Week 34

Maura sleeps by my legs all night, and has decided that my feet are her enemy, savaging my toes any time I move in my sleep. Because I am nice and understanding, I slowly inch them closer and closer to her throughout the night, until they are tucked under her tummy, then dig my toes in and tickle her violently. All her extremities - including her tail - sprout sharp teeth at this point, but ha, that is why feet are thick skinned.

My mother has started pining for Indiana, daydreaming about apple trees and wood cabins and 5 acres to build an aviary without neighbors. I remind her about wet wool, and icy roads, and children with chapped faces, because I am helpful like that, but I knit her a pair of socks to make her feel cozy. And I knit them in three days; my new speed knitting powers owing to a mishap with lactic acid a few nights ago, not unlike the origin story of a very sedentary superhero. Drowsing out of a deep and delicious dream, I curled my toes down before I could wake enough to remember NO NEVER POINT THE TOES and triggered a massive leg cramp that tore my muscles all to hell and inflated my leg like a zeppelin. Where was the foot-eating alarm-cat when this happened, I would like to know? An ounce of prevention is worth a pint of blood, as the saying goes.

And here is an unrelated picture of Astrid as couch throw.

Notable: I managed to get the child up to the topside playground, winning a battle against gravity. There I drew a tree while throwing a stick for him to fetch. Parenting is easy.