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. Continue reading “One of Those Days”