Am so tired. Was dragged to weird corner medical center when my head was exploding from sinuses-outward, laughed too much at the "blood and urine samples" box on the outside of the door, and was excited when the doctor's scale said I had only gained 15 lbs. Except I can't read numbers, got on the scale at home, and saw that it was actually 30. I had a very sad shower and got into a towel the size of a couch blanket.
Then there was my birthday. There was chinese food, cake, presents, and yarn. This was pretty great.
At some point I knitted a Christmas sock. Just one.
The moment the 1st of December appeared, cookies and advent calendars and trees were employed.
It was the usual scene of bio-terror and mutation.
The birds turned into birds.
The boys behaved irresponsibly with the LED lights.
The child looked too much like an adolescent and I had to go make a hot buttered rum for someone.
I got very shmoopy about glass Janis Joplin and Metallica balls from college, 10 year-old baby ornaments for a long-limbed child, an R2-D2 ornament bought in Santa Cruz on the day I found out I was pregnant with Leif.
Mike gathered us all up into a crushing hug. It's been sometimes sad and long months broken, but it's a 15 year story, and it's the one we have. Come Christmas, I'm always happy to have it.
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