I had a pelvic ultrasound yesterday which was ordered primarily for the purpose of a "parts count". Waking up from surgery just shy of a year ago, my surgeon notified me that I had a didelphys uterus, another piece of the genetic disorder that I inherited from Mom. My doctor yesterday told me that it is an autosomal dominant disorder but was not as quick to say that children weren't a possibility—only that the fetus would likely be in breech position, it would have to be by cesarean section, and it is likely that it would be a pre-term birth.

Good or bad, I've gotten the hang of accepting what life gives me. I guess I don't have a strong opinion on the matter either way.

I went to these set of doctors after my last physical in May, when my physician still, even looking for it, could not detect an anomaly in my reproductive bits. I was sent to an OB/GYN, and similarly, it took her awhile to find it. I felt so foolish for awhile, because it was like I was pleading my case that I was abnormal. At one point, I told the latest doctor, "Look, I was told about this after I had surgery. I am pretty sure my surgeon physically SAW something out of place. I just want some information about it."

The ultrasound technician was very kind, and said at once that she agreed with my surgeon. Also, that I had two of everything that I was supposed to have two of—which had been a concern with the kidneys—and two of some things that I was only supposed to have one of. I had her draw pictures for Nick because he's very interested in all of this...but I lost them. He is understandably upset.

The next step is sending me to another geneticist. In a complex that often represents itself as incomplete, apparently I demonstrate nearly all of the syndrome's features: sacral agenesis, anorectal malformation, presacral mass, urogenital malformations, and in the slew of "other malformations", I have flat feet and that pesky leak in my spinal cord fluid.

From there, with supposedly more information at my door, I can make an informed decision about permanent birth control. I am concerned that while (fingers crossed), my disorder is not deadly like Mom's wound up being, I do have more of the malformations...and, if it was her mother that gave it to her, which we suspect, Mom certainly had a broader mutation off of hers. Would my child take a step further—if I can even carry to a late enough term—have spina bifida? Have a tumor that develops into Cancer just like Mom's? Is that a pair of dice I want to roll with?

Man, my father must be disappointed: my brother does not want to have children because he doesn't want a child to be like him and here I am pondering the same. And like that, a family name ends.

Usually, my Thursdays are spent with my aunts—time I thoroughly enjoy. Nick is away at golf and I am bonding with two of the most important people in my life. Tonight, they are to be out of town, and I find myself excited to be home alone.

I've always enjoyed my alone time...time to read, time to write, time to dream and time to muse. It is the best, and granted there were times in the last 2ish years that I was not to be left to my thoughts because they weren't so comely just then, but that is not now.

So this morning, on the floor on all fours after our kitten had finally managed to trip me and get a tiny bit stepped on, I closed my eyes and planned out my evening...

...and I came up with cleaning the house. Deep cleaning the house. Because, won't the scent of Lysol make it oh so much more homey? It is now that I know that my mother's spirit is possessing my soul—out damn spot! Bring back the idleness! Bring back the sloth!

He came home late from work last night, which gave me plenty of them to make the bars I wanted to for work today, and clean up the kitchen both. He opened the refrigerator looking for something to eat for dinner, and picked up a storage container, holding the translucence up to the light. "It's tofu," I say.

"Tofu? TOFU!?"

"There is almost always tofu in there. I use it in the wraps I make for lunch. It's really good—" he shudders—"It tastes like whatever you marinade it in."

He says we have to have a talk, that he's not sure the tofu can stay in the house, leastwise not in the same refrigerator as the "normal" food. Goat gotten, as he had hoped, I hiss that there's also shredded broccoli, sprouts and, gasp, soy cheese in there. That last one got him.

"WE LIVE IN WISCONSIN!"

He would have liked Fred, my feline friend that we always referred to as a Ca-human due to his fondness for human fare. We often muse that he is in Heaven now, thoroughly irritating God who keeps slapping his forehead with regret that he ever thought to splice the two species. Fred was not a glutton—he wouldn't eat just ANYTHING...he didn't like ham, or anything grilled. He hated while I was staying with him to take care of Mom because I was too clean of a cook and didn't drop things like dear Aunt Debbie. Though, the one time I did drop a bit of some soy-derived product, he looked at it, licked it, and looked at me with his mouth open like, "You eat that crap!?" Brenda exorcised their refrigerator of all of that after I was back in North Carolina and I imagine Fred did a heathen dance dressed in boar's teeth and vulture feathers.

BIRD!

Sophie has been a different cat the last weeks. After her trip and overnight stay at the vet's in April, she seemed to have an attitude problem. Go figure. But I kept giving her treats in the morning and a can of Fancy Feast when I got home, and it got to the point where she would get me up in the morning and run to me when I came home at night...she still didn't let me touch her, but it was something...until one morning, her head bowed as she all but inhaled her Whisker Licken's, I reached down to scratch behind her ears.

At first she froze like, "HUMAN. TOUCHING. ME. OH. MY. GOD." And then I think her eyes actually rolled back into her head as she flopped back and began to purr. "Hhhhuman....ttttouching...mmme...ssso...goooood." I continued the surprise attack loving for several days, and within a week she was asking for t.l.c. before treats. It was such a welcome change.

And now, she's all over us. It sometimes takes me 5 minutes to cross the room because she's weaving between my legs and I'm afraid I'll step on her. She seems to actually like being around us, and now she sleeps with us. "Sleeps." Yesterday I woke up to find between us both Sophie, and a soggy tennis ball. A few nights ago, Nick and I were trying to fall asleep for the night and she was wild with her nighttime crazies, jumping up and down from the bed, from the floor to my probably-bruised pelvis. Nick grabbed the ball from her mouth and threw it across the room.

She sprinted from the bed to find it, jumped back up (ON ME) with ball in mouth, and he snatched it away again, and she chased the ball down again, and they went back and forth for the longest time. Finally, he tossed the ball so that it left the room and bounced down the stairs and further from what we could tell by the echo of the jingling bell and Sophie ran down to search out her prey. Nick laughed and his face dimpled as it always does with his best smiles, "I love our cat."