Some Days I Am Painfully Aware that Motherhood Couldn’t Hope To Change Me As Much As I Feared It Might

I have been alone this week, well, since Tuesday noon. Saint Aardvark flew to cold, cold Ontario for a few days and I have been here, eating like a drunk bachelor but keeping the hours of a 82 year old (5:30 am – 8:45 pm) and otherwise living normally. Well, but there has been a lot more TV. Without SA to shame me, I have partaken of shows like The Biggest Loser (not much of it, though, because the love wasn’t there, me having not seen the first quadzillion episodes) and oh hell, what else did I watch. I don’t even remember.

I do miss the sweet SA, because he is someone I am rarely far from but because of that, I don’t really miss him. We are together in spirit, you see, and just like every day when he is at UBC working and I am downtown, snoozing, we are far apart but still together. Gag! OK!

However, tonight I am actually, actively glad that he is far away because I am going to eat an unholy amount of macaroni and cheese in about 6 minutes (are you thinking about how often I mention macaroni and cheese in this blog and wondering if perhaps I have a head made of dairy products? I would not blame you.) and with him gone I do not have to share, nor do I have to make conversation while I eat. Check this out, people: real cheese sauce, fresh tomatoes sprinkled throughout, leftover cervelat salami diced up and a crust of butter-soaked toast covered in black pepper and yes, more cheese, because you can never have enough. As soon as this is posted, I am digging in, pan on a stack of towels in front of me on the coffee table and I am not getting up till the carb coma passes and I can haul my ass up to bed.

Oh, and there’s half a pan of nanaimo bars for desert.