sueeeus

When one thinks that one can enjoy a few minutes of a quiet morning because the wee one is sleeping soundly, one might do well to make a pass through the house and ensure that all bathroom doors are childproofed and closed.  That way, one would not soon discover that some children wake up silently, spy open bathroom doors through which they stealthily enter, and proceed to find their daddy’s mega hold hair gel, the kind that comes in pint-sized containers, and squeeze it out, here, there, everywhere.  No, one would not find a gel saturated towel stuffed in the toilet, nor discover gel all over the Spiderman bed sheet that the child had dragged in to the bathroom to join the party.  One would not find gel smeared all over the side of the bathtub, the floor (the carpeted part), the sink, the counter, and the cupboards.  One would not stumble across a very young man, embalmed, as it were, from head to toe in a good thick layer of the sticky stuff.

A more vigilant mother might take heed from events of only one day prior, in which a particular expanse of silence produced a fine coating of bubble slime all over the heirloom cedar chest, the floor (again, the carpeted part), and the child.  Yes, when a young one boasts his motor skills and shows how proficient he is at opening things with twist-top lids, messy results can occur.  Of course, being the somewhat tidy and organized mother that I am, I keep all the bubble-blowing paraphernalia together.  So of course he emptied every container of bubble liquid.  Mind you, it doesn’t take long to drag (or quietly pick up and move) a foot stool to the counter, step up, retrieve the bubbles, take the loot to a fun kid-sized surface like the cedar chest, twist open the tops, and dump out the contents.  Glug glug glug glug.  Glug.  Glug glug.   What fun!

Imagine the delight at squeezing the contents of a full bottle of talcum powder into little mountains all over the living room floor (the carpeted part).  Imagine the fun clouds of powder that go poof when one bats at them or jumps on them.  There is so much fun to be had in a household when one has a less than vigilant mother.

Yes, when a child learns the secret of the twist top, a new world is opened.  Cups are no longer spill-proof, as evidenced by the half cup of milk pooled at his feet (on the carpet, again), just below the quarter cup pooled on the seat and splashed on his body.  How long does it take to achieve this splendor?   Seconds.  Mere seconds.

There is no rest for the weary.

Oh, and is there a way to describe the look on the child’s face upon discovery, for any one of these or similar events?  He knows he’s being mischievous, yet he looks up at me with those big innocent blue-grey eyes.  Hi Mommy!  Look!

Finishing up the last loads of laundry.  Cleaning the kitchen.  Wondering if an espresso machine would be a worthwhile investment or a colossal waste of money.  I do love a nice cappuccino, but goodness me, they are expensive machines.  I’ve had several of the ultra cheap low end <$50 models and have given them all away.  From there, the price jumps to the several hundreds, and from there to the thousands.  Now, I would never venture into the land of commercial espresso gadgets, although of course I would drool and quietly covet from afar.  How I would love a shiny hunk of Italian metal machinery in the kitchen, though!

I’m feeling a wee bit more hopeful today.  It comes and goes.  The blood sugar is up, though.  Why?  Why oh why?  I even exercised yesterday. 

My lower back has been aching for weeks.  More so than the usual.  I’ve been thirsty and drinking gallons of water, yet still swelling.  I can no longer wear my rings.  Felt a little off this morning and thought toast would do the trick.  Was glad to feel off.  Is that a tad wee bit of morning sickness?  Was surprised at the high blood sugar, when I was feeling hungry and empty.  Wish I could make rhyme or reason of it.  I did have some cake, but that was over 12 hours ago.  At least there is none left to tempt me, so that won’t be happening again for some time.

By the time I make it to the doctor, I’ll be nearly 10 weeks, by my estimation, 12 by theirs.  That means that he might, just might, try to find a heartbeat with the doppler.  How I long to hear those galloping horses!  How I hope there will be an opening available for me to have an ultrasound, though.  I need to see.  I need to.

Gadget’s gone golfing with his boss and boss’s boss.  Networking.   Schmoozing.  Whatever one may call it.  I’m pleased that he’s liking his new job and that he seems to be fitting in well.  It is good for his professional confidence.  Of course it would be fabulous if he could bound into financial abundance and thus release me to the possibility of becoming a kept woman.  I can hardly fathom it, though.  I wouldn’t even be able to contemplate whether I should buy an espresso machine.  There would be no question.  Not in the budget.  Oh how easy it is to become a corporate slave.  Hooked by the 401k, pension, paid sick leave, paid vacation, medical and dental coverage, and most of all, by that steady pay check that arrives every two weeks, rain or shine. 

I like working.  I will always work.  I may not always earn, but I will always work.  What I need to learn, though, is how to pace myself a little better, rather than going all out, all the time.  I’m too driven, and I don’t know why.  Maybe it’s an Aries thing.