So there is a major flaw in my plan. Being alone allows me to start processing everything, like how scared I was on Friday and how upsetting it all was, and......I start to cry. Crying at work is really NOT ON.
So, no more of that.
I related news, I expect the mother of all breakdowns when mac leaves home in 10 or so years and I finally work through all the surpressed mess. I should start socking away money for that now. Perhaps by then we will have a re-vamped health care system and one will be able to have home health care mental health specialists.
Note to self: parenting not for amateurs.
Hard on the professionals too!
Work is now in crisis/firefighting/seat-of-the-pants mode. And will be for the next, oh, 4 months.
oh, msbelle. I've so been there.
::offers cookies and soothing tea::
Oops.
My parents always told me the first kid is like the first pancake. Don't worry if you screw it up - you can always make more.
[Editor's Note: I am the oldest of 4 children and my parents are meeeeeeeeean.]
Unrelated, I am really enjoying the Times Reader software. The crossword interface is a dream.
work work work work
work work work work
workity woooork
3 invoices processed
1 call from boss
1 email inquiry
My cat was all clingy and meow-y this morning, but that could have been due to my being up early and going in and out to do laundry before going to work. After I got all my clothes clean, I jumped into the shower, which got her all worked up again--every other month or so, she becomes concerned over my habit of voluntarily getting wet (she doesn't care the rest of the time) and sits on the sink and meows full blast the entire time the water's running. Today, she became even more worried when I didn't get out right away (I was rinsing the shampoo suds down the drain) and stuck her fuzzy black head around the edge of the curtain to see if I was all right.
This weekend I managed to have a splinter which got minorly infected, burn myself, stab myself under the finger nail with a pushpin, and scrape my cuticle, all on the fingers of my right hand. These injuries were also an apt metaphor for the weekend.