Thursday. Is it a Thursday? I've lost track of the days of the week again; this has happened more and more since I started staying home with Tiff, but I thought once she started her schooling stuff that it would get easier.

I'm nuts, you know, referring to it as "schooling stuff". She's 22 months old, for goodness sake. Not even two. Not even potty trained, although I want to start thinking about it and the Boy says that we've got to wait until she's talking and walking on her own. A little voice in the backbrain says that if we wait for that she may decide to never talk or walk. And what happens if she does have speech or physical delays relating back to her early start in the world? What happens if she decides to not talk until Kindergarten? I'd really like to have this done by then.

My cold/sinus issue/allergy problem continues unabated. Today we've gone from yellow snot to green snot to bloody snot to aching pressure back to yellow again. This means, in short, that whatever the heck is going on in there is draining nicely and that I'm on the road to recovery. Disgusting as it is.

I hereby nominate the Boy for sainthood, as he has listened politely to all my nonstop babbling about the quality of my bodily fluids and constant low-level ickiness without complaint. He has willingly shouldered all Toddler care as I have asked him to over the past week. He has hugged me when I've been feeling particularly fat and ugly, and offered his clean spare pair of sweatpants so that I can feel non-bloated and un-ugly for the evening. Despite his unwillingness to flout hospital regs and provide me with a cheeseburger and strawberry milkshake during the day and night leading up to Tiff's birth (when I wasn't allowed anything more than ice chips, cause they were expecting an emergency c-section at any moment) I will stand by the love and admiration I feel for his love for me.

This counts WAY more than flowers and candy ever could.