I’m boring these days. GBF e-mailed me about Folsom Street Fair and Dutch penii. I used to have such a well, interesting life. I remember way back when, like a year ago, August 3rd was the last day to be exact, when Sparky and I were all free to be you and me. Now, it’s all about the heartbeats in the house and how I care for them.
Cats are continually sick. Sparky is on the road and Max, after his first play date, caught a cold that I have been nursing for the last few days.
Back in the bubble for that kid. No more babies until he’s at least six months old and I’m no longer living every night as if SIDS is going to take him. I haven’t figured out how to stop worrying, just how to live with the worry and a smaller amount of sleep checking on him. I have this fear that it’s just too good, he’s just too perfect, my love for him is too great – he’ll be taken away. I know, get thee to a therapist.
Sparky picked up another light-hearted film for us to watch over the weekend – The Wrestler. Yeah, I know. Not quite a rom-com, is it? The last time he brought home Slumdog Millionaire. Apparently the musical number at the end had him convinced it was going to be FUN! I turned it off after the mother got it with a cricket bat.
He attempted to rent The Reader to which I said a big fat no unless we went for the full Monty and rented Schindler’s List, Sophie’s Choice and for dessert, Life is Beautiful. Really, go big or go home, right?
Since Max something changed within me. He opened this door of softness and sensitivity that I cannot close. Unfortunately, he’s not the only one that gets in these days. He must have been born in a barn or something because he left that door wide open, damn kid.
Not that I was ever that hardcore, but I could watch movies, mostly. These days if it’s not a Queen Latifah comedy, well, forget it. I know those are good movies, I just won’t be able to stop crying my little heart out and I hate crying. Just ask Sparky, I’m not a cryer. I cried in Wall-E when Wall-E left his little cockroach friend for Eva. See what I mean? It’s pathetic.
In other hopefully non-cry-ey news, our Kablooey room under construction. It’s really the laundry/storage room. I call it the Kablooey room because between the heat from the dryer and the chemicals, I fully expect to blow the roof off the mill some day. Kablooey!
We’re installing cabinetry to prevent Max from fully exploring his range of tolerance for cat litter and chemicals and life endangering crawling scenarios. I have cleverly scheduled this around my Dad and brother’s visit. Nothing like a Honey-Do list for my Dad’s visit.
Which brings me to the next point. When my Dad and Bro are here, blogging might take a far backseat (if life were a mini-van) to the visit. They only come ever five years or so and this time I actually had to go through childbirth to get my brother on a plane. Not planning on that again anytime soon so I have to cram all my family time in.
Here is a new picture of Max. He is four months, four weeks and a day old today. Little guy is growing up way too fast. I asked him to stop. He just giggled in response.