What Else Can I Say?

Dear Fresco,

You are nine months old today. Thank you for choosing to celebrate by finally napping for longer than 30 minutes. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

love,
yr. mother
(sound of weeping)

ps: that thing where you shout YAY whenever you hear cheering? Is awesome. I think Obama heard you all the way from his armoured car in Washington!

Remember last week, that dramatic outpouring of confession, love, etc. Sure you do, it’s the post right below this one. Part of me was thinking, when I typed it, well, here it is, rock bottom. Now things will get better, because I posted a big confessional, dramatic etc. on the Internet. I am no fool, I did not say it out loud, but I thought it.

I did not know rock bottom.

I did not expect the flu, people. (nobody expects the flu…) The damn flu. Q: How does it get worse when the baby doesn’t sleep? A: If the baby gets the flu and only sleeps if you hold him because he has a fever and he moans and makes your heart break and then the minute he feels a little bit better, refuses to nap all over again and crawls around all over the place for hours at a time, eating dust off the floor, his skin all pale, his eyes all baggy and dark, catching up on all that cat food he didn’t spill because he was too sick to care.

I should have expected it; Trombone had it last week. Classic flu; fatigue, fever, aching. Got over it in a few days. Fresco, too, has only been down a couple of days but they were on my precious WEEKEND days and I just think that is mean. Getting-your-period-on-your-week-long-vacation-in-Hawaii mean.

Anyway, today he is better, Obama’s in and the sun is out, Saint Aardvark finishes his one job today and starts a new one tomorrow and I just remembered my Christmas Toblerone bar. Let the upswing commence!