was I in hell.
I put Harry back in his bed, threw the bathmat into the hall, and just waited for the sweet release of death as regards the cat box. I eventually fell asleep, but the second I woke up again in the morning, the odors burned my nose yet again. It was sheer torture.
(Indeed, the cat box was also overdue for a cleaning — in our defense, as we are not filthy people, I can’t clean the litterbox while pregnant and Matt had been doing so much other work around the house that the task simply got backburnered.)
In my family, if you were the only person who smelled something untoward, the response would be “maybe it’s your upper lip.” Gross, right? I don’t remember being part bloodhound when I was pregnant with Harry. Yet another thing they don’t tell you about pregnancy.
P.S. Am feeling totally charmed at the moment by the student who contacted me via Facebook, wondering what the book list is for my upcoming class this fall. So cute! So dedicated! Such a harbinger that she’s going to be a thorn in my side! Also, among her Facebook friends is a former student of mine who shed many a tear in my office. Referral?