Friends & Family

One of Those Days

I probably should have gotten stitches today. There’s a cut on my left pinky–Lord knows how, but it got in the way of my knife when I was dicing a pear for the girl (which she didn’t even eat)–and it’s bleeding through the Band-Aid. I know it stopped at some point, because it was dry when I switched my giant blob of gauze and tape (it was a gusher) for something smaller, but still. It hurts. But then, me being me, I’m sitting here typing. About half the time, I remember to use my left ring finger for the pinky’s keystrokes but, well. Muscle memory.

Maybe I should have gone to the doctor, but coincidentally enough, I was against the clock to make it to another doctor’s appointment. Not my doctor. The boy’s endocrinologist. We check in with her about every four months, discuss percentiles and dosages, draw a little blood. Perhaps the universe wanted me to feel a little of what my son was about to feel. Or maybe I’m just an exhausted, deep-fried mess.

Like at the grocery store this morning, where I purchased the pear. I also purchased several items that my husband had picked up for me yesterday. I could not remember what cut of meat I needed for my favorite roast (sauerbraten–yum) and it now occurs to me that I forgot sauerkraut, too (I was in a rather sour mood, but not sauer enough I suppose) [cue the guy with the snare drum]{ouch}.

As you might guess, I’m loopy. I’m off. I’m irritable. We spent about an hour and a half at the stupid endocrinologist’s office (I’m sorry, Dr. D, you’re actually very smart and you’ve helped us immeasurably) for maybe twelve minutes of actual face time. This includes the blood draw, which really went so well. An uncommon milestone, perhaps, but a big one for us: for the first time ever, I didn’t have to hold him. But anyway, before my boy got me all misty-eyed in the draw room, there was a lot of waiting. The kids were actually OK about it. Some snacks were involved, a little entertainment by me. But man, every minute that ticked by was like a fire ant burrowing under my skin. I had the girl strapped to my chest, so my bouncing looked like me soothing her, but I think it was mostly my own nerves. And then, because I’d promised him a treat and my boy associates doctor’s offices with lollipops but this one has no lollipops, we walked down the block to Fred Meyer, and naturally the only lollipops I could find came in a bag of twelve, and naturally it took a lot of convincing and a bit of a tantrum to limit my son to just one, and then I had to hear him crunching it all the way home despite multiple attempts at explaining how lollipops work. He was like that owl in the old commercials (it was a Tootsie Pop, so very apropos): One. A-two-who! Three.

We got home and watched way too much TV. I sneaked way too many M&Ms from my stash in the pantry. The kids ground food into the carpet and the dog pooped in the corner. And through all of this, I managed never to actually snap. Not really. Maybe some minor snapping when the boy intentionally stomped on the girl’s stocking foot while we were waiting at the doctor’s. But mostly, I held it back. Of course, I just Googled, “Does alcohol keep wounds from healing?” And now I’m drinking a Jubelale.

But I did manage to start a fire in the fireplace, one match, no smoke in the room. I fed the kids and kept them clean. I got the girl bathed and in bed; my husband is working on the boy. Now I shall go downstairs and watch as many episodes of Bored to Death as I can before I am called in for story time (somewhere between .86 and 1.22).

Maybe it’s sleep deprivation, or the holiday season. My tendency to overdose on news articles. It wasn’t a school day, my husband is sick, I’m trying to transition the baby to drinking from cups. The completely ecstatic and completely unsatisfying ending to Gilmore Girls: A Year in the Life (if you watched it, am I wrong? Did those last lines not totally jar you? And how could that have worked as the ending ten years ago? And don’t you wish they’d just keep making Gilmore Girls forever and ever and then you could live in Stars Hollow instead of your real life?) Anyway–it was one of “those days.” But here I sit, at the end of it, and I’m fine. Tomorrow is Saturday. I’ll get some work done, drink some coffee, play with the kids, pray for good news from my agent. Maybe, if my finger feels better, I’ll try some yoga. Teach the boy how to downward dog. Breathe in some inner peace when he decides it’s more fun to crawl under me and scream, “Sam go through tunnel!”

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