We're snowed in (well, more like ice-and-slushed in at this point), we're slowly on the illness mend, and the news from the hospital is neither particularly good nor particularly dire. (They're...shocking his heart? because it's still beating irregularly? and he's at high risk for a stroke and the pneumonia has taken a turn for the even worse? and while this sounds terribly awful they seem rather nonchalant about the whole thing?)
(Also: they! I shake my fist at you, they!).
It's always just a matter of time, I've found, if I post a few complain-y, overwhelm-y entries, before the suggestion is made that I am depressed and should call a doctor and consider some meds. Which always makes me toss up my hands and wonder when it suddenly became impossible for someone to just be SAD when things are not going especially spectacularly? Can't anyone just be SAD anymore? But that's not really fair, since I know people really do mean well, and when all you have to go on is that series of complain-y entries, you might assume I really AM doing nothing but wallowing in my nice bowl of sadness soup.
I assure you that I am not, really. I think I'm managing pretty well, all things considered. I am sure eating a lot of comfort foods (seriously, get me some soup! and make it cream-based!) and I think it may be time to watch a stupid sad movie and have a good cry. (I just need one that doesn't involve anyone DYING, so if anyone has a suggestion for something wussy that still packs a Steel Magnolias punch, please leave the title in the comments.) But still. I'm good. Tired, but good. Worried, but good. Coldish, but good.
My days are bigger than this blog, and yet very small, and I like them that way. Noah's on a Dr. Seuss kick, so we're all about Horton and the Grinch and Green Eggs and Ham. Ezra's about two minutes away from laughing and is actually starting to maybe take naps in his crib knock on wood oh my god right now. He is so round and fine and handsome and looks at me with an expression of pure glee because HI! IT'S YOU! MY FAVORITE!
And last night Noah ran out of the usual bedtime stalling excuses (potty, drink of water, one more song, etc.) and came out of his room to announce that "I NEED MY TOENAILS CLIPPED."
I'm still laughing about that one, because you just can't get any gooder than that.
(OH. Duh. A Little Princess! Done.)