This week has kicked my butt. And then it turned around and came back and kicked my butt one more time for good measure. Just to show me who's boss.
I even missed The Office last night because I was asleep. By 7:30 pm. The Office is one of the few television programs for which I will prop my eyes open if need be, but I was powerless to remain awake.
And I have no TiVo or DVR or any other fancy schmancy television recording device. And the Writer's Strike means that I may only have one or two more new episodes before the only fresh programming will be "America's Next Top Dancing Survivor Idol is Smarter Than Your Dad." I may be alone in saying this, but I think that most reality television is a scourge upon the land. Surely it is a sign of the End Time if that is all that is available for viewing pleasure. I'm starting to see my habit of falling asleep at 4:30 in the afternoon as a blessing.
This is big-time exhaustion, my friends, and at 27 weeks, I have only a few more days to enjoy the Golden Middle Trimester. I was supposed to get so much more done around here before the aches and pains of trimester number three set in, but here it is, knocking on my door. And by knocking on my door, I mean knocking me flat on my butt with crippling back pain because that is what is going on here. I even had to send Rob grocery shopping for me, and, if you know me at all, you will realize that this is just one more sign of The Apocalypse. Let's just say that I have a little trouble relinquishing my list.
Compounding the exhaustion is the cold that has taken up residence in the sinuses of myself, Fiver, and Sally. We are just stumbling around the house, coughing and sniffling and whining. I'm whining because there are no medicines that I can safely ingest, Fiver is whining because he can't breathe and suck his two favorite "sleep fingers" at the same time, and Sally is whining because she can. She is sixteen months old, and her intellect outpaces her vocabulary a hundredfold. She is also stubborn and independent, and, if this is any indication of her temperament these days, she likes to sit on the floor and hurl herself backwards, screaming, if anyone offers to help her. Luckily for me, I distinctly remember this phase with Francie, so I know that time will heal all tantrums. I also remember this phase as being the one where I vowed Francie would be an only child. I'm about three kids too late for that plan . . .
I will dispense with the whining now, and I will leave you with something that amuses me to no end. No end, my friends.
(Warning: this may be a trifle risque for this blog, so I apologize to anyone with delicate sensibilities. Not that they read this blog, but you know . . .)
Fiver (holding the Halloween candy bucket): Mmmmmmm .....
Me: See something you like in there?
Fiver: Sure I do. I see Titsie Rolls and I really like Titsie Rolls.
Have a good weekend, my friends!