I rediscovered Paint by Numbers a few days ago. It's my newest addiction. Instead of going to bed when I'm sleepy, I stay up until midnight with my laptop, solving maddening puzzles that strain the eyes and make my mouse-using wrist feel like it's been shoved through a wood chipper. At least I'm keeping my brain sharp.
It was in the 60s here on Tuesday. I was so deliriously happy I could barely contain myself long enough to shower and get out the door with The Child. We went to the library first. One more librarian has succumbed to the power of The Child and her cuteness. It's sickening. Why don't people ooh and aah and coo over me? Don't answer that.
Then we went to the bakery. Again. More cooing. "You brought that baby out in this wind?" says the guy at the counter. Older man; I think he and his wife own the bakery. I fought off the urge to say something snarky and instead just said, "Yup! I sure did!" There was much fawning and "Oh my goodness all that hair!" and such. *Some people freak out when others touch their babies. It doesn't bother me in the least, but it does some parents. I guess if some random dirty weirdo on the street with anthraxy fingers tried it, I might freak out. But she has all my antibodies, so I think we're okay most of the time.
Anyway, I bought a loaf of bread that lasted approximately 32 seconds once James and I got into it. I should just learn to make my own; it would save us a lot of money on good bread. I also picked up a treat for myself (of course--you know, after an hour and a half walk, I need some sustenance). I pointed to some frosting-covered concoction under the counter. "I don't know what that is, but I think I want it." The lady took a look and told me it was peanut butter and jelly. (In case you didn't know, I would happily live on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the rest of my life.) "Sounds good," I said, and took it. And it was almost as good as the chocolate cinnamon roll I'd had on Saturday. This bakery will be the death of me.
*I'm not disparaging parents who do freak out, especially the ones with really young babies. Grace got a cold shortly after we came home from the hospital (she probably contracted it AT the hospital), and it was a total nightmare. So I definitely understand. Sometimes I think I might be a little TOO laid back about my kid. By the time we get to kid number 3 or 4, they'll be raising themselves. (that was a joke)
I trimmed Grace's hair in the bath the other day. She had long strands of hair growing over her ears, and it looked ridiculous. A very cute ridiculous, but still. They had to go. I also trimmed around the back of her head (it was down past the nape of her neck and getting crusty every time she spit up--yes, yes, I know, TMI) and on top. Just so it'd be spiky again. It is spiky again, but it looks totally crazy. That's what happens when you try to cut a slippery, wobbly baby's hair in the bathtub with a pair of kitchen shears. My child looks like a lunatic, but it's a fun lunacy--more mad scientist in the lab and less drunken hobo on the street.
Speaking of haircuts, Operation: Mullet is in full swing. My hair is all business in the front, party in the back. It was fun for a while, but I've been getting out of the house more lately and wouldn't mind feeling like a woman again.
Yesterday we were supposed to go to James's work so all his female coworkers could smother the baby. I was all excited because I finally fit into my old jeans again. There's a little bit of a muffin top, but if I wear the right shirt, no one will know. However, the cruel, cruel joke is that after ten minutes, my incision site start to itch and ache. I think I may be stuck in mom jeans and maternity yoga pants for the rest of my life. Yay me. They need to make hip jeans for people with itchy midsections. Maybe I will design some and become rich.
Well, I was walking out the door in my overused yoga pants when I realized my keys were still with a friend (I'd left them at her house a couple weeks ago) and James hadn't left his behind. This was terribly disappointing. I'd managed to bathe The Child and myself all before 11:30, and it was for nothing.
Yesterday was one of those days when Wisconsin just snots all over the place. Drizzle, clouds (not even interesting clouds--just a flat sheet of grey gloom), dead leaves rotting in the gutters under dirty, half-melted snow and ice. Blah. Wisconsin dangles Tuesday with its sunshine and insanely high temperatures in front of us, and then yanks it all away on Wednesday.
Today is more of the same. But today I have keys and a play date in Madison. My pastor's wife is an awesome amateur photography, so we're going over there to take some cheesy Valentine's Day pictures with Grace and her baby. Her baby is almost 7 months old and looks positively petite next to Brunhilda here. I'm pretty sure we'll have a lot of pictures of a screaming Grace propped up against the backdrop while cute little Elsie hams it up.
And finally, Fringe entered the realm of Awesome in the latest episode. I don't know how many of you watch that show, but I have a theory. I think the Observer is from another universe and that when Peter almost died as a kid, and here's what I think happened: He really did die, and Walter somehow got the Observer to bring alternate universe Peter to this world. Otherworld!Peter is the one with special abilities, not Olivia Dunham. Otherworld!Peter turned off the light board, not Agent Dunham.
I'm pretty sure that if I'd never watched that show and read the previous paragraph, it would sound like the most ridiculous thing ever. That's what I love about JJ Abrams and his shows. You can say crazy things like, "Yemi is the Smoke Monster!" and it makes complete sense. I hope that man continues making shows like this until the day he dies.