I added some pictures to the Photo Album of Bloatedness +3 (see below).
I got dressed like a grown-up today and went to my last doctor's appointment. I blow-dried my hair. This is because I have a hip new haircut that requires blow-drying if I want to not look like something that just stepped out of 90210's way-back machine. I slapped on some makeup. Eyeliner, even. My legs are clean-shaven! This I did more out of shame (one of the many things that sucks about going to the doctor; I'm totally fine with you looking at my postpartum hoo-ha, but by golly my legs had better be smooth). I wore actual real woman pants. No elastic waistband. No belly panel. They do still fit under the heading of "mom pants", but I'll be wearing them for a while yet. According to Dr. M, my scar is looking just beautiful, but it's still tender and unhappy with anything that touches it. I'd like to be able to wear cool pants again sometime before I turn 37. Also, Grace is the prettiest baby ever. I'm sure he says that to everyone, but it still made my day. It makes me a little sad that I won't be going back there for a whole year. I associate that place with my pregnancy, which was a pretty happy time. Not that I'm not happy now. But I do have a child to tend to all the time. It's kind of exhausting.
Then Grace and I moseyed on over to Hebrew Friend's house and spent a few hours there. Our two friends took turns holding the child. She slept through most of it. She's very sleepy these days. Is so hard. To be a baby. To grow. And eat. And poo. So hard.
Then I came home. It's funny (sad?) how the highlight of my month occupies two paragraphs.
I had James give her a bottle when I got home. I want to give her one often enough that she'll take them, but not so often that she starts to prefer them. She screams and squawks and twitches about like we're trying to cook and eat her, but she'll take it. When James was done, I heard the most gratifying words a new mom can hear: "I don't know how you do it. Just one feeding is exhausting." I love that man.
Okay. Something has been bothering me for some time. And don't take it personally if you do it. EVERBODY does it. This is not directed at any one person, and I am an anal retentive lunatic. So here goes. "Guess what" is not a question. It is a command. It does not require a question mark. It feels like it should end in a question mark because it ends in a question word. But it is not a question. It requires a period or an exclamation point or possibly a semi-colon. No question mark.
I am so glad I got that off my chest. Now feel free to tear apart my grammar mistakes. I know I have plenty.
I spilled hot tea all over my laptop a few days ago. It kind of happened in slow motion. If I'd taken the time to think about what was happening, I probably would have thrown up all over it, too. But I didn't. I grabbed a paper towel, soaked up what was on the keyboard, turned it off, and flipped it upside down on the table to drain. Then the nausea set in.
The good news: it works just fine.
The bad new: I have dried tea spots everywhere. They keep appearing just when I think it's clean. Also, I can no longer put tea on the coffee table next to my computer. This is so inconvenient.
Question for you all: what does my color scheme look like to you? I thought it was pale blue and chocolate brown, but I looked at it on James's computer, and it's a less pale, more obnoxious blue and a poop brown on his. This irks me.
Finally, Word of the Day sent me this gem the other day:
horripilation: the act or process of the hair bristling on the skin, as from cold or fear; goose flesh
That is all for now.