The More Things Change

Two really good days in a row; that’s more than I’ve had in months. I should be grateful. I am, so grateful, but I am also greedy. I want more. I would like weeks. I would like months. Oh! how I wanted more than two days of laughter, long naps, clean noses, but two days was all I got. By Thursday it was clear I’d been had.

(Of course most days are just fine, normal days. Really good ones are hard to come by. Really bad ones are far more common.)

As I said to Saint Aardvark Thursday night, I want it to STOP SUCKING, make it STOP SUCKING, it just keeps on SUCKING. Maybe I was a little melodramatic. But when your baby finally, at 10 months, sleeps through the night for the first time, you get your hopes up. You don’t want to, but you do. You know you shouldn’t, but you do. The next night he wakes up four times and so you are not just really tired tired tired – did I say tired? – but sorely, bitterly disappointed. And then when your toddler, whose nose, after weeks of a bad cold, was finally not in need of blowing for TWO WHOLE DAYS wakes up the same day with a brand new cold for fuck’s sake,you are not just tired and disappointed but outright angry. Trouble is, there’s no one to be angry with.

SA suggested Gordon Campbell or Stephen Joseph Harper but I would rather be angry with someone who would show emotion when I punched him.

We had one bad day to make up for the good and then one normal day to offset the bad and now we’re back on track with our old routine; thrice nightly wakings, teething, coughing and snot. Oh yes and the 45 minute naps have shortened to 30 minutes. Fine, fine, fine. We were so ambitious at the beginning of the week, we made plans for the weekend. Fools, we were! Slayed by our own ambition. Late breaking Friday, the plans canceled.

I have other posts I would like to write but right now I am going to drink some wine called Winds of Change from South Africa (and try to get the stupid Scorpions song out of my head). I leave you with photos to prove that all is not lost and I am just being petulant and overwrought.

First we have Fresco singing along with the radio. Seriously. He is not crying. This is his rawkface.

Then, of course, Trombone. Could his eyes get any more blue? Ridiculous.

This is half of me. The good half.