In five days, I’ll check in to the hospital to have this baby surgically removed. And then I think I’ll be closing the chapter titled “Reproduction” in the book that is my life. I’ve washed every single last pink onesie, sock, bib, receiving blanket, and tiny hat (what happens if the ultrasound tech was wrong and this baby’s a boy?). The crib is assembled, the Boppy is waiting, the breast pump is … somewhere. My closet, maybe? I need to follow up on that. Now all I need is a baby.
I was looking at pictures of Harry from his first few months of life last night and realizing that his babyhood was such a sweet time. Sure, there were some rough nights and some slammed doors and some cracked and painful nipples (note to self: come home from hospital with tubes of Lansinoh in every pocket), but I’m remembering the newborn days now as snuggly and exhausted, but maybe not so worthy of the dread I’ve been feeling as we approach Newborn Boot Camp. But see, that’s how Mother Nature tricks women into having more children — She makes you forget the shitty stuff I can’t remember right now.
By the way, I’m writing this from my laptop, which has a new top case and keyboard, free of charge. I don’t know why, I didn’t ask any questions when the Genius said it was “covered.” As far as I know, the warranty on this machine ran out in August, but again … no questions. I’m a little concerned about the extended life of this machine, as it was slow to boot up after I picked it up yesterday, but if this small repair means I’ve got a few more months of use, that’s fine with me. I’ll just tuck a little extra into savings every month and maybe cut back on my Starbucks consumption. It’s looking like a handmade Christmas, anyway, so maybe a new laptop won’t hurt *too* much come summer. We’ll see.
LOTS of duck-lining-up to do, work-wise, in the next few days, and I might go a little nuts and try to get some spinach and carrot seedlings into the ground sometime before sundown on Thursday. So, back to transcribing this interview with Marion Winik and uncomfortably digesting my first-ever attempt at shepherd’s pie.