Per Chance To Dream

It's not that I haven't had much to say. I have. Oh, I have. It's just that, what with the baby being sick, the closing of the house purchase, the sudden last minute details that almost sunk the closing, ("...my wife to murder and Guilder to frame for it...") I think I must be completely and totally out of my mind. Officially, thank you very much.

That's right, baby's first cold. And apparently, like his mother, he does nothing small. This cold took its time appearing and was much heralded. The 102 degree fever only made a day long cameo, but the real cast of characters (stuffy nose, cough, no sleep, etc.) are apparently doing three acts and an encore. In fact, it appears the cold has moved its way down from the head and into the chest, so sweetness is going to the Medical Center to make sure it's not in his lungs. And as any of you who are parents can attest, the worst part isn't seeing your child in pain. It's awful, but not the worst part. It's not the real crying with real tears as they beg you with their wild, pleading eyes, all the while screaming at the top of their lungs. No, it's the having to be held every single minute of every single day. My hair is oily, my armpits long, my teeth are desperate for a brushing and I don't even know if any time in the last four days/nights I might have gotten any sleep in any position other than upright. And just about the one hour I get a break (before the baby realizes he's sleeping alone in his crib and starts howling), the downstairs neighbor's special visitor vocalizes what seems to be her heartfelt appreciation of said neighbor's...talents, shall we say? I haven't had the guts to let them know that the sound in the house apparently travels up.

So, 9 am tomorrow, I am an official homeowner in Bath, Maine. Huh. Out of the thousands of things I imagined myself to be/do/etc., not a single one of them involved moving to Maine and buying an older - albeit large and soon to be fairly nice - house. Huh. Ask me tomorrow how I feel about that. I mean, I've lived in this...establishment...long enough to know what this particular home ownership means. But I'm curiously detached. Probably has a lot to do with all the last minute transfer of funds and insurance morons and power of attorney stuff.

So...really, I do have a lot to say about a lot of things. After all, this little Peyton Place doesn't stop pot-boiling just because I'm stressed. But now I've just used up all the nap time on the nonsensical stuff and don't have any more time to type.