I put away some dishes, I move some mail around, I put shoes in the giant shoe basket. I open the door to the office. I close it again. I walk into the bathroom and decide that I need to find that gigantic curtain rod that I think is in the garage. Spend 45 minutes looking for the g'dang curtain rod. Give up and study for exam, eat leftovers. Stay up too late and post something dumb on my blog.
SO, I asked all of our family members to write a letter to Bird for her birthday. And everyone (more or less) obliged. I'm thinking others (ahem) are sending theirs in soon. And I waited until tonight to start mine, almost a week late. On a night I should be studying harder for an exam about neuromuscular disorders tomorrow morning. Or doing work for the job I get paid to do, which also deals with neuromuscular disorders. (Why won't these fucking neuromuscular disorders leave me the hell alone?)
...And I'm off track again. I'm trying to write my letter to Bird that I'm hoping we will all be writing every year to let her know who she is and who we are at each point in time. And then we will give them to her for some momentous occasion, like when she has her own children, which blows my mind like a house of mirrors right about now. I am on page three. How does one say the things I'm trying to say about what happens when you grow a human being inside your body and then spend the next year trying to catch up with her on the outside? How do you say all of the powerful and crushingly lovely things you absolutely mean? How do you describe the reorganization of every single tiny cell in your body around the occupation of loving and caring for this one little person that entered your life as an idea, a prediction, a save-the-date card in the form of a little line on a piece of plastic covered in urine as you stood in the bathroom pointing a pee stick at your husband and crying because you were hopeful and terrified?
Gah. Feelings. Maybe I'll post the letter here when it's finished, or maybe it will just be between me and Bird. Either way, my vocabulary has begun to unravel and I'm taking a break. But not going to bed! Because I have had coffee past 7pm! And I do not want to resume the cleaning-up of the wrecked house after the crazy entertaining of in-laws and friends and neighbors and toddlers this weekend! A
For those of you of the giving-a-shit persuasion, here are some photos of the weekend which I may or may not describe in more detail at a later time:
Not so much digging the birthday balloon on her actual birthday, past bedtime, totally pissed.
The end, good night, I'm pretty sure I'm not going to do so well on this exam.