Really. I haven't heard a thing. I needed to generate about ten pages of copy today (note the word generate--not craft or create), so I decided to make Starbucks my office for the first time. It's amazing what a comfortable chair, some lame music, and three venti-sized cups of super-charged coffee/latte/mocha/java and whatever other things I drank can do for your productiivity. Sheesh! I've found me some new office space. And it's free, if you don't count the mandatory $4 a pop drinks.
Now, I can't get on the net, because I'm a lame old DSL cable chick, but I wonder if I could get one of those fancy wi-fi cards in my old Dell laptop and actually get online while I'm at "the office." That would be cool. Or maybe that would be a distraction. Jury's still out.
Anyway, I did have my T-Mobile Sidekick (you remember, the one that fell off my van going 40 down the highway several months ago) with me, and since I get my email on the sidekick (plus phone calls from creditors) I was highly reachable.
No complaints. Except that they should have some salads and real food available instead of all that sweet stuff. Between the sugar and caffiene, I've been a bitch since 7 p.m.
But I'm a bitch who met two deadlines.
that counts for something.
In other news, OUR BABY TURNS SIX TOMORROW!
My goodness. I'm thinking back to the night before she was born, and we knew she was coming since she was a scheduled c-section (thank you Fibroids--NOT!). She was born on a Tuesday at 8:25 a.m. Tomorrow's a Tuesday. I guess that's as close to a precise anniversary as you ever get.
I remember showing up for prep at 6-something in the morning. I remember sitting in our sliver Honda Civic, refusing to get out. I remember how not-ready I was. Not a pain, not a contraction. No reason to go in there. No reason to want her to come out just then. But it was our scheduled day, and it was our scheduled time, and surgeons wait for no man.
I really didn't want to go through the doors.
I really didn't see any need.
I'm quite sure she could have rested comfortably in there for another two weeks.
I think having to walk in pain free and submit to having my baby yanked out of me has something to do with my ever-present warm and fuzzy feeling of wanting her back in there. Where she was safe. When I was safe. Where our family was safe. Before all of everything that came afterward.
Anyway, George finally made me laugh at something, and I finally agreed to go in. I think if he hadn't been at my side, I would have rolled off the table and rolled myself home (see, you can't move from the chest down with an epidural; hence the rolling idea) just to get out of there.
But I didn't roll. I just felt like throwing up when they lifted me off the table with the mightiest of yanks to free her from her nest of fibroid tumors. That sweet little breech baby came out feet first. And George held her for me to see, and I think six trillion thoughts went through my head.
six or seven.
Man. They grow and grow. How do we get to where we get?
Everyone, take off work tomorrow in honor of National BabyBlogger's Birthday. Spend the day kissing your kids. We'll all meet at Chuck-E-Cheese, or the zoo, or Toys-R-Us. No one works. We all play all day. If you don't have a kid, play with someone else's. Or bring your pet to the park for the kids to play with.
For crying out loud, It goes too fast.
Way too fast.
