As I type this, it is Friday morning. I use the term “morning” loosely here; it’s still very much night right now. I was awakened by an all-too realistic nightmare; the only portion of the fantastic in the dream was that I was speaking on a cordless phone with a telescoping antenna — the phone we had when I was in high school, to be precise. Because of that phone, I know it was a dream; that is the only thing comforting me about the subject of the dream — which involved the death of a loved one — right now.
I continue to be awake because I am in pain. Now that I am having periods again (a term I am using loosely; my cycles have been nothing but bizarre since their return, and mostly unperiodlike), I am experiencing way more pain than I did before I had kids. My uterus feels like a leaden weight in my abdomen, tethered by my cesarean scar, and it pulls and aches as I lay in bed. So I am upright, at my computer, with a heating pad baking away the edges of the pain. I’m just hoping my absence doesn’t wake Anya; she needs her sleep more than I do.
Kai has started booping my nose and tousling my hair as of late, much as I do to him. Earlier, after he finished his nocturnal nursing session, he leaned over and kissed me gently, just as I kiss him. Love isn’t all grand gestures.
I’ve been trying to get into the third Bridget Jones book, Mad About the Boy. I adored the first book, and rather enjoyed the second (though it had some rough spots). But this one’s not holding my attention. Have I outgrown Bridget? Perhaps. But I think the big issue is that Bridget has outgrown Bridget.
I liked the premiere of The Good Place (love Kristen Bell). And though I had to spoil it for myself before I watched it (because I just had a sinking feeling about those babies), I really enjoyed the premiere of This Is Us. I’m very much looking forward to watching both of those shows this season. I’ve been a bit bereft without Parenthood, and am pleased to have something to take its place. And a funny show is always welcome in my escapism roster.
In the meantime, I’m watching a show I recently discovered on Netflix, Baby Daddy. It’s cute. It’s funny. It’s predictable, but not as excruciatingly stupid as I feared it would be. It has a sweet baby in it. Right now, that’s good enough for me.
I’ve been in Matt Nathanson mode this week. The drums on “Show Me Your Fangs” give me a much-needed kick in the rear during my morning walk.
It’s been a busy week, work wise. Today, unless I am rendered incapacitated by the pain, I am hoping to catch up on some lingering household tasks. At the very least, I need to do the laundry.
Exciting, I know. But somebody’s gotta take out the trash. In my head, I promise you, I am working on my book.
October. I love September, but October is my favorite month. This year I’m wanting to try Oktoberfest recipes; I’ve developed a sudden, somewhat inexplicable fascination with pretzels, and am craving beer-cheese soup.
Making me happy:
The weatherman is hinting at cooler weather next week. (Do we still say “weatherman”? What if it’s a woman? “Weatherwoman”? “Weather reporter”? Or did we just opt for the technical “meterologist”? See, this is the kind of stuff I think about at 3 a.m.) I bought myself a new pair of boots, and am counting down the days until it’s cool enough to wear them.