((((((Whaaaa!))))))

It's 6:30 am, and I've been up for a couple of hours with general anxiety, most likely brought about by party-planning for my little guy's first birthday. In the throes of interrupted sleep, I made the momentous decision to order a cake from a local bakery (ie. not bake it myself like a good mother would) and, instead of rolling a million delicate and delicious tea sandwiches, simply order out. Sorry guests, but at least the snacks will be guaranteed blood, sweat and tear free!

Oh great, I hear coughing in the other room. Nobody get sick now!!!

See? This is exactly why I was leary of starting a blog. I have nothing to say. My life has shrunk to a messy square inch, a lump of mundanity. (Can a lump even be messy and is mundanity a word?) I labouriously trudge through life, sniffling baby firmly clamped to my lower leg, toddler suffering from a bad case of "counterwill" (pronounced with a heavy German accent), and I am irritation personified, looking for a place to land, usually on Daddy (the man formerly known as Dave). I've fallen in love with parentheses - my life is a never-ending series of brackets now (disjointed conversations, dropped projects, tiny lost shoes.)

According to the Secret Language of Birthdays (a highly trustworthy source, I'm sure) people with my birthdate are passive and frustrated, among other things, and I've probably never felt this as acutely as now. I can barely move without hitting up against an obstacle (literal and figurative), any housework I do is almost immediately undone (so why do it?), and I'm totally unreliable when it comes to accomplishing anything more than keeping three humans alive (Daddy helps immensely with this, of course, and is not included in the "three" because he could survive on his own, provided there are restaurants nearby).

Coughing has turned to crying... damn it.

(To be continued...)


PS. from later in the day... It's me. I'm sick. Going back to bed. Will the show go on? Stay tuned for late breaking rants.