If around 7:30 yesterday evening you thought you heard a train going past, CHUG-a-chugga-CHUG-a-chugga, and then thought, "Wait, we're not near train tracks," then perhaps you were hearing ME, heaving and panting as I jogged THREE ENTIRE MINUTES WITHOUT STOPPING. Week Three is jogging 1.5 minutes, walking 1.5 minutes, jogging 3 minutes, walking 3 minutes, repeating all four things. I will tell you, I did not think it was possible to do it. The only reason I even TRIED is that I remember I thought one single minute was my absolute upper limit and then was pleased (you realize I am using that word in a loose, careless way, as you might say you were pleased when the inquisitor moved from "sharps" to "blunts") to find that I could do 1.5 minutes if I gave up any foolish sentimental attachment I had to my lungs. Going to 3 minutes involved additional sacrifice, including watching a carload of teenagers drive by FOUR TIMES, knowing they were almost for sure making cruel remarks from the fleeting shelter of their perfect bodies. I started a motivating refrain of "BITE me...BITE me...BITE me" with each left-right.
This morning I was looking up maternity tees for Linda, who posted about needing something for the in between stage where you're not ready for a canopy-for-two but you need something more spacious than your usual shirts. I recommend the Duo t-shirts on JCPenney.com: I purchased them in the smaller of the two sizes I fall between, and they were perfect for early/mid pregnancy--and frankly, I'm still wearing them now, more than 2 months post-partum. Anyway, I found the ones I bought (I liked the scoopneck, but they also have crewneck and v-neck), and I saw they were on clearance for $3.99, and that they had the new colors on sale for $9.99. And suddenly I was seized with the impulse to buy some "for next time." I squelched that urge as quickly as I could--which is to say, it is not yet squelched.
I don't understand this drive I have to have more More MORE children. I don't even particularly enjoy the ones I have, based on how much time I spend hiding from them. And there is so little chance of having another: Paul states emphatically, "We are NOT having ANY MORE babies." And yet--
I went to the grocery store a couple of weeks ago to get more pints of Dove, and I saw a baby about Henry's age, all smooshy-cuddly sleeping on its daddy's chest, little mouth open, little legs folded up and little bottom sticking out. I got a sharp, nauseating pang of wanting a baby, a kicked-in-the-ovaries feeling. And I have a baby already, right now. This is the kind of thing that makes me fear for my future happiness--and for Paul's, since he has so many years ahead of hearing about it. Fertility has been more than generous with me, and yet I can't seem to get my fill of this:
Gift ideas for an 8-year-old, part 1 of 2 - I have TWO 8-year-olds to buy for, so I’m going to split it up into two posts. Today will be the things we’re getting for Edward. I dislike saying “Gift id...