Pregnancy Brain Meets Oven Complex

Many people who know me know that I have an OCD-like problem with my oven. If I leave the house without specifically checking my oven and then I think about it, I will have to go back and check it. If I don't, it will completely consume my day. Before my supervisor left (and I took his job), he informed the rest of my team that I have standing permission to leave work to check my oven. That might not sound like much of a concession...until you consider that our daily commute is 50 miles round trip. Yes, I LOVE my job. :)

The problem is not limited to my oven. I've had to go back up to the car to make sure the doors were locked. I've had to go back to my office to check the work I did right before I left was completed and working correctly. When we went to pick up the Corvette last year in Kentucky, I checked the backpack for license plate and other important papers no less than a dozen times between leaving the house and getting to the museum.

Well, pregnancy has made things worse. Since May, I've had mild panic attacks over plantar wart medication I used, kitty litter I scooped, the vomiting medication my doctor prescribed, the raw tuna I ate the day I found out I was pregnant, packaged ham I ate cold, fruit I ate a week after I cut it, the green tea I drank the week I got pregnant, the pesticides sprayed on the outside of the house to kill spiders, and a particular nasty experience in a deceptively clean Wal-Mart bathroom, the details of which I won't disgust you with.

We've had to come home to check the stove on days I KNEW I didn't turn it on. I made Rob drive back to the Toyota dealership on the day we bought our Scion xB to make sure we didn't leave anything in the car. And I still lost a night's sleep wondering if we had really checked everywhere.

In regards to what I could possibly do to the baby, my oldest friend Lori, mother of three, has ordered me to stop reading the crap on the internet. As for the rest of my insanity, that she has no advice for.

Tonight, I bathed the cats. We're cutting down on the allergen build-up in our house. We're trading out our carpet for wood floors. Our couches are leather. I have to say that Perl did a whole lot better than I thought she would with her bath. And neither cat seems to remember the horrible ordeal of a few hours ago. How does this fit into my oven complex? Glad you asked.

With Perl, I used WAY too much soap. I rinsed her off. Rob rinsed her off some more, but I'm not entirely sure we got it out. With Sugar, I used two dime size amounts, but he freaked out at the end and knocked the bottle of shampoo into the tub, so I only rinsed him off with the water from the tub, which had the soap in it. But I did my best to calm and dry both cats after their baths. But I started worrying, Oh God, have I poisoned my cats? Are they going to get sick? Should I put Sugar back in the tub?...but he's half dry and calm now. Should I care if he freaks out again?

I called Tif, who washes her dog on a regular basis. She said that if their hair wasn't bubbly, then I got enough of the soap out, and even then, if they did consume too much soap, they'd probably throw up but that would be it. The danger is the soap drying out their skin and making them itchy. I guess if they start scratching like mad in the next day or so, I'll put them back in the tub for a rinse.

"The cats will be fine, Wendy," Tif said. "And when the baby comes, he'll be fine too."