Call me crazy, but I have the sneaking suspicion that someone leaked amniotic fluids on my office chair.

Why do I think someone leaked amniotic fluids on my office chair?

It could be because I’m a woman with a surprisingly astute feminine intuition about maternity related body juices.

But probably not.  You all know how I feel about babies.

Or it could be because, through years of diligently studying the field detective tactics of one Horatio Cain and his partner, Eric Who-Cares-What-My-Last-Name-Is-Have-You-Seen-My-Ass-In-Magic-Mike? on CSI Miami, I’ve honed my forensic skills to a startling level of hyper sensitivity.

But probably not.  Most of the time, I have the awareness level of a sloth toked out of its mind while drooling over Johnny in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

If that’s not a sexy hunk of man meat, I don’t know what is.

Or maybe, more than likely, it’s because someone told me she may have leaked amniotic fluid on my office chair.

Yep.

You know how it is when you’re floating through life just fine, maybe happily munching your chicken patty sandwich in the elementary school cafeteria and then, after that last big bite, little Suzie across the table opens her fat mouth and says, “I totally saw Myrtle, the lunch lady, spill a whole tray of chicken patties on the grungy cafeteria floor and then — guess what — she put them back!” and so you’re just sitting there, mouth full of gritty floor patty, and you don’t know if it’s worse to spit it out, basically announcing to the world that you ate floor patty, or suck it up and swallow, all the while thinking about shoe grime and Myrtle hair and other unsavory particles that undoubtedly made their way from the disgusting cafeteria floor to your once happy little taste buds?

It was kind of like that.

Except I got over it pretty quickly when Stefanie, one of my displaced and very pregnant roommates, told me that basically her water broke, in my house, on the very office chair I’m inhabiting right now, and she didn’t go to the hospital for 24 hours.

See, denial is a pretty powerful entity.

It can make people believe that things that are happening are not, in fact, happening at all, and the crazy thing is that if you can get your mind to believe it, sometimes — just sometimes — your body actually believes it, too.  At least for a little while. Until the facts of reality are too much for even your denial-drugged mind to ignore, and you realize that yes you are, in fact, leaking amniotic fluids on people’s office chairs and no this is not, in fact, normal at all during the 7th month of a pregnancy because while other leakages, you’ve learned, are sometimes an unfortunate side-effect of attempting to carry a living parasite inside your uterus to full term, amniotic fluids should not, under any circumstances, be exiting your body unless the baby fully intends to follow.

So I got the call from Ava that Stefanie was in the hospital (if you’re new here, read this post for clarification about why there were 2 pregnant women staying at my house while our 3 husbands are partying — just kidding — in Afghanistan), and I may or may not have completely lost my cool.  This, I thought, is the last thing someone who is 7 1/2 months pregnant and recently lost all of her newly purchased baby supplies in an apartment fire and whose husband is in Afghanistan and who hasn’t quite finalized her application for her new apartment needs.

I mean, amiright?

So I spent my Friday night at the hospital hanging with Ava and Stefanie who is, by the way, on bed rest and holding off on actually giving birth, but doing well.  She was keeping herself busy by planning out logistics of husband notification, lease signing, moving company prices and availability, and which models of car seats can hold preemies because she’d understandably hate to go through the trouble of paying someone to put together her baby crib when, it turns out, she can’t even take her baby home because the hospital apparently scoffs when you try to just lay them on the back dash.

This is totally okay, right? (From DelawarePunchline.com)

And then I spent yesterday running from real estate office to storage facility to apartment to Panera to apartment to Panera (I forgot my purse) and back to apartment, trying to make sure all of her belongings made it in-tact and that no one passed out in a puddle of their own sweat from the 100-degree heat.

Yes.  Let’s drink hot coffee on a hot day.  GENIUS.

And then last night, I was able to see a dear friend from high school whom I haven’t seen in over 6 years.

That’s me, on the left, and Erica.  Don’t ask me to hold still.  Ever.  It’s just not gonna happen.

So.  Needless to say, my weekend was not uneventful.  I mean, there I was, waxing on about my routine life, and then it exploded.

Apparently all over my office chair.

Not really.

I’m told it was just a small leak.

And honestly, I never would have guessed had she not told me.

But, just like a long strand of Myrtle hair embedded into a chicken patty sandwich, it’s hard not to think about amniotic fluid once it’s been in your mouth.

Or on your chair.

Whatever.