It's about that mysterious medical issue I alluded to in yesterday's blog. So here's the deal: Scott and I engaged in errr.... marital relations Sunday night and no, that wasn't the problem. The problem was the condom. We are using them until he gets his swimmers retested after his big snip. Anyway, afterwards we couldn't find it anywhere. That night it was fine because, really, who wants to look anyway? Monday night we had a thorough search, removing the bedsheets and pillowcases and even sweeping the floor. Nothing. The only thing we could figure was that if it wasn't in the room, it must still be in the womb. Hee.
Tuesday I spent searching myself myself (hee... see, with perspective I can finally laugh at this) and even risked it happening again by asking Scott to search. Nothing. And still nothing in the room. Finally Scott, fed up with worrying about it, demanded I go to the clinic. After Googling (you would not want to see the accompanying photos) he was worried about me getting an infection. I'm still not ready to laugh at the embarrassment of explaining to both the receptionist and doctor about this one. The doctor did assure me he's seen worse things stuck up there but I was too humiliated to ask him to explain. Now, I kinda wish I did.
Well, the doc didn't find anything. Scott thinks it could be in my uterus but he often suffers from delusions of grandeur. So the mystery still stands about where the rubber is but I'm not carrying it around, that's for sure.
And that's why I've been weird and distracted this week. And let's never speak of this again.