After that last post I feel all sorts of pressure to, you know, write something profound, so I decided to just pour cold water all over that idea and write a plain old newsy post. Sorry to disappoint.
Here’s what’s goin’ on in our household.
Me: I am near death.
That claim is just a wee bit exaggerated, but it doesn’t feel terribly far off the mark. Today I went in for my “well-woman check up” (don’t you just love those, ladies?) only to discover that my blood pressure was 80/55. Alas, I feel half dead because I am half dead! What a relief. It was kind of funny, because I had two responses when I discovered this news. First, I felt validated. I’m tired for a reason. Imagine that! I thought I was tired because I “just” had a 4-year-old and a 4 1/2 month old to entertain all day. Second, I felt tired. It was so weird. It was like once I had “permission” to be tired, I was tired. Really tired. So tired that when I got home I thought to myself, “Half dead people should not be required to make dinner,” and I seriously considered playing the good ole half dead card to get out of it. However, my sense of duty won over the drama of my near death excuse, and I have a meatloaf cooking in the oven. Don’t tell Matt, but I plan on using that half dead card to get out of cleaning up dinner, which is really my least favorite part of the process anyway.
My blood pressure is so low b/c my heart medication was doubled a few weeks ago. I had been having those icky PVC’s again (basically irregular heartbeats) so I wore a super sexy heart monitor for 24 hrs (seriously, folks, there is nothing more unsexy than wires being attached to your chest). The result: I had 1000 PVC’s over the course of one day. That seems like a lot to me, although my cardiologist didn’t seem too worried. If she’s not too worried, I’m going to try not to be too worried.
Now that I feel about 80 years old talking about health issues, I’ll move on….
Matt: he’s good. He is working a lot. I would explain what he’s doing, but every time he tries to explain it to me my brain goes numb and my head just goes into this automatic bob up and down thing, which I think is supposed to communicate understanding, which I most emphatically do not. This time of year I start to obsessively check my watch when he’s supposed to be home, b/c I am forever convinced that a deer is going to leap into his path and upend both him and his motorcycle. I would prefer to keep him intact, especially since he’s such a great husband and dad.
Amélie: The girl loves school (she is most certainly, then, my daughter!). She has so much fun. It was cute, because today she was telling me how this little boy, Camden, has been “arguing over” her. I had no idea what that meant, until further exposition revealed that yesterday Carly wanted to sit by her, but Camden “argued over” her because he wanted to sit by her. And then today, Laynie wanted to sit by her, but Camden again “argued over” her because he wanted that coveted spot. I suggested that Camden sit on one side of her and the other chosen friend sit on the other, but she didn’t seem to think this compromise would work. Who am I to question preschool politics.
Jack: Oh, baby. He’s such a…baby. He’s cute, cuddly, snuggly, and warm. He loves his blanket, any available pair of arms willing to hold him, and his big sister. While I may have to stand on my head to get him to laugh, he just looks at Amélie sometimes and breaks out into hiccupy giggles. He adores her. She adores him.
So that’s my day-to-day life at the moment. While I may have lofty dreams of becoming a writer, changing dirty diapers (lots of them) and dealing with preschooler insolence (since when is asking a 4-year-old to set the table child abuse?) should keep my feet firmly planted on the ground (or, more likely, in some playground mud).