Due to a collection of reasons, including baby-stolen car keys (still missing), a migraine (not mine), and miscommunication over text messages (all parties involved), I took Gwyn to the Urgent Care this afternoon instead of finishing a project due by close of business today.
First professional deadline blown due to parental responsibility: Check.
And then, while at Urgent Care, Gwyn immediately ceased showing any signs of illness. Because of course. (Right now, an hour later, despite the diagnosis of a second double ear infection, she is giggling lying in bed with her father. Of course.) She did, however, throw her toys and cheddar bunnies all over the exam room, so as I walked around, crouching down to pick them up, still wearing trousers and a nice sweater (having come straight from work), I split the seam on my pants.
Hypothesis: splitting the seam on your pants two days after deciding that yes, you have gained too much weight and thereby committing to remedying that is the universe’s sick way of reminding you how unhappy you are.
Because you totally needed a material reminder. Because a little indignity, a good right hook to the self-image, and a diaper bag draped artfully over your ass will totally make this day better.
After that, the sick baby and blown deadline are just icing on the cake, really.
Guess who will be working tonight after Gwyn goes to bed? This gal. Guess who really wants Chinese takeout and isn’t going to order it? This gal. Guess who will, however, be adjusting her portion sizes at dinner so she can have a goddamned drink before getting back to work? THIS GAL.