Talk about drama...

Robert is home from what felt like his longest business trip ever. It wasn't, in mathmatical terms, but he couldn't wait to get his hands on MZ this morning. So after he fed her, as they played together, I pumped. And they came down to visit me. And Robert looked down at Moki and said, "There's a bird in here." And it wasn't one of Moki's typical petite kills, it was a big, mangy scrub jay. In the dining room.

We discussed the disgustingness of this bird calmly. How big it was, when it must have made it's arrival, how he had downed something so large. And then it fluttered from it's back into a full upright position and flew around the dining room. And we screamed: I screamed, Robert screamed and then MZ began to scream.

"Get her out of here," I yelled bravely. I would take care of the bird! Robert rushed MZ up the stairs, covering her face, like a fireman rushing her out of a burning house.

The bird, shocked at coming-to in a house full of screaming meanies with a cat chasing it, flew to the living room and began slamming himself against the windows, looking for a way out.

Let's pause for a moment to consider how much I hate birds. I really hate birds. Other people see pretty feathers, I see a mass of mange hiding bacteria and tiny insects, like ivy for rats. I save all my germphobia for birds. I hate birds so much that I can't eat chicken if I think of it as a bird.

But Robert is upstairs soothing a frightened baby and I've got to get this damn bird out of the house. And our windows need to be replaced and none of them stay open on their own. Except one. The last one I tried.

The bird's gone now and the baby is soothed, and I'm going to have to wash her crib sheet in the hottest possible water, or maybe even burn it, because that's what I grabbed off the pile of clean laundry to wave the bird out the window.

Sadly, there are no pictures.