I have been sick with a stomach bug thing for the past couple of days, so I apologize for not having any new posts since Monday. At least, I think it was Monday. I've been too busy making the bathroom my second home to recall correctly.
Anyways, without getting too graphic, it was somewhat traumatic. No barfing, but I think Alex had the same thing. We both were feverish Monday night, with she waking in a cold sweat once and I tossing and turning, freezing and hot at the same time, body aching so badly it felt like it was on fire. She had a couple of horrifying diapers (but luckily only one blow out). Good stuff! I stayed home Tuesday to recoup. I'm better now, but I still have 'Nam-like flashbacks every time my stomach gurgles.
One thing that was keeping my relatively low spirits up, aside from my lovely family, was reading Mansfield Park. A year or two ago, when my mom and step dad still lived in Nashville, there was a local bookstore sadly going out of business. My mom asked what I'd like, since I had long ago received an equally long-forgotten certificate for the store. I asked for all of Jane Austen's novels. Now, as big a fan as I am of hers, I'll admit that I've only ever read Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensability and Persuasion. So I was happy to have the entire collection at my fingertips to read, re-read and thoroughly enjoy them.
Well that was a year or two ago and finally this week, I decided to crack open Mansfield Park. As always with period novels, it can take a while to get into the cadence and vocabulary of the time, which was true in this case as well. The first page or two I had to read and re-read because I would read, but get lost in my own thoughts and not let the words sink in. Now, however, I'm zipping through chapters like Austen and I have been besties since 1801.
This book is so addictive, I went to bed at 10pm last night, before Todd (he was watching a show on sharks), and was still reading long after he went to sleep. I read until I peeked at the clock and almost wet the bed when I realized it was 11:49pm. Then I laid awake for a few minutes thinking about all the characters. Once I'm done with it, I'll give a more thorough review (I don't have much regard for any of the characters right now, I'll admit it). And I like Fanny Price but man, I wish she'd just man up and slap the shit out of Mrs. Norris like I wish I could. I'm only three chapters into Volume 2 though, so I will be patient and wait for the comeuppance that Mrs. Norris will likely receive, though from fate and karma and not from Fanny's timid, delicate hand.
.... OH MY GOD IS THIS WHY ARGUS FILCH'S CAT IS NAMED MRS. NORRIS?!!?
ETA: Yes, yes it is!
My best friend Kendra got married last weekend! Once she puts up some photos I will shamelessly steal them and post them here. The wedding was gorgeous! Five of us were in the wedding party: Todd, Alexandra, brother in law Scott, sister in law Amery, and yours truly. It's like we took over! Kendra was a gorgeous bride, Dwayne was a handsome groom, and it was just an all around merry occasion.
I have a feeling that the exhaustion from the festivities might have led me down the path to illness though. I mean for God's sake, Todd and I are still sore from dancing at the wedding! I mean, we're fit people. As I say numerous times on here, I'm training for a very significant event, and Todd teaches kung fu three times a week while also fitting in numerous other workouts that he does solo.
We're no strangers to physical activity, yet here we are with sore necks, aching backs and do not get me started on how sore my calves were from dancing in heels and then unceremoniously tossing them to the side of the dance floor so I could dance barefoot, yet for some reason still dance on my toes. Well, Todd's 6'7" so there's that, but still, I'm 6', I am no mini pop tart.
Due to the wedding, and to the sickness, I haven't gotten back on track with my working out, which makes me feel lazy, or my routine at all, which makes me feel out of sorts. I am very much a fan of a daily, nightly, weekly routine, despite being a Sagittarius with a travel bug, the wind in her hair, flying by the seat of her pants. I love accomplishing my daily goals, which really don't vary much day to day unless I'm short on blog posts or need to do my nails or am seriously behind on reading Oh No They Didn't. But usually it's this: work out, walk dog, Alexandra time, shower, make dinner, cuddle with Todd, bed.
Even though stuff got done, and the house doesn't explode if I don't follow my little routine, it seriously sets me off kilter. It's already Thursday and I have only taken two walks with Alex and Patton, I've only made dinner twice, but on a high note I never once threw up.
I'm looking forward to next week, to resuming workouts and my nightly and daily duties to my family and household.
Last Friday, a week ago, actually, while I was getting ready for Kendra and Dwayne's rehearsal/getting my nails done with the other bridesmaids/rehearsal dinner, Bingley decided to jump up on our side table and do biddy-battle with the bamboo plant that was stuck in about 10lbs of glass beads in a huge vase. Oh yeah, you know where we're going with this.
So this 2lb kitten somehow gets all tangled in the bamboo while simultaneously slipping off the marble-topped table. He drags the entire thing down with him. Glass shatters, beads go skidding across the living room floor, water goes everywhere. It's mayhem. I was on the phone with Kendra when it happened. I interrupted her with "OH MY GOD, THAT FUCKING CAT I'LL KILL HIM" which I repeated about 385749 times before hanging up with the ever-gracious bride. I cleaned up the mess and then went to go hunt down the bastard kitten when I found him, terrified and yet courageously still trying to clean himself, in Alexandra's room. I picked him up to inspect him, which is when I found the blood.
Horrified, I checked all over his little kitty body, where there were tiny wispy flecks of blood. The vase had been quite thick and it broke into several shards; the damage to a little body could have been grievous. But all was well, so... where was all this blood coming from?
His poor little tail! A glass shard must have landed right on poor Bingley's tail, but luckily for everyone, it landed at an angle. It looked like it had nearly cut the last two inches of tail off though; it hung limply, at an angle, and it was quite bloody. I immediately regretted all those horrible things I said about him. I wrapped it in cold, wet paper towels and applied pressure while I frantically, repeatedly called Todd who at various times throughout the day decides to never answer his phone. Finally he came home, we took a look and were totally grossed out to see something white inside the gash. We're not sure if it was bone, cartilage or tendon, but considering how high up the tail it was, we're banking on cartilage.
Anyways, the little trouper was an angel, and stayed still long enough so we could wash it, apply Neosporin and bandage the tail. Remarkably, he never messed with the dressing, and we changed it twice throughout the week before I noticed, yesterday, that due to the rambunctious nature of a kitten, the dressing had slid down, exposing the wound, which had a super awesome, very impressive scab completely covering, and thusly protecting, the injury. We were scared, but Bingley was awesome. He was bouncing off the walls the very day after the accident. Animals are pains in the ass, true, but they're absolutely wonderful, and amazingly resilient.
So for my last little tidbit (little? tidbit? this post is a goddamn mile long!), I will share my discovery from last night.
One of the countless little things that solidified Todd's and my relationship was a love of playing with hair. Specifically, mine. Todd loves playing with my hair and has perfected a strange and intricate way of twirling, loop-de-looping, and inevitably tangling my hair into a tight, complex knot which then requires a subsequent five to ten minutes of detangling.
Well, ever since I had Alexandra, I had noticed some weird changes to my hair. First off, as several of you all may know, hair doesn't fall out throughout a woman's pregnancy. The result is almost enough to make up for all the negative side effects of pregnancy (hey, I said almost): a full head of lustrous, prenatal-fueled gorgeous locks. Then, around the child's third or fourth month of life, all that hair that hadn't fallen out says adios and the bottom of your tub makes you wonder if you were the victim of a curse like that one bitch in the movie The Craft. Actually I guess all those girls were bitches. I digress.
After the hair exodus died down, then I noticed that all sorts of baby hairs were cropping up. First they stuck up along my part, an inch or two long, then they gradually calmed down and laid flat like the rest of my hair. But they seemed to stop right around ear level. I was mystified.
Then last night, Todd got a major knot stuck in my hair. After several loud popping and snapping sounds, he said "Sorry, puppa" and removed a huge knot of my hair. Yeah, I said removed. Suddenly I said "Holy shit! You are the reason my hair is all shredded!!" and I proceeded to show him, in a perfect ring around my head, how my hair was all broken around ear level, in a tattered and non-pretty fashion. We were both mortified, because as two adamant lovers of long hair, neither of us could really condone hair twirling anymore.
While it's a relief that there's nothing wrong with me or my hair, hormonally or chemically or whatever, I'm still really depressed about no more twirls. I asked if he'd just comb it with his fingers but according to Todd, twirling is second nature, and will be hard to re-wire.
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