Tag Archives: weird

Sweet Potato: Giving Birth After Multiple Miscarriages

Imagine a bath so big that I, a grown adult of average size, could float away. It was my partner’s job to hold on to my leg and keep me anchored as I dealt with the contractions through a mix of relaxing in hot water, watching Jurassic Park on my laptop (placed out of splash-range), snacking on raspberry liquorice bullets, getting a bit high on gas and air, and telling Laura Dern not to celebrate because it was only the start of the third act. The midwife laughed a lot. I like to think it was because I was hilarious rather than just because she hadn’t fielded a Jurassic Park Raspberry Liquorice Bullet Bath labour before.

To encourage me, she said to imagine afterwards. Imagine holding my baby potato in my arms. Lots of people find that helpful.

***

Having a baby potato was hard. Having a baby potato following four miscarriages was harder.

The lost babies were more present, somehow, the closer I got to birth. That wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t want to marinade my pregnancy in sadness. I didn’t want to bring five—counting the twins separately—little shadows into the birthing suite. I didn’t want what-ifs lurking in the back of my mind during wiggly ultrasounds, becoming more real, haunting me with everything they never were.

It wasn’t that I wanted them forgotten, I just didn’t want them so close in those moments.

Their presence meant I couldn’t trust the outcome. I couldn’t couldn’t couldn’t refer to it as a baby potato, so we called it the potato. I struggled to buy baby potato products because I couldn’t escape the fear there would be another tragedy and I would be left surrounded by reminders. When the baby potato wiggled I calmed, and fortunately it was a very wiggly baby potato, but then there was a small issue on my 20 week scan. A follow up showed things were fine, but the damage was done. I didn’t relax again.

How could I? It was only the start of the third act.

***

Imagine being dumb enough to delay getting the epidural you always planned on having out of a combo of morbid curiosity about contractions and covetousness for that giant bath which looked fun and wasn’t allowed post-epidural.

Imagine a lot of pain.

More than that.

Yeah, no. Still more. It was pain that sent me into panic, even though I knew what was causing it, even though I knew it would stop and give me a break until the next wave, even though I knew everything was going exactly as planned, even though I was a bit high on gas and air and Laura Dern was holding her own against the velociraptors.

Okay, close enough, we’re burning daylight.

I finally wised up and asked for an epidural please and not to be a bother but could-that-happen-ASAPthanksinadvance. But the midwife was pretty sure based on my contraction strength that I was almost ready to give birth. So I got out of the bath and hobbled toward the bed—acutely aware for every shuffled inch across the linoleum floor that my feet were wet and slippery and my legs were shaking from the pain and that it would be unbearable if I slipped and fell and hurt the baby potato when we were so close. Part way, the midwife recommended I visit the bathroom first, so I added a way-point and a slow, careful pee break to my road trip. When I eventually reached the bed (although I’m pretty sure Frodo and Sam overtook me on the way), the midwife remembered I was due for my next round of penicillin. Except it was also shift change and all the handover chat had to happen before that. When, finally, I was in the bed, the shift had changed and the penicillin was dripping into my arm, it was exam time. I failed miserably. Zero dilation had occurred since water breakage. I had ages to go. And then of course it was still 4am and the epidural guy was at home in bed.

That makes it sound worse than it was. Really, after I crossed the floor I didn’t even notice that time passing. Everything hurt too much for temporal normality. When my partner told me later it was at least an hour and reminded me of all the little delays, I was shocked.

Once the epidural was installed in my back, the pain was so, extremely, amazingly gone I fell asleep.

***

Pregnancy gave me vivid dreams.

My worst pregnancy-induced nightmare wasn’t the one where I was living in a house under the sea with hundreds of great white sharks swarming outside. It was the one where I was in labour, and then just when the baby potato was about to come out, my belly deflated. The doctor, who had been bending over between my legs as per every Hollywood birth scene ever, straightened and said that it was a false alarm. There was no baby potato. That this happened sometimes. I should go home. And she and all the midwives packed up and left me, confused and scared and alone, on the hospital bed with no baby potato.

***

Imagine the slow horror of realising you don’t get to keep the epidural for the pushing bit.

No one warned me about that. They were all oh, epidurals are so good you can sleep through contractions! Which was the truth. It just wasn’t the whole truth.

Imagine discovering that pushing hurt hurt hurt in a whole new way.

It wasn’t that it was impossibly bad from a physical standpoint. I mean, yes, it was that. It super hurt. But so does life. There are worse things than pain that will go away eventually. Really it was that, unlike the contractions, pushing didn’t just happen to me—I had to do it. It was no longer about endurance; it was about choice. There was no way out the other side of the ordeal other than to actively, knowingly hurt myself. To choose pain, more pain, escalating pain, over and over and over. Psychologically, it was a lot to process in the moment. Too much, really.

No one warned me about that, either. I think they should have. That kind of thing leaves a mark if you’re not prepared.

Again, I was told to imagine my baby potato. Again, I couldn’t. My mind would not go there. Instead, I focused on following the instructions. When to push, how to change position to help things along, how to push more effectively, when to move back so the doctor could check the progress since it did seem to be going on a bit.

That was when she asked if she could cut me a little bit.

I said not unless it was absolutely necessary.

She said she did think it was absolutely necessary.

I said but … really absolutely necessary?

She said well technically no, and then explained what was, in her medical opinion, the most likely alternate scenario. It included the adverb ‘horrendously’.

I said well then, let’s add some scissors to this party, sounds fun.

***

I was supposed to be induced a day earlier, but when I went to the hospital as scheduled, half the town immediately went into spontaneous labour. We were told to wait while they got on top of things, so my partner and I set up in my hospital room with a takeaway pizza and Star Wars Episide IV on my laptop. Midwives and doctors popped in with brief updates—someone else had arrived in labour, a baby who had gone home yesterday needed to come back in for extra care, a birthing class everyone had forgotten about just showed up and the midwife on duty would have to drop everything and take it. Eventually, a doctor told me told they were too busy for me that evening. I should go home.

I cried.

He said even though it would probably be okay to start the induction anyway—since inducing means preparing you overnight for labour to start the next day and everyone else should be done by morning—they couldn’t risk it because occasionally someone goes into labour as soon as they’re prepped. He said he was sorry.

I said he didn’t need to apologise. I understood his decision (and he was right not to risk it, since when I came back the next evening, my waters broke 10 minutes after I was prepped). I said I was so sorry for crying.

He said I didn’t need to apologise. He explained that even if I was induced anyway and went into labour that evening, it shouldn’t be an issue if everything went smoothly. The problem was there wouldn’t be enough staff to provide prompt help if it didn’t. Although it should. But they needed to be cautious. He said he was impossibly sorry.

I said he didn’t need to apologise and I didn’t need reassuring. Because I absolutely agreed with him. I wanted to be cautious too (and he was right to be cautious, since when I did give birth, I immediately haemorrhaged approximately 1.3L of blood). I said was so sorry about the crying that my sorry could bring the dinosaurs back to life.

A nurse who wasn’t usually in the maternity ward at all (they were that short staffed) came in to help me pack up. She saw me crying and said she was so sorry her sorry could probably win a Guinness World Record if she was tacky enough to submit a moment like this to a judging panel. She said they would never send me home if they weren’t satisfied things looked fine.

I said she didn’t need to apologise and promised that, really, there was no need to comfort me. I understood everything, and I did want to stop crying, I just couldn’t for some reason. I knew I’d been checked thoroughly and the uterus situation looked great. I said I knew the crying was uncomfortable for everyone and I was so sorry that if I heaped up all the sorry it would be a mountain big enough to attract tourists who would take selfies and possibly die in avalanches of sorry near the peak.

She said I didn’t need to apologise. She said she was so sorry that if she put her sorry in a rocket engine it could take unhealthily rich people to space and probably not even explode them. Maybe it just wasn’t meant to happen right now. She believed everyone has a set birthday and everything happens for a reason.

I said I’d had four miscarriages. I couldn’t believe that.

She said oh.

That night, I fell asleep at home in my own bed, still pregnant, still crying. The next morning I woke up teary.

I hadn’t lied. I understood delaying the induction was the best decision under the circumstances. But I was also trapped in my nightmare, belly deflating, being told to go home because there was no baby potato.

***

Imagine the unimaginable. My baby.

Comic-Lucy in a hospital bed looking bedraggled but happy and cuddling a large potato. She is covered with a blanket, the bottom of which is stained red. Red blood drips out the end of the bed and onto the floor. Lucy's partner is standing next to the bed, staring at the blood. He says 'Um ... is there supposed to be that much blood?' There is an asterisk next to this, and an answering asterisk at the bottom of the page that says '*Lol. No.

************************

It’s now over 7 months later. For the first time in years I’m happy with where my life is, but I’m still dealing with the aftermath of the miscarriages. I think I always will be. It isn’t as overwhelming now, though.

The potato is doing very well, but ‘very well’ for a 7 month old doesn’t always include sleeping, which is why posting here has been sporadic of late. I’d apologise about that, but I’m not sorry at all. Babies gonna baby, and I’m loving it.

Remember, if you love my Silence Killed the Dinosaurs stories and comics, check out my Patreon page or  store. You can support my work and get unique rewards! Just so you know, I am now using affiliate links to my store. This means that if you follow one of the links from my site and buy something from my store, not only will I get an artist commission for designing it, but I will also get a small affiliate commission for, essentially, marketing it. This means buying something for my store doesn’t just support me, it EXTRA SUPPORTS ME.

And don’t forget you can follow me for Silence Killed the Dinosaurs updates on FacebookTwitter, and Instagram.

No, Seriously, Get Vaccinated

Comic page with 1 medium panel, 3 small panels, and another medium panel. First panel shows lucy sitting in a chair and wearing a mask. Someone also in a mask stands next to her and is administering a vaccine in Lucy's arm. 3 small panels. 1/3. Lucy leaves the vaccination clinic with a bandaid on her arm. 2/3. Lucy encounters some coronavirus cells and stops. Her bandaid begins to glow. 3/3. Lucy looks extra tough. Spikes sprout on her back and a tail pokes out from her dress. The bandaid is glowing a lot now. Final medium panel. Lucy stomps a coronavirus cell with the huge dinosaur feet she has grown. The lighting goes red.
Full page comic. A Lucy-dinosaur mutant hybrid rampages through coronavirus cells. She stomps them and crushes them in her fists. She shoots down airborne virus cells with laser eyes. Her bandaid glow is at its most intense.
Comic page with 3 small panels and one large panel. 3 small panels. 1/3. Lucy walks away, still with dinosaur legs, a tail, spikes and a glowing bandaid. 2/3 Now she only has small spikes. The glow has reduced. The lighting is no longer red. 3/3 Lucy is normal. She takes off her mask as she walks in a door. Large panel: Lucy says 'You're one person safer' as she takes her smiling baby from her partner. An arrow labelled 'vaccinated' points to lucy. An arrow labelled 'also vaccinated' points to her partner. An arrow labelled 'to young to be vaccinated' points to their baby.

************************

Those vaccine side-effects, am I right?

But seriously, I have now had my second Pfizer vaccination, and all I got was a sore arm. It was fine. If you can, please, please, please get vaccinated. Help me protect my baby.

Remember, if you love my stories and comics, check out my Patreon page. You can support my work and get unique rewards! Along with the usual merch you can now get facemasks in my store. Specifically here. (And actually with the whole new-baby situation, this would be a particularly excellent time to do any of those things if you’ve been considering them).

Also, I adapted some of the other vaccinated illustrations for my store! You can get the steamroller or the triceratops on both stickers and shirts! I even did an extra couple of illustrations so there would be versions with different figures (i.e., not just cartoon-me). Click to see the steamroller version with long hair and short hair, or the triceratops versions with long hair and short hair.

And don’t forget you can follow me for updates on FacebookTwitter, and Instagram.

Get Vaccinated

2 panels. Unvaccinated: a lone person looking out the window of a home. They are sad. Vaccinated: I sit in the window of a bustling cafe while drinking coffee. Everyone is happy.
2 panels. Unvaccinated: a person-shaped covid virus monster punches a person in the face. Drops of blood and a tooth are knocked out their mouth. Vaccinated: I am in a steamroller rolling over a person-shaped covid-virus monster thing while I laugh like a supervillain.
2 panels. Unvaccinated: person with virus-y body and virus-hair is sucked into a swirling covid-virus vortex. Vaccinated: I ride a triceratops through space. Rainbows stream out behind us. I am delighted.

************************

I got my first covid vaccination shot! I still have about a month of waiting for shot number two and full immunity to kick in, but I am PSYCHED. I do not want covid with my medical history, and I REALLY do not want to catch it and pass it onto my 6 week old baby. I know access to vaccinations is very different around the world. It feels like it’s moving so slowly in Australia (where I live), but that’s probably just because we get so much news from the US and the UK. If you have access and are medically able to, please get vaccinated. For everyone’s sake.

Remember, if you love my stories and comics, check out my Patreon page. You can support my work and get unique rewards! Along with the usual merch you can now get facemasks in my store. Specifically here. (And actually with the whole new-baby situation, this would be a particularly excellent time to do any of those things if you’ve been considering them).

And don’t forget you can follow me for updates on FacebookTwitter, and Instagram.

UPDATE: I adapted some of the other vaccinated illustrations for my store! You can get the steamroller or the triceratops on both stickers and shirts! I even did an extra couple of illustrations so there would be versions with different figures (i.e., not just cartoon-me). Click to see the steamroller version with long hair and short hair, or the triceratops versions with long hair and short hair.

Announcement

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And I didn’t die! We’re all good! It hurt like fuck (incidentally, I highly recommend epidurals, 12/10, would invite a doctor to stick a pain-killer tube directly into my spine again), but I have a baby. She’s perfect.

I might be a little sporadic in my comics and such for a while as I adapt to this whole keeping-a-tiny-human alive gig, but do not worry, I have no plans to disappear.

Remember, if you love my stories and comics, check out my Patreon page. You can support my work and get unique rewards! Along with the usual merch you can now get facemasks in my store. Specifically here. (And actually with the whole baby situation, this would be a particularly excellent time to do any of those things if you’ve been considering them).

And don’t forget you can follow me for updates on FacebookTwitter, and Instagram.

Easter for Sadists, Part 2

(Part 1 in full here, or just read the recap at the start.)

*************

Previously on Lucy’s Evil Sadistic Egg hunts …

My partnerthis guy (arrow pointing to) comic of my partnerand I this person (arrow pointing to) comic of mehave a tradition of messing with each other via chocolate eggs these delicious fuckers (arrow pointing at) easter eggs. Two years ago, I came up with a Cunning Plan this face (arrow pointing to) comic of me looking cunning mid-hunt. Phase 1, two years ago, was to set up a small lockable cabinet in his mind as a VERY IMPORTANT HIDING PLACE that must be checked at all costs this fellow (arrow pointing to) cabinet with lock. Phase 2—last year, 2020, the year of constant terrible things—involved locking every last easter egg in that cabinet and then hiding the key this guy (arrow pointing to) a key by taping it to the back of the clock. It … didn’t work out. He got a riddle wrong, leading him to the key early. I was disappointed like this (arrow pointing to) me screaming and melting into a puddle. But that wasn’t the whole plan this face (arrow pointing to) me looking EVIL. This year was time for Phase 3. Something that had been living in my head for three years without me breathing a word to him. Something that had evolved in the wake of the 2020 hunt disaster. Something I had thought through every last inch of and ironed into perfection. But sometimes real life gets in the way …

So yeah. When I originally came up with the Cunning Plan, I did not expect that for Phase 3, the most important phase, the climax, the culmination of years of mildly-sadistic daydreaming, the bit that involved a lot of heavy lifting, that I would be …

Me, standing, clearly pregnant.

… pregnant.

I realised early on in the pregnancy this would be an issue, and set about working out how to handle it. I considered trolleys and skateboards, odd pulley systems or just risking some lifting and climbing, but when running all this past a friend, she very sensibly pointed out I was being ridiculous and she would be delighted to come around and do all the significantly physical bits.

Me, standing and waving. Friend is popping in from the side of the frame saying 'hello!'

Big thank you to her for making all this possible.

Are you ready? Did you read the recap at the top? Do you know all the key pieces in this game?

Good.

Here we go.

Easter Sunday dawned, and my partner hid all the eggs set aside for me. Credit where credit is due, he did his best job ever this year. He even used tape and twine to make things extra interesting.

6 panels. Panel 1: an easter egg balances on top of a coat rack. Panel 2: an easter egg is tapped to the inside of a pendant light shade. Panel 3: an easter egg is taped to the top of a fan blade. Panel 4: an easter egg has been tied with twine so it hangs from the handle of a watering can into the body of the watering can. Panel 5: an easter egg has been tied with twine so that it hangs from a curtain rail between the window and the curtain. Panel 6: I have removed a bowl-light shade from the ceiling and am taking one easter egg out, another is still in the light fitting.

And he really could have been cruel about it and put them all in places pregnancy made tricky or completely impossible for me to access, but he didn’t. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he had, not after the previous year. But he’s a sweetheart.

Unlike me.

No eggs appeared for him that morning, but later that afternoon, when he returned from an errand …

3 panels: Panel 1: my partner sticks his head in the door and says 'heeeeeelllloooo? I'm home! Just a head's up in case anyone is still hiding anything ...' Panel 2: I pop out improbably from behind the coat rack and say 'oh, hi!'. Panel 3: my partner says 'Should I ... Look for things?'
1 standard panel and 6 small panels. Panel 1 (standard): From behind the coat rack, I say 'I would not presume to tell you what to do.' 6 small panels begin. 1/6: My partner looks around, hopeful, and I peek out from behind a couch in the background. 2/6: partner looks around, still hopeful, while I peer from behind a potted plant. 3/6: Partner is starting to look concerned. I dangle from the ceiling to watch. 4/6: Partner walks past something on the floor, it is a key on a note. 5/6: Partner stops and looks at the key and note. The tiniest top part of my head begins to appear at the bottom of the panel. 6/6: My partner notices there should be something large where the key and note are (glowing space with lines around it). My head is a little higher.
1 standard and 1 large panel. Panel 1: My partner says 'The whole--' as I rise higher from the bottom of the panel. Panel 2: I pop up looking very over-exciting yelling 'THE WHOLE CABINET IS GONE!!!' and my partner is rightly startled.

That’s right, I hid THE WHOLE MOTHERFUCKING CABINET. You remember the cabinet, right? It was in the recap.

This fellow (an arrow pointing to a cabinet)

You got it. That fellow.

This was something I had been planning for three whole years. First step, establish the cabinet as important for hiding things. Second step, hide ALL the eggs in the cabinet and then take the key, replacing it with the first in a string of riddles, and hide it. Third step, HIDE THE WHOLE MOTHERFUCKING CABINET.

Seriously, this plot took me years to pull off, please appreciate the moment. I sure did.

Close up of my face. I am glowing pink with sparkles and clapping with delight.

My partner probably would have been more impressed if, at that same moment, he hadn’t peeked through the neighbouring door to the spare bedroom and seen …

3 panels. Panel 1: my partner ignores the key on the floor to peek through a door to the spare room. There is a suspicious cabinet-shape under the covers, which is glowing with lines around it because it's so suspect. Panel 2: Closer view of my and my partner (the door is still visible in the background with the suspiciously glowing cabinet shape in the bed). My partner says ' ... Can I look in here?'. Panel 3: my partner and I. I say
3 panels. Panel 1: my partner says 'It's just ... Last year I jumped to the end, and this year I'd like to do it properly.' Panel 2: I say 'If you jump to the end, you aren't breaking the rules. You just win.' Panel 3: my partner says, 'if you're sure.'

See? Sweetheart. Bless him.

2 panels. Panel 1: the cover is pulled back from the bed to reveal a pile of books arranged in the rectangular shape of the cabinet. There is a note on top that reads 'LOL psych.' Panel 2: my partner stares at the note. My head is viisble in the bottom corner. I am so delighted that I am glowing pink with sparkles.

I’m not totally evil. You may have noticed that along with the key to the missing cabinet, I left a note.

A note with a key. The note reads: Where does today come before yesterday? WRONG ANSWERS ONLY'

Or maybe I am.

See, this was the riddle he got wrong last year. The correct answer is the dictionary. The very obviously erroneous answer is the clock. Which, unfortunately, happened to be where I hid the key. Hence, he got a short-cut to the end. As I melted in disbelief and anger, I was already brainstorming how to twist the tragedy not only into the next phase of the Cunning Plan, but figuratively into him like a sharp, stabby—and again completely figurative—revenge knife.

So, this year …

2 panels. Panel 1: The dictionary with a note that reads: 'Oh, NOW you can get this riddle right. Too bad I said WRONG ANSWERS ONLY.' Panel 2: The clock with a note that reads: 'Correct! I mean incorrect! Which is correct because this is a wrong answers only quiz! What must be broken to be used?'

Another riddle from last year. The correct answer last time was eggs, and the next riddle was in the egg carton in the fridge. This year …

Egg cartoon containing a note which reads: 'Again, wrong answers only.'

… the ‘right’ answer was actually in the freezer.

A tray of ice with a note that reads: 'Yes! Something about breaking the ice probably! That almost makes sense. What has a head and a tail but no body?'

Last year the answer was coins.

A piggy bank wearing sunglasses with scattered coins. There is a note that reads: 'Don't you get how this works yet?'

This year, that was not the answer. He spent a lot of time hunting, in which he became he was delightfully frustrated. He is very entertaining when he is frustrated. And very productive. He found all sorts of other things.

3 panels. Panel 1: my partner walks past an open door, through which can be seen a suspiciously cabinet-y shape behind a curtain. Panel 2: my partner peeks into the room at the now-glowing-suspisciously shape and says 'That isn't the cabinet either, is it?'. Panel 3: I pop out from a large decorative pot, startling my partner, and say 'You'll have to look!'
2 panels. Panel 1. The curtain has been pulled back to reveal a cardboard box the shape of the cabinet. A note is taped to it that says 'Haha. No.' Panel 2: My partner looks disappointed. I, still in the large decorative pot, can be seen in the bottom corner of the panel looking so delighting that I am, again, glowing pink with sparkles.

But after an hour, even I was getting a bit frustrated. I mean, I had been waiting for the revenge-riddle pay-offs for a whole year and some of the bigger pay-offs for three whole years.

3 panels. Panel 1: my partner stands in a room with several pieces of furniture including a bookcase, a potted plant and a coffee table. A cat sleeps in a cat-bed on the floor. My partner says 'Help me out here, cat ... where should I look next?' Panel 2: I sweep aside the books from the bookshelf, revealing that I have folded myself up to hide there. I say 'Would you like a hint?' My partner is not impressed. He says 'Yes.' Panel 3: still in the bookcase, I say 'you just asked the right person.'

With that little tip, he got there in the end.

A box of beaten up cat toys. There is a long note, the cat is peeking out from behind it. The note reads: 'Well done! A head, a tail, but no body--probably something the cat disembowelled! Hence, this is with the cat toys. Look, this doesn't have to be a good answer because the point is it's WRONG. See how annoying it is when people come up with nonsensical solutions to riddles? FINAL ONE: What has many keys but can open no locks?'

The right answer from last year was the piano.

3 panels. Panel 1: in the middle of a room filled with a cupboard, a lamp, too pictures (one of my dinosaur friend, one of the cat licking it's bum), and two large potted plants, my partner stands and calls out 'Should I bother checking the piano?' Panel 2: I pop out from behind his back (he looks suitably alarmed) and say 'At this point, I think you can guess how that will go.' Panel 3: The piano keyboard. Sticking out of the sheet music is a note that reads: 'Masochist.'

This year …

A bowl full of keys and other pocket odds and ends. There is a note that reads: 'The key bowl! It has many keys, but can't open locks. BECAUSE IT'S A BOWL. Unfortunately, one of the keys has got confused and wandered off to be with others like it...'

The garden shed key was missing, and it didn’t take him long to follow the clue back to the piano and find it taped to the bottom of the stool.

So finally, after a long, exhaustive hunt throughout the house, he went out into the garden to the shed to find the missing cabinet.

I followed close behind.

1 standard panel, 3 small panels, and 1 more standard panel. Panel 1 (standard): my partner walks down the garden path holding two keys toward a padlocked shed. He looks very pleased with himself. 3 small panels. 1/3: My partner is walking on the path, I pop up from the bottom of the panel. 2/3: I slither along the path (still pregnant, btw). 3/3: I slither off the path, toward the bottom of the panel... Final panel (standard): I slither down from the last panel to watch from a distance as my partner unlocks the shed.
1 panel (standard), 3 small panels, 1 more panel (standard). Panel 1: my partner has opened the shed to reveal the glowing cabinet. He is clearly delighted. Small panels. 1/3: my partner moves the cabinet toward the shed door, something rattles in the cabinet (this is shown through use of the word *rattle* written around the cabinet). 2/3: my partner moves the cabinet out of the shed as it continues to rattle. He says ... 3/3 'I can hear the eggs!' The cabinet is on the grass and he is putting a key in the lock. Final panel (standard): he opens the top draw of the cabinet, which glows around him.
3 panels: my partner pulls and handful of rocks our the draw and says 'rocks?'. Panel 2: He reaches back in the draw, there is something white visible inside. Panel 3: It is a note, which says: 'Did I ever actually say the eggs were in the cabinet? Happy hunting!'
3 panels. Panel 1: my partner yells back toward the house 'But I've already looked everywhere!' Panel 2: I slither from the other side of the panel. He looks at me, unimpressed. Panel 3: He has turned his back to me and is ignoring me. I slither-levitate from the ground behind him, obviously delighted,
1 huge panel. My partner is in the foreground, ignoring me. In the background I am a huge monster of delight. I glow and sparkle. It is unclear if I look threatening or happy.

Now the riddle portion of the hunt was over, I could relax. It had all gone smoothly. He could no longer do anything in the wrong order. And it had been magnificent. I was satisfied.

He was not.

Days passed. Every now and then, I would come across him fossicking in some unlikely place.

My partner stands in front of a ransacked room. There is an empty bookcase with books and boxes scattered around it (the cat does remain on the top shelf though), a couch with the cushions removed and the stuffing exposed

Of course I’m not. What an abominable suggestion.

If I went that route, I would have eaten his eggs, not thrown them away.

I have to confess that after the disastrous 2020 hunt, I did consider doing just that. Only for a moment. At the end of the day, I’m not that sort of evil. The point of all this, as much as I might pretend otherwise, was for him to have fun. And, though he might pretend otherwise, he was having fun.

Close up of my partner, arms folded, standing in front of a huge pile of ransacked stuff (including books, a tipped-out board game, a cat in a box, an electrical cord, a lamp with no shade). He does not look like he is having fun.

No really. It’s obvious if you know him well. There’s a little twinkle he can’t quite hide.

3 panels. I lie in bed in the dark, clearly I have been asleep. My partner bends over me saying 'can you at least tell me if I should actually be looking outside?' Panel 2: I look at him in concern, he is looking a bit frazzled. Panel 3: I say 'Urhh ... okay. I am willing to confirm the eggs are inside the house.' He looks pleased.

See? He was really keen to do the hunt.

Besides, I knew it wouldn’t take him too long to find them. Not in the big scheme of things. We had been doing some house improvements, and thanks to a few recurring chores, I knew before long he would have to accidentally stumble on them …

1 large panel, 3 small panels. Panel 1: My partner is on a ladder, underneath an open manhole in the ceiling. He is holding a bag of sparkling green easter eggs and saying to me (I am reading a book on a couch with my back to him) 'In the CEILING?' Small panels. 1/3: close up of the back of my head as I sit on the couch and read my book. 2/3: My neck begins to twist. 3/3: my neck is definitely twisting exorcist style.
1 huge panel. My neck has twisted the whole way around. I am glowing pink with delight.
3 panels. Panel 1: my partner stands, holding the eggs, saying 'I don't know what to say. Panel 2: he looks at the eggs. Panel 3: he looks back forward and says 'I'm really impressed.'

As he should be.

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Whew. That was a lot of illustrations. And a lot of work. And a lot of planning. I hope you enjoyed the write up. I would have made this hunt even if I didn’t have a website to share it on, of course. Plotting is fun.

Other safe stuff HERE.

If you love my stories and comics, check out my Patreon page. You can support my work and get unique rewards! Along with the usual merch you can now get facemasks in my store. Specifically here. (And actually with the whole baby-about-to-show up situation, this would be a particularly excellent time to do any of those things if you’ve been considering them).

And don’t forget you can follow me for updates on FacebookTwitter, and Instagram.

Beards

Panel 1: I look at my phone and say "everyone's growing an isolation beard". Panel 2: my partner appears with a glowing beard. Panel 3: I also have a glowing beard (we are both smiling). Panel 4: The cat also has a glowing beard.

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He’s so proud of himself and his appearance now. It’s lovely.

If you love my stories and comics, check out my store and my Patreon page. You can support my work and get unique rewards!

And don’t forget you can follow me for updates on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

More cats

Most cats: person sits reading with sleeping cat on lap. Person reaches to turn on lamp, cat looks up and says "how dare you move". Cat leaves, person is sad. My cat: I sit reading with cat on lap. We both look up to above panel where cat is saying "how dare you move". My cat says to me "holy shit, a talking cat."

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This one’s a sort of follow up to my last comic.

Other safe content HERE.

If you love my stories and comics, check out my store and my Patreon page. You can support my work and get unique rewards!

And don’t forget you can follow me for updates on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

A Phrase I Imagine Wrong #2

A Phrase I Imagine Wrong #2 "he plundered her mouth". 3 panels. First panel, man in feathered hat leans in to kiss woman with gorgeous messy blonde hair. Panel 2, instead of kissing her, he sticks an arm down her throat, and she is very, very surprised. Panel 3: he pulls out a treasure chest and says "YOINK"

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Feathered hats are a pre-requisite for plundering. It’s just a fact.

Toss a coin to your witcher! Check out my store and my Patreon page. You can support my work and get unique rewards!

And don’t forget you can follow me for updates on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

More The Thing

In the first panel a person says "Looks like you're feeling more the thing!" And cartoon-me says "How did you know?" In the next panel cartoon-me has turning into a towering, dripping, multi-headed monster, a la 'the thing'.

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One time after hardly sleeping for many, many days and nights (ah, the heady days of chronic insomnia plus university assignments and poor time management), I decided on a whim that The Thing (the 80s one) was absolutely, unbeatably amazing. As I was pretty much delirious from exhaustion, I figured it was completely reasonable to force the friends I just happened to be with at the time to watch it. Even though it wasn’t their sort of thing at all. Even though they told me this. Repeatedly. 

I fell asleep a few minutes in, and they sat next to my unconscious body through over and hour and a half of dripping vagina monsters out of politeness.

They’re still my friends. I don’t know why.

(That story doesn’t have anything to do with anything, not even this comic. But it’s true.)

If you love my stories (which are usually better than the above) and comics (which are usually about this good or maybe even a little worse), check out my store and my Patreon page. You can support my work and get unique rewards!

And don’t forget you can follow me for updates on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Pinterest

A Phrase I Imagine Wrong

A Phrase I imagine wrong: "he threw up his hands" and then a cartoon of someone vomiting up their hands

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If you love my stories and comics, check out my store and my Patreon page. You can support my work and get unique rewards!

And don’t forget you can follow me for updates on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Pinterest.