Why not talk about this week? In the hierarchy of interesting subjects, I am going to put it well below the girl at work who OBVIOUSLY had a boob job, but at least above your dream last night which I know you are really psyched to tell me but which has lost so much in translation, not to mention we’re awake now – ok?
It all started with Mother’s Day (US) night. We came home from dinner, put Jonah to bed, sat down and then I immediately noticed 30 huge black flies, perched, one each, on the slats of our window blinds. I want you to imagine first what this could look like. It looks like an art installation- like insect performance art. For a millisecond I was impressed and awed. Then we started killing them.
The thing about flies is that it’s hard to say whether they’re easy to kill or not. On one hand, they can drop with just a tap (thus “dropping like flies”) as opposed to requiring a full smush (real smush, not the Snooki one). On the other hand (if you have two hands), they fly. So, ya know, that makes it harder.
But despite this, we got them all in a matter of time and then proceeded to clean up the carcasses. I had very little time to sit down and reflect on the bizarre Alfred Hitchcock-like experience we just had when a stark realization came over me: those 30 flies did not coincidentally all fly in here together, they were born inside our flat. I was pretty pleased with myself for recognizing this, but my self-congratulation was short-lived and far overshadowed by the ultimate bad news which is how flies are born. Don’t Google it. Several days later, it was all resolved. I am sure the mild trauma in the meantime will just give me more texture as a human being.
So then Bryan left for the US on a business trip. And immediately Jonah got the croup. Or croup. I don’t know if there is a precedent “the”. I also don’t really know if his official diagnosis should be croup, but it was my internet-research diagnosis. Despite me thinking it was an old-timey sickness no one gets anymore, like bubonic plague (but which is now spreading in the US), it turns out it’s a real thing. And my diagnosis stemmed from the fact that his cough was a dead ringer for all the website descriptions: “like a barky seal”. 100%.
So poor Barky Seal has been so sad this week, and so not himself. And in all my pregnant and working-furiously-because-maternity-leave-is-imminent glory, I was thinking it would have been a great week to not have Bryan fly to the US. Every time Barky Seal had trouble sleeping or I was worried about his breathing, I would bring him in the bed with me. But then I would have to remember to remove the kitchen knife I keep under the pillow while Bryan is gone. And that is a lot of multi-tasking for this brain. Someone at work asked me whether it wasn’t more dangerous to have a knife that could be wielded against me if there was an intruder. Maybe. But I am guessing that if you took the trouble to kick down my door and come to do something not socially acceptable, you probably have your own knife in tow. I just feel like we should be even. But I do not feel like Barky Seal should have a knife. And so that’s all I am saying, it’s a lot to remember.
I also left my very beloved Kindle cover on the tube, which I think is okay to bemoan. The same day, no accident, I smashed my pinky finger in the door at work. Totally my fault, and it took me by surprise and the pain was so intense that I just started crying. I know Tina Fey’s major advice to working women is “don’t cry in the workplace”, but I think it should be modified to state: “don’t cry in the workplace about work, but you can cry about bodily injury”.
Needless to say, I am very tired. But not too tired for this blog.