Not last night but the night before I woke up in the middle of the night for an ordinary pregnancy reason: I had to go to the bathroom...again. I walked through the dark of the living room and flicked on the bathroom light. I hate going to the bathroom in the dark here because of the cockroach factor. We really don't have much of a problem with them since we plugged our drains, but there are some drains that you just can't plug, like the toilet, and I always just worry that I'm going to come face to face with some huge, hideous beast of a cockroach.
Of course, it would be dark, right? So I wouldn't actually know that I'd come face to face with a cockroach I would just know that I came face to face with a something. Coming face to face with a "something" in the dark is even scarier than coming face to face with a gigantic cockroach.
That's why I turn on the light. So that just in case there is a cockroach it can run away and hide from me instead of the other way around.
With the light on and no scurrying motions detected, I walked over to the toilet and peeped in. Why? Because I'm totally afraid that a cockroach (or even a rat) might just be swimming around in there. It doesn't really help a whole lot when I do this at 3 AM because I don't put on my glasses at 3 AM for anything short of a life or death situation, ergo I'm basically blind.
Luckily (or not) I can still see blobs of contrasting color, even without my glasses on, so when I peered into the toilet I could tell that something was in there. Something about as big as my index finger, only wider, and darker. I leaned closer and squinted to see if I could tell what it was. Then I leaned even close and squinted even more. Then I...
To make a long story short, when I was just about kissing the toilet seat I realized that I had come face to face with my nemesis--that huge, hideous beast of a cockroach I had been dreaming about for months was floating around in my toilet.
Unsure if it was alive or dead, and unwilling to investigate by myself, I went and prodded Andrew until he woke up.
"There's a cockroach in the toilet and I really have to go...!" I whispered urgently.
Without grunting or complaining or explaining to me how it was possible to "go" even when there was a cockroach in the toilet, Andrew got out of bed and came to the bathroom with me. That's just one of many ways I know he loves me. He confirmed the cockroach was dead and, after several failed attempts, flushed it away.
It must have died swimming around the pipes in our apartment building and decided our toilet would be a nice location to make its final viewing. I hope that wherever you end up, dear cockroach, that you don't end up back in my toilet. RIP.