I am the gracious hostess to a bitch of a cold. Jeremy very kindly whisked Claire to the playground this afternoon, and I tried to sleep, but had to keep turning like a chook in a rotisserie to keep the snot flowing freely from nostril to nostril. Bebe was extremely annoyed and made cobra-strikes at me.
Quinn called wanting to take arty preg pictures of me, but when I explained the situation she said “Maybe not with the snot.”
I said: “I’ve lost the mucus plug in my NOSE.”
Counting Jules and my friendly gut microflora (hi, gut bugs! I heart you!) this means there are at least four entities inside my skin. Sure is getting crowded in here! This is not, however, a complaint; in case war and hurricanes don’t give me enough perspective, there was this conversation at hippie birth prep class last night.
“I’m going to be a single mom. My fiance’s family are all in Britain…”
“Oh, is he there too?”
“He passed away.”
Consternation from everyone in the room; an understanding smile from the mom in question.
“The story is that he froze his sperm before he started treatment for leukaemia. Two years ago he died of it, but now I’m having his little girl.”
Even I couldn’t think of a snarky comeback.