Surprisingly I’ve not come down with the black plague as bad as I thought I would…or maybe it’s just biding its time…Cheyenne’s pretty much back to normal, except for a wicked cough that comes on strong only in the morning before school and night before bed. I sent my little biological weapon off to school anyway this week, with that cough plus a runny nose. Yeah, I’m one of those people. But she acts like she feels so good during the day. Mia, on the other hand, is feeling pretty puny and is laid up in my bed, without a voice and just basically beside herself, because I haven’t let her do much that involves getting out from under the covers. So I guess I can now be officially counted as one of those people on house arrest for the time being. I’m still worried that this cold will hit me just as I get ready to leave for Georgia next weekend. I couldn’t live with myself if I gave my tiny little neice the whooping cough or something to that effect…and I’m pretty sure my sister would kill me too.
I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow and I’d like to ask her all the questions I normally mean to ask her but instead forget to…and now I forget what they ever were to begin with. I already told her to threaten her associates about coming at me with scissors during labor; so that topic has been addressed. I guess I could always find out about childbirth re-education classes for people like me, who have done this whole thing before but can’t remember shit. I was kind of hoping that sort of information will be volunteered to me tomorrow along with a ton of other helpful tidbits about pain medication and hospital policy…but if I go there that means I’m acknowledging that this is actually happening, soon, and I am nowhere near ready–admitting that this baby’s arrival is not too far off might just cause me to lose my mind. I really just like being pregnant, thank you very much. Can I ask for an extension?
I thought about attempting to bake cookies; but I was fired, again, when I, again, burned the hell out of the last batch I tried to make. You’d think I could handle even just the simple refridgerator pre-cut dough, but I manage to get them nice and crispy no matter what. I just can’t keep track of time–when the buzzer goes off, the cookies don’t appear to be even close to being done. So I say to myself, "Just a minute more," and then leave them in for an additional 5. I pointed out to Caleb that if you scraped off the black parts, you’d have a cookie ideal for dipping into your coffee…a sort of ghetto-biscotti, if you will. Voila! Right? But he wasn’t buying it and we ended up throwing all 36 of those damn things out. Normal people would permanently give up, but I’ve got one more $1.97 package in there that begs to be char-broiled…
AND…adding on…I called my mom this morning to see if I couldn’t regain a little bit of my sanity back by talking to another grown-up. We chit-chatted for a while and hung up when she went in to work. And then–FRICK!–my sister Katie called me and asked me if I remembered what day it was. I said no, and as soon as I did, I realized that today is my MOM’S BIRTHDAY–and that I completely blanked and forgot! What a schmucky daughter I am! Apparently she got a pretty good kick out of it, and I called instantly and told her I was sorry, and that if it made her feel good, that I would feel bad for the rest of the week. Damnit! As if not sending a card wasn’t enough, I actually called her to talk about nothing and then hung up without saying happy birthday! Talk about a slap in the face. If it were me, I would’ve cried. So, Mom, I apologize once again, I love you, and I hope you have a very happy birthday celebration day.