Working with the senior community does have it’s perks.
Like at Christmas, when a funeral home sent our marketing team a basket of treats with a bottle of wine & a note that scrawled “Thanks for all you do!”
Four years later, we still haven’t stopped wondering whether people run funeral homes because they’re socially awkward or if they’re socially awkward because they run a funeral home.
It’s all very chicken & egg, you see.
So the other night, we’re unloading the dishwasher after work, talking about our days & just trying to get a few things done around the house while the dog eats dinner & Harrison plays with MegaBlocks on the living room rug.
Which is sort of pointless because Harrison LOVES the dishwasher. Like, L-O-V-E thinks it is the greatest thing since grilled ham & cheese sandwhiches. Sometimes I walk in the kitchen & he’s just staring adoringly at the dishwasher, reaching out to softly touch it. I don’t get it, personally. I would rather never have anything to do with that contraption, & there he is whispering sweet nothings into it’s control panel.
Anyway. So obviously, we pull out the dishwasher & Harrison comes streaking through the kitchen towards it, eyes wide at the stacks of plates & cups & silverware. He quickly grabs at the silverware & I yelp & move the knives out of his way. He grabs a spoon & I say, “Harrison, please hand Momma the spoon!” & he kind of looks at me all side-eyed like, “Bitch, please. You will never love this spoon as I do.” but he reluctantly hands it over & I put it away. I decide to engage him in the activity as a friend suggested, rather than fight his love of the dishwasher, & we put away spoons one-by-one until it’s a silly game & spoons are now being referred to as “poons.”
I pull out the toddler spoons, colored red & blue & green, & hand one over. “Look! A Harry ‘poon! Would you like a Harry ‘poon?”
& Nate’s all like, “Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…..babe?”
& then my face turns five thousand shades of red & I die right there on the floor, thankful that my son cannot repeat phrases yet.
Today, I sat on a cold plastic chair for a business expo. It was awkward & I managed to keep myself out of Starbuck’s since I had already imbibed in four cups before leaving the house (yes, I have a problem). My fantastic husband swung by with lunch & a kiss to break up the day. & on the ride home tonight, I asked him how his day went. & he said,
(I kid you not)He meant this, of course:
but I spent 20 minutes gasping for breath through my laughter.
Blair: “I bought a shirt today.”
Nate: “Oh, yeah?”
Blair: “It’s yellow. I’m not sure how it will look, but I can return it if I hate it.”
Nate: “I like yellow on you.”
Blair: “It’s bright yellow. Like…baby toy yellow.”
I could have said bright goldish yellow. Or the yellow found in kindergarten rooms. Or even referenced a Sherwin Williams paint swatch. But no, I picked “baby toy yellow.” & the worst part is, he knew immediately what color I referred to.
This would be what Nate said to me the other night in bed. Concerning my belly. Yeah, that’s what he said.
It was an excellent chuckle.
But when you’re too exhausted & busy to eat, it’s pretty easy to drop weight.
I’m still swollen to the point that the discovery of my ankle bones will be Nicholas Cage’s next National Treasure adventure, & my wedding rings are still lonely in my jewelry box. But my face is finally looking thinner & Arnold the Double Chin is rapidly taking his leave. I finally stepped on the scale yesterday morning, just out of curiosity. Only up 20 lbs pre-pregnancy. Not too shabby considering that the Monday before delivery, I topped a 54-lb total weight gain. The Biggest Loser has nothing on the “diet” of giving birth. I’m mostly curious to see what my running schedule will be like after all the fluid disappears — aka how much actual fat I gained due to the cupcake overdose.
p.s. i did break & attempt to put on my pre-pregnancy jeans this morning. they fit up over my hips, but buttoning is an entirely different story. oy.
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