My family peacefully sleeps around me as I think to myself, "This would be a perfect blogging snapshot." Dad is home from a company day at the races. He even won a Trifecta! Baby is full and content; snuggled up in his Pack and Play at the foot of the bed. I got to hang out with my sister all day sans nephew which we never get to do anymore. Even doggie is resting in her makeshift bed of blankets and the body pillow it was too hot to ever use when I was pregnant. Everything feels perfect and peaceful even though Stella just had knee surgery yesterday. Although I figure sleep is better than blogging at 12am, I write this post in my head anyway.
Stella is up and whining to get up on the bed. Have I really only been asleep for two hours? Luckily it feels longer. I move her bed and blankets to a different part of the room. Dad gets up to take her outside just in case. Dylan rustles in his bed. We settle in again. No Stella! Lay down! She lays down. Her bright pink full-leg cast underneath her. Dylan lets out a huge, loud, angry cry. I groan. We're fucked, I think. Maybe he's going to have to sleep all by himself in his crib earlier than planned. He goes back to sleep without actually waking up. I go get Stella the extra sedative I was to give in case of emergency. Stella's up and down and up and down and making little circles to try to get herself comfortable. And minutes before 3am. We are all back asleep. (Now the blog post in my head is turning ironic...or maybe just realistic.)
Dad has already left for golf. (He could have reminded me that he had a day at the races and a two-day golf tournament during the three days following Stella's surgery which could have been scheduled for next week, but I won't mention it here.) Stella is happily asleep in the living room on her new pet bed, wrapped in a red fleece blanket. Dylan is already down for his morning nap. I've already fed him a bottle and a mix of oatmeal and peaches, eaten my breakfast, picked up half of the house because a friend is coming over to keep me company while I'm on doggie house-arrest and now I'm drinking my coffee and blogging.
It's grey and damp outside. Not very typical weather for the end of the July. The palm trees in my back yard lightly sway in the breeze. I thought about wearing yoga pants today to change it up a bit, but I settled on the same purple sweat pants I've worn every other day this week. MrGG asked where the regular hairbrush is. I said it's still in the suitcase. Nope...I haven't brushed my hair this week. (I can get away with not brushing it and still look pretty much ok - definitely good enough for my sweat pants.)
But don't think I would change a thing. I love my sweat pants. I wear my hair up every day. I like being at home as long as I have company sometimes and it's not a forever thing. Sure...I wish Stella did not need a second surgery in 5 months. It was beyond a bitch last time. And we're still in the easy part. When the cast comes off on Monday and she "feels" like her old self, she will try to act like her old self which commonly includes running quick laps in the living room, backstopping off the couch on one of her turns. Apparently that can hurt the healing process for knee surgery. Go figure.
I need to pump. and continue picking up the house (which will never look even as close to nice and clean and organized as my friend's house). and get Dylan's next bottles ready.
But for right now, I'm enjoying my coffee and the quiet early morning.