F the Diastasis

Last night, M and I were in bed.  G was already asleep in his room, and E was zonked out with milk coma, on a breastfeeding pillow on my lap.

M and I started having one of the totally random conversations to which we are prone.

M: So you know that spot where the river runs into a culvert instead of flowing into the lake because the river water is so dirty?
Me: Yeah.
M: They’re thinking about putting in a marsh in that field that’s right next to the entrance to the culvert, to clean the water and allow it to go into the lake instead.
Me: Hunh, that’s cool…. That’s some pretty dirty water, it would take a LOT of plants to clean it all up.
M: Well, they’ve got a whole field there to work with, I guess they just turn it into a marsh. Or a fen?
Me: Or a moor?
M: Why do the English have so many words for this?
Me: Morgan Freeman
M: What?
Me: Morgan Freeman, he was the moor in Robin Hood Prince of Thieves.
M: Oh. Is the “moor” that is a swamp spelled the same way?
Me: Yup! [pause] Swamp. Bog.
M: So can we say they’re making a moor? Stage Wuthering Heights re-enactments?
Me: No, I’m pretty sure one must have a LOT of rolling land for it to qualify as a moor – you know, room to hide really big devil dogs….. HUGE tracts of land! [hands suggestively cupping imaginary breasts] *snrfgiggle* [only partially being successful at holding back the giggle so as not to bounce E on the pillow]
M: Is there actually a difference between a moor and a fen?!?!
Me: [gets out phone and looks it up] According to Miriam Webster, a moor is a tract of land which is not suited to farming.
M: Well that’s helpful.
Me: [finds “fen” on wikipedia] Hey look, this is actually pretty neat, see the colorful diagram?
M: [takes phone from me and reads, after a few seconds, screen goes black (because this is a company phone with a pretty draconian security policy including an absurdly short timeout)] Crap! How do you read anything on this??? It locks SO quickly!
Me: I touch it a lot.
M: *pfftfftfftffftsnort*
Me: *chhhpfftsnrf* [desperately trying to hold in an undeniable wave of giggles that threatens to topple E off my lap onto the bed]
M: *grffttt* I *gasp* could help you with that, you know. [comedic leer] *hfffhfffhfffhff*
Me: Shhhh! *snrffchkchkchkgrfft* Crap! *chhhpfftsnrf* Ouch! [holding in giggles is threatening to reverse any healing of my diastasis recti]
M: [deep breath] *sigh*
Me: [deep breath, pause] *HARHARHARHARHARPPFFFTTThuhuhh* [repeat for five minutes]

Okay, so maybe this was one of those conversations where you really had to be there for it to be funny.

Regardless, *I* had a ton of fun giggling, and somehow managed to NOT wake up E, thank heavens.  Honestly, when was the last time you had a totally uncontrollable gigglefest?  I’d like them to happen more often.

Though perhaps not when I’ve got a sleeping three-month-old on my lap. 😉

Incidentally, there are six types of wetland, of which fen and bog are sub-types of mires.  You’re welcome.