Five years ago:
Don’t read if you are squeamish.
At 4:30 this morning Lexy sat up in bed, said, "I’m hungry," then
leaned over and puked a good gallon or two onto the floor. The carpeted
floor. I got things somewhat cleaned up with a bottle of Febreeze
because I couldn’t find the carpet cleaner. The sprayer on the Febreeze
was broken, so I just dumped a bunch on the carpet and now it doesn’t
even smell at all in the bedroom. Yay!
There was more barf, of course. While Lexy was heaving he was
crying about how much he’d loved that burrito. Nathan, who I thought
was done with this on Monday, started screaming from the bathroom that
he didn’t make it in time and that he had diarrhea. Cleaning the mess
on him and the floor took lots of strategic planning and many paper
towels and there was bleach involved. Willow woke up during this time
and played on the bed long enough for me to get the boys in the bath.
I’ve been taking care of little ones for almost seven years, and
this was the worst of the worst. Looks like a movie marathon/laundry
party at our house today. At least it seems cooler. I hope Sophie
doesn’t start throwing up. Hope I don’t.
Two and a half years ago:
One year ago:
Six months ago:
Two weeks ago:
I am walking down the street in the early morning cold of San Francisco, catching a last calm breath before the chaos of the conference begins. The sky is the same grey as the sidewalks, the buildings. I am headed back to the hotel with two cups of coffee, one for me and one for Jenny. For the first time in a long time I think about how much I wanted to live in San Francisco after going to college here for a couple of years. For a minute I try it on for size, pretending that I’m walking to work, which I actually sort of am. I don’t know if it’s the ocean, the way the buildings are, or some invisible energy, but the light is always different here than it is anywhere else. The sunrises and sunsets have a warmer orange, thicker. Even the shadows seem made of felt. I don’t want to regret anything because that would mean keeping one foot behind me when I really need to be moving forward. I do, though, just a little bit, regret never steering my path so that I could land here. It then occurs to me that in about thirteen years my kids will all be grown. Really I will be able to live anywhere.
I am so goddamned uncomfortable. The antibiotic I’m taking for this stupid ear infection, one I have taken since I was a little kid? I’ve developed an allergy to it. I have hives all over my back, on my left shoulder, my upper arm. They.itch.so.badly.
I also feel a little sick to my stomach and lightheaded. Mostly, though, I just want to rub sandpaper all over my back, or take my shirt off and scootch around the carpet and take care of this itch.
I am going to go home and take some benedryl, snuggle with my kids, and eat some chips.