I finished my blocker book! And it was kind of crappy and a total bummer and the world is likely ending. So.
On Facebook tonight, I saw that a few of my friends were having drinks in a hot tub, so I did what I really don't do enough in my giant soaker tub: I soaked. In scalding water with a stack of magazines. It was the best. Even though it is like 50 here today, I have been freezing cold ALL DAY and now I am finally warm.
Also, Facebook gives me FOMO and it would have been HELL to have social media in high school and college. I am almost 40 and I still feel left out when people in my feed are at events and I am not. I cannot imagine how terrible this is for a 16-22 year old girl. Gah.
And another thing! My stomach is rounded even when I am lying flat-- it used to be concave when I laid down or at least flat. But not anymore.
Which brigs me to: wanting a baby. I really have been thinking about having one in a serious but tentative way for a little while now. For lots of reasons: Things are getting easy here again. There's an empty bedroom. Plenty of space in the ol' minivan. One of the best things about our house is that we're across the street from an elementary school-- let's exercise that benefit. We don't need to worry about daycare. In 2 years, we'd be back on easy street and still not 40. I LOVE BABIES. I am still hauling around 20-25 pounds from baby #3, so fuck it. There are lots of reasons in the con column, too: Unmedicated childbirth hurts like a motherfucker. I am already hauling around 20-25 pounds from baby #3, so there's be no bouncing back from #5. I might as well buy some bright white Reeboks and a bunch of mock turtle necks and a fanny pack to loop around my FUPA. I will never remember to do math facts with Jack ever again.
But tonight at the mall, I realized that a 5th baby might cramp my style. Literally. Dorothy and I were walking through a department store that has recently added a Free People area and upped its shoe game in a big way and I wondered if I would ever have my shit together enough to wear sophisticated shirts and heels again, noting that I was dressed in ripped up boyfriend jeans and New Balances with no socks and a giant North Face coat over my sequined Mickey sweatshirt. Holy balls. Where are Stacy and Clinton when I need them? But with a fifth kid to feed an organic diet and buy a Chrismukkah-palooza of toys, could I even afford to shop whenever I want? I mean, rounded stomach and sloppy wardrobe aside, could I have the resources to get my shit together even if I wanted to?
Then I think about holiday dinners-- we want a houseful and we figure we need to have a lot of kids to increase our odds that at least a couple of them will come home. There are still baby names I want to use. I am equally charmed by the thought of 4 boys and sisters. I don't feel like we're complete-- or this doesn't HAVE to be complete, I guess.
But! If I were really serious about more kids, would sparkly silver heels and the cutest little sweater/oxford/miniskirt combo in the window of Banana really make me rethink my life choices? I definitely came home and ate a billion Candy Cane Joe Joes and almond Hershey Kisses, so there's that.