Lo, it is Friday, and today, we shall have ice cream.
(No, I am not pregnant. The husband got his boy parts snipped to avoid exactly that. That, however, is another story for another day. AM NOT PREGNANT. Am just probably dying from guinea pig flu or roostermonia or some such.)
I will struggle to recover, because it is Mother’s Day this weekend, and I am determined to milk that for whatever quantity of pancakes and maple syrup it’s worth. Also, I have a party to go to. When you get out as infrequently as I do, you don’t let a little thing like projectile vomiting interfere with an excuse to put on dancing shoes.
While I’m recovering, you can amuse yourselves with the following:
2) My Letter To My Mother. It’s mushy, but it’s Mother’s Day this weekend, so. What do you want from me?
3) My reflections on birth stories: the good, the bad and the sublime. See above re: mush, and bring hankies.
4) My new blog. Yes, really. After coming so very close to quitting blogging, what do I go and do? Build another blog! But it’s a necessary thing, a pressure-relieving thing. It’s a new space for me to stretch some of the mommy blogger muscles that I haven’t really been into stretching here. It’s a space for me to really play with topics and ideas and stories that have sort of fallen out of the narrative of Her Bad Mother. It’s going to help me to be happier blogging here, because it will provide me with a there – and a their – if that makes sense. It’s… well, go read it for yourselves.
5) My beautiful, beautiful boy, who gives Narcissus a good name, and who justifies, perfectly, the art of being amused and entranced by one’s own reflection. Which, you know, suits me just fine.