This morning I woke up to my alarm at 6am, I had a therapy appointment at 8am. I got dressed, had some coffee, woke up Mikey (oh I hate waking sleeping babies, it seems so so wrong) got him dressed in his little warm clothes, boots, jacket, hat and mittens. Got myself dressed and headed out the door. It takes me about an hour to walk to the hospital from my apartment, not because it's a particularly huge distance, but there are a lot of crossings, lights and roadworks on the way. We arrived at 7.45 only to be told that my appointment was actually at 11am, not 8am. Gah. The guy at the desk looked at me as though I were a psycho, I plastered a smile and forced out a cheerful "Oh dear! See you later then!" and walked home cursing under my breath the whole way. What a good start to the day.
For the past couple of days I have had this problem with my leg. It comes and goes and has done since I was a teenager. It's like where my leg joins my butt (commonly known as the hip... where is my brain today?), it hurts and I can feel the bone shifting. I guess that means I need to pick up the yoga a bit to fix that up.
Today my behavioral therapist asked me about my eating. No idea why, it has absolutely nothing to do with why I'm seeing him. Turns out though that I have to keep a food diary for a week. For someone who adores food and cooking, it turns out that I am apparently not eating enough.
I had totally intended on cooking myself curried rice and chicken tonight, but we ended up with pasta alfredo because I am lazy. The husband is still TDY, cooking for just myself and Mikey is boring, therefore I have little desire to cook anything for myself for breakfast and lunch. Mikey doesn't appreciate my gourmet cuisine, the kid eats anything (including dirt when mummy isn't watching closely enough). Of course he gets fed, kid food is easier to throw together than adult food.
The husband and I recently discovered that Mikey loves The Clash. We have been dancing around the house to London Calling today. It makes me feel like I'm at least doing something right as a parent, introducing my poor boy to his mummy's British culture. Or something. What? It was fun. Mikey dances like he's conducting an orchestra while stamping his feet.
I'm attempting to write an article about homemade baby food. I used to make all of Mikey's baby food myself when he was a wee one, instead of using the jars. I can't remember for the life of me what i used to feed him though. Pureed "Stuff"? I can't write that...
When I forget to close the child lock on the fridge Mikey likes to open it, point at the cheese and yell "CHEEEEEZE!" He has broken the seal on the fridge from opening it so much and pulled off the child lock. Boy loves cheese.
I always have trouble ending my blog posts. Always feels like I'm stopping in the middle of a conversation and walking away. If I didn't stop though I'd just pour out an endless stream of consciousness.
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