Oh my God, y'all.
So Monday night* the phone rings, it's my mom, my dad is back in the hospital. Irregular EKG, lung problems, dizzy spells with chest pains and problems breathing, yadda blah etc. By midnight, he's been admitted, by Tuesday morning the doctors are all, MEH, go home, it's all probably nothing. Have some more Xanax. (My mother is EMPHATIC that these episodes are not panic attacks, as he already HAS panic attacks and takes Xanax for them but there is also Something Completely Different going on that no one seems willing to get to the bottom of.)
Oh, but before you go home this here nurse is gonna draw some blood and slap a bandage on you while completely forgetting about the massive amounts of blood thinners you're on and WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU ARE THINKING WE ARE ALL MAYBE LESS THAN COMPETENT?
I was all set to do that EVERYBODY! IN THE CAR! NOW! thing that I do, but I woke up with a cold, another blablittyblatbitch cold, hopefully the last one for winter (just in time for ALLERGY SEASON!). But still. Two topics that this blog has covered a few too many times in recent months: mortality of aging parents and mucus.
AND THEN! Something weird and complicated and completely boring happened with my phone and a voicemail from LAST THURSDAY suddenly appeared in my inbox and lo, this phantom voicemail was the school district, calling at long last to schedule Noah's evaluation. And I immediately called them back, all AAAAEEEIIII and OMGGGG and the nice lady who answered informed me that "everybody" was out at clinics that day and could I call back on Thursday? And then I said, "Sure! No problem!" And then I went home and bit my pillow and my brain leaked out all over it so FINE. NOW I HAVE TO DO LAUNDRY.
And then I thought to myself, "Self, you should just not write about any of this and hope that by Wednesday morning everything in the world is just magically all better."
(My optimism! It borders on deranged.)
Anyway. Hi, Wednesday! You sure did turn out to be overrated.
Here: Have a baby story. Ezra officially clocked in at five months old on Sunday, and according to my email newsletter of things to obsess over this month, he should be fully rolling from front to back by now. And I thought: Hmmm.
He can roll from his side to his front, but I'm not sure I've ever seen him roll back over from tha- OH LOOK THERE HE GOES.
So now we're at that delightful stage where I put him on a blanket, on his tummy, like I've always done because he actually really loves being on his tummy, only now he rolls over immediately and then squawks in protest because he hates being on his back WHY AM I ON MY BACK HALP HALP MOOOMMM!
And then I flip him back over and put a toy in front of him and he's all YAY I LOVE THIS TOY I'M GOING TO ROLL OVER WITH JOY OH FUCK NOW WHAT.
Therefore, I don't feel guilty about slapping bibs on him that represent my own personal belief system and values. He can't even READ yet. God. Those baby newsletters a load of crap.
* I know, I know. The recent-ish compulsion to start sentences off with "so" is SO on the top of my list of non-adorable grating blogging tics** to get rid of, along with overuse of "apparently" and "totally" and of course, ending every sentence with CAPS LOCK, but I am apparently totally unable to DO THAT, SO...
**Oh, God. I bet a good 25% of you never really noticed that I do those things all the time but now it's going to drive you completely batty everytime you read an entry here, sorry.