For instance, despite the fact that life is whirling around us at a frenetic pace, husband and I have managed to remain really rather nice to one another and are getting along a charm. Without being asked, he cooks dinner for when we get home. He cleans. When he can, he packs the car on sub-temperature mornings to ease my burden. We say nice things to one another, like, "I really appreciate it when you clean the nipples for the next morning" and "Thank you for trying to save me from that spit-up torrent." The sum of these small things make me feel immeasurably relieved, appreciated and loved.
Likewise, the Little &^%$#@ is, for the most part, a Golden Child who is besotted with his little brother and a real pro at keeping Baby happy while mommy sorts out dinner (or, uhm, blogs). At times this love is a little too rambunctious, and the tendency to shove a pacifier into the baby's face a little too energetic, but it is always done without any hint of complaint or malice. Quite the opposite. And Baby? Beatific smiles and fat giggles through most waking hours and an ability to be laid in the crib awake and to turn gently over by himself and go to sleep ( I KNOW!!! Can you believe it??) I am not even sleep-deprived. (Dear God, Let me please not jinx myself something horrible with that last admission. Amen.)
I feel irredeemably cheesy when I say I am rich with friends, but fuckit, I am rich with friends. Last night I had 5 of my girls over for knitting and margaritas and a whole lot of belly laughs. I love those girls. I also love my neighborhood and the fact that we have flipping great friends all in spitting distance, and all with kids and a definite non-aversion to "playdates with cocktails, hor d'oeuvres, and perhaps a keg.." In March I am headed for a conference with two of my favorite bloggers and one of my RL greatest friends. And we're presenting on--mommyblogging. (and it's going to be all academic and serious and shit). And then there's this community here--the bloggy one. I only wish I could bring you lot all over for knitting and margaritas (ok. maybe just the margaritas).
Yes. Life is Good...
BUT HOLYFUCKING SHIT I THINK I MIGHT BE EXPERIENCING SOME SORT OF POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS BECAUSE IT HAS BEEN A SHITHOLE OF A MORNING.
First--we played the "is he sick? is he not sick?" with both sons this morning. Big Boy complained of a stomach ache. Dumbfuck ear thermometer read 95.3, 97.5, 98.9, 99.0 and 100.2 respectively. Refusal to eat breakfast. However managed to polish off the "fakeout" cookie with much gusto. You're going to school, buddy. Much screaming ensues. Baby spits up with projectile force several times, several outfits later we are wondering if this is a bug or is this too much in-bed boob access during the night? Lots of smiles and coos later, you're going to the Ladybug's, baby."
[UPDATE: It's now sunday night, and fuck-me if my stomach isn't hurting something rotten. It is hurting and yet I *still* managed to polish of neon pink valentine's cupcake. I might not go into work tomorrow. Because my stomach hurts. And yes. I am a horrible mother.]
Neighbor-friend calls. Can we take his son to school as other child is home sick. With (ehem) fever. Sure. Why not? Get the whole carnival to neighbor's place where neighbor wrestles his screaming son into the car, and my own screaming son is suddenly hysterically territorial about his booster seat. Hysterical screaming on the drive to daycare (baby, however, sleeps through the whole ordeal--isn't he precious??) I begin belting out "I Tawt I Taw A Puddy Cat" as a diversion tactic. My son continues to scream solo. I begin to scream. Find myself uttering the immortal words "DO YOU WANT ME TO STOP THE CAR AND MAKE YOU WALK??? DO YOU?? DO YOU??" Worked like a dream. Drop off resembles driveby ejection.
Next the Dentist. I do not like the dentist. In fact I think I can go officially on record as phobic. First words as he checked out my gnashers. Root Canal.
Yep. Root Canal. Next Week. Fan-fucking-tastic.
ANYHOO. Today is my blogiversary. One year to the day I wrote some posts and felt like I was waving a flag in space. And I am still here. Still with the oranges. So thanks for reading. It really means a great deal that you lot would be patient enough to read through some of the shit I've laid down, and even more that some of you even comment say nice things. I am learning a lot about myself as a writer, and through writing I am learning about myself. Like how I can't abide clichés. And how I feel you all as the wing beneath my wings.
uhm. if you would take it upon yourself to delurk and comment on this post, coz it is my blog-birfday you know, i'd be ever so, ever so.... i am writing this teeny-weeny so that if you *don't* delurk i can tell myself that it's because you missed the fine print and because "you love me, but you're not "in love" with me."