Chuck cocks his head and studies me. "What is this outfit?" he asks. I cackle. He's on the porch glider drinking coffee. It's a green romper, a successful wardrobe mission from the summer of 2012. Of course, now it looks stuffed with pumpkin. In its current incarnation, this is an outfit with a leash. I cannot wear it off the porch. But on this "Feels like 92 degrees" day, it's fine for the glider.
"Is today the day?" I ask Chuck, chopping up every fruit in the house to make a breakfast salad. "No," he says. He said that yesterday, too. And the day before.
Ma Pista sends a text asking how I'm feeling. "Still pregnant," I tell her. She has a strange text personality that I don't quite recognize. Her sentences are structured stiltedly and she refers to herself as "Grandma." Sometimes I wonder if I should make her send me a photo of herself holding the current issue of the Rochester Post Bulletin.
I've mistaken seven hours of not-the-worst-sleep-ever for a new lease on life and head to Target to return a duplicate gift. Somewhere between receiving a gift card for the exchange and the greeting card aisle, the entire weight of my belly settles low. Real low. Like, the kind of low that requires gasping "oof" every step. My mission to buy a cover for the changing pad is dismissed. I oof my way back to the car and crank Max AC.
The grocery store is less daunting. I play the Supermarket Sweep home game, grabbing as much food as I can carry in a hand basket as quickly and as with little thought as is possible. FYI: Though Kraft might have set the bar in macaroni and cheese, it's really the Velveeta brand that has become the dominant force. Unfortunately, the shelves in this joint are post-Apocalyptic. I'm not sure what hungry horde invaded, but they've done a number on the stock. Kraft it is.
I read a bit about N.W.A.'s role as villains in the 1980s, then nap with the cats -- who must be repeatedly reminded to "Don't step on the baby."
True confession: I've been to McDonald's twice in as many days. Yesterday I ordered a meal, came home, ate it. Today I just went for a small, 54 cent vanilla ice cream cone. I think that's legit. Calcium, yo. When I pulled into the lot, a boy was standing on a picnic table ramming a teenaged girl's head into his crotch, simulating. The line at the drive thru was long and the guy in the hot rod behind me kept revving his engine. I thought: This is the worst place on earth. When I got back to the house, an undefined bug flew boldly up my right nostril and I'm not sure it ever got out.
We stay up late watching "Orange is the New Black." It's fun to pretend that the main character is played by superblogger Dooce.