In the Nineteenth Week, the treadmill voodoo vanishes despite the best mendicant meddlings and asseverations of functionality. Dropping us down the labyrinth of customer service purgatory 'twixt Sears and Sole and Nordic-Entirely-Off-Track to no avail. Ultrasounds revealed an heirloom mango with a certain gendered twist: SHE SHE SHE SHE makes the nice normal Fonzarelli feel a hundred times more real. As she catapults about with raver arms and Rockette legs, mommening Adella twists and contorts till her bladder is wrung for the perfect picture to ensure a soothing "all healthy!" from the reports. And in the zero hour, a closing date is made and moving madness maunders into the muddle!
Tippee Toes Touching Treadmill To-Dos and the Looming Ultrasound
Well, the treadmill is still broken. Boy did we call in the voodoo yesterday. Ms. Englett's favorite boytoy spent all morning doing all the things that I - as an owner - really should have been doing over my last four years of ownership. He opened up the motor, he vacuumed thoroughly, he lubed properly, he cast holy water on the appropriate vessels, and he slaughtered a chicken or two. And he got it to work! For 37 minutes!
When I wasn't on it. Maybe it's me.
As soon as I got back from my dental appointment, I tried it out and... dead in 12 minutes. Fifty points to David and the ghost walker. Negative 60 to Adella!
Good news is that the treadmill repair guy (I think that actually is his tradename, smart man) is coming today to tell us if it's new motor time or if there's some other electrical issue going on. Fingers crossed for an easy solution yet to be found, but I grow increasingly certain that I've acquired a very expensive and complex standing desk at this point. Still, hope is eternal and all. As much fun as pumping my legs in imaginary stair stepper action all day may be... it's just not the same work-friendly solution that a slow walk has proven itself to be for. And the last few days have provided beautiful enough weather for a couple of shorter walks, but it's going to start in with the rain as of today. The radar is showing quite the intimidating green blob (belated St. Paddy's day blob action - whooo!).
Ah well. I'll be well enough distracted today, as I've got another OB appointment and ultrasound! Excitement abounds. Waiting shall be tested and tried. Weighting will be supplemented with heavy shoes and a water bottle unless I remember to take those off this time around. Gross and uncomfortable questions may be asked in front of the spousal unit. It will be a bonding experience and good practice for the essential grossness of having a child. And we'll get to see little Fonzarelli in all hiser glory. Possibly attaining some kind of affirmative gendered pronoun to attach to said glory. Which may or may not turn out to be accurate from all I hear.
In the meantime, I'll keep on fidgeting and desperately try to get the actual trove of work allotted to me somewhat handled despite my distractions and walk-breaks. Wish me luck!
Ultrasonic Magical Mango Lanugo Lass and the Fonzarelli Follies
Rev up the beat, baby. Yesterday was ultrasound time. That's like Hammer-Time, but with fewer parachute pants. Actually, no pants for Fonzie (scandalous, but useful for some of the ultrasound sleuthing), and just yoga pants for me. Aaaand several trips to the bathroom during a single ultrasound. Whee pregnancy is fun.
Fonzie was facing my spine a lot yesterday. Moving like a caffeinated chihuahua at a rave, but not showing any face or profile. I had to do a number of my own contortions at the instructions of my ever-ambitious ultrasound tech to get a little face and whatever measurements she needed to determine that we have a perfectly normal baby (so far) in the 40th percentile of growth! Thank goodness, we got something as I'm pretty sure the next step was hanging upside down from the ceiling while swallowing the ultrasound wand!
We did get to see the following fetal parlor tricks: double thumbs up again (heeeeeeey), knee in mouth while hands were flailing above the head, clasped prayer hands, hiccups, a little bit of a stretch, and a lot of functioning organs! That was really cool. Close up on the heart and aortic valve. Close up on the brain. Close up on all these skeletal details we've never been able to see before. Little feet!
Little thumbs!
Adorable little kidneys.... And.... yes, close up on the wee one's genitalia (or so the tech assured us. Was a little hard to tell at that angle and resolution). Feel very invasive about that one. It was a straight up the spread-eagle kinda shot.
And yes, the little creature thrashing around inside of me: she's got female anatomy! My ultrasound tech was so certain that this wouldn't change in subsequent ultrasounds or at the birth that she promised to retire if she was wrong. Hope she's not. She doesn't seem quite old enough to retire.
She. Weird. I really would be happy with boy or girl and I don't wanna start running rampant in the pink princess world (oh god, Frozen 2... NOOOOO don't make this just after my child will be born, please!!!). But having a gendered pronoun to refer to Fonzie is kind of... weird, yes, but also amazing. It makes her feel so much more real. I mean, as cute as the little thing is, I still mostly think of her as a particularly active organ in my body, you know? Sure there's a lot of humanoid there, but we still are a ways away from sentience here. Still, she she she she she she makes my little pregnant-lady swollen eyes all misty. (He would have as well, of course)
Let the name gamut begin! I have a long list of names that I've accumulated over times when I was fighting off miscarriage paranoias. Don't know why it soothed me, but it did. They are all composed in strict secret and I'm not sharing with my family or taking input until we find one that works for us. I've been through the family suggestion gamut with my sister's kids. I would just as soon avoid the politics. Announcing a name before the birth feels superstitiously wrong. Plus, it's our kid. Our families will learn to love whatever wacky names we come up with (Thaddea? Hanniballia? Fluffy?)
But I suppose Andrew should have some input too. Sigh. Whatever. I've proposed we make a big list and then take turns whittling it down. Basically a strike list The Bachelor for names, in which a decreasing number of names get a rose each week until week 40 comes around.
Anyways, gender news aside, the even better news is that our little piece of produce is 100% normal and healthy.
And it being happy WEEK 19, we've got more produce from which to pick (only when ripe of course): heirloom tomato, mango (!), and... actually that's it. I tell ya, the produce metaphors are getting slim here! But mango and tomato were popular enough. I'm going for mango. Nummy! Mango Lassi (may or may not be a candidate on the name list of course)
Apparently she is a mango covered in cheesy "vernix" that is greasy and white and spotted with lanugo, so maybe less appetizing. But hey, it's our little bundle of ooze and muck!
And for me? Well, I already talked to the doctor about my delightful burning-blistering skin stuff and have a nice little referral to somebody who might help me. This referral should ensure that it all clears up on its own. And some other issues that I'm sure Andrew was thrilled to hear about in disgusting detail.
In addition, I'm mostly promised a continuation of the same. Heat and heartburn, indigestion, headaches, tearing up at the thought of a gendered pronoun, and just getting that adorable cloasma (the mask of pregnancy - tell me that doesn't sound like a weirdo superhero movie).
Also, of course, there's clumsiness. As evidenced by my evening last night. First upon retrieving a ziploc of forbidden rice (apparently more forbidden than I'd anticipated), I managed to empty about seven cups into the bottom of our freezer. Requiring a crash course in our vacuum cleaner (mostly used by the cleaners). Immediately afterwards, I upended a glass of water Andrew had left on the kitchen counter. Let the games begin, baby!
And I'm even sweatier and hotter than before!
Oh and boy am I more buxom than before. Which isn't saying a lot, but apparently it's enough to make running really interesting. I'd not run since before the fertility treatments. My RE said nonono to it, and once I was knocked up, the first trimester was more or less not really the time to do anything but nap and grouse and fret over baby names to distract myself from various "oh god is that a bad sign" symptoms churled up by my changing body. Now, I'm feeling fine and probably could, but it's so close to when it'll be uncomfortable and it's been so long that it doesn't seem worth revving up again. But yesterday I was doing a test on the treadmill to see if speed was a factor. And I ran. For 8 minutes. And boy does my workout top with built in shelf bra no longer provide adequate support. OUCH!
It didn't work beyond that. I'm a wee bit relieved in the moment, if not disappointed in the long run.
Today it's FRIDAY! I have a blood test and hopefully today the treadmill guy will actually come and tell us what's wrong with the Sole F80. I'd like to know really. Really really. Like my in utero daughter, this chica's gotta move baby!
Chacha into the weekend...
Mud Month Strikes Back Of Moss and Mildew
Ok, it's spring now officially. Forget the unseasonable warmth and clemency of our odd little winter wonder-what-the-heck-happened-land. Perhaps we're not in like lambs and out like lions so much as in like lambs and out like drooling-St.-Bernards. It be soggy this morning, matey! And yesterday for that matter. But it's more notable this morning, since my husband is - of course - out in the middle of it wearing nothing but various layers of spandex and not-super-protective bicycle wrapped under his legs.
Oh yes, "we" got up early for the weekend this morning, because some teammates of his thought it would be "fun" to ride Galbraith at 8 in the morning. I'm sure it would be. Say, in our prior clement winter time. Right now, I think it's probably more like a mud-shower. But I guess dudes like that kind of stuff. Or so I can glean for all the super macho truck adverts that involve riding through lots of mud and mire to a pumpin' awesome soundtrack that oozes testosterone.
I had my fill of the great outdoors when I went out for my shopping this morning. That will really sate me for at least the next few hours. If the weather changes, I reserve the right to change this vote.
Well, this is the weekend before the theoretically big move, which is nervous making. And/or must-leave-the-house-because-everytime-I-am-here-I-feel-overwhelmed making. Except we still haven't gotten a definitive closing date. Of course. So we can't schedule the movers. So... who knows? Going to be interesting trying to find a storage place and a few couches to surf on if things don't go according to plan. But I'm sure it'll all work out. Really. Now, get me outta here! To somewhere indoors...
Happy Saturday! May your days be dry and cozy. Unless you dig miring in the mud, then by all means, join Mr. (W)right up on his mountain trek!
Lucky cultural shenanigans!
Forget moving boxes and possessions. The husband and I are moving our own tooshes from show to show. Yesterday, it was The Wonderhead's Grim and Fischer, live physical theater performed in mask about an elderly lady and the Grim Reaper. Both hilarious and touching, the entire show is a magical bit of old school theater, coordinating physical movement, lighting, sound, and brilliantly crafted masks to make a sweet and touching and utterly engaging show. Although the masks were still and set, they were done in such a way as to capture several emotions, allowing a slight turn off head and a physical gesture to make the expression appear plastic and dynamic! Really super cool! Like live action Pixar (especially Up!) or Wallace and Gromit. We got to stay for a Q&A with the troupe (all three of them) afterwards. Such an interesting calling, but they certainly have embraced it. I would definitely see their other shows and hope to some day. They do tour a lot.
Today we're having our date afternoon in Seattle at the ballet. A Repertory of Forsythe pieces, hooray for repertory performances. They're more engaging. They're typically shorter (only one intermission) and they don't center around happy peasants and princes who can't keep their pants on. A win-win all in all.
Got to culture up our little Fonzie, you know? And maybe those boxes will package themselves while we're off!
Kafka's Treadmill Repair Guys and the Internet Horror
Yesterday was just not workin' for me at work. I came into the office to:
(1) A busted treadmill. This is not news, except the "Treadmill Guy" came out to fix it on Friday and seemed certain (twice!) he had. Which is funny to me because as soon as he left the first time, I tried it. The darned thing died within 4 minutes of use. Apparently he just gets an intuition that things are working and that's enough for him? We called and he came out late in the afternoon to revisit. Apparently - this according to Leslie, as we had left - he ran it a few times, there was an awful smell and then he reported that "it works, but if it has problems again, find the manual because there's a warranty on motor parts and electronics." Basically a brush off to my ears. Or at least a referral back to the recondite labyrinth of customer service people at the Sears/Nordic Track/Sole/Whatever Subsidiary Represents Them Sort Of But Refers to Another Person Anyways (TM) company.
Which is exactly what happened yesterday. Sears refers out to Nordic Trak, who won't deal with anything unless you have some kind of magical "model number" that is not listed anywhere on the device and doesn't sound like any of the several serial numbers and technical identifiers actually on the device and paperwork. Sole has a customer service line, which refers you to Nordic Trak. Sears, once you register the device can tell that you bought it with them and give you part of the model number, but refuses to believe that there's a second part that is absolutely necessary before anyone can even talk to you about a frickin' treadmill. And there should be a five year warranty, but our device is listed as out of warranty. Which is fine, I just want it fixed, but they're so fixated on the warranty, I'm not sure they'll ever be willing to just check the darned thing out for me. I think we have to jump through fire and untie the gordian knot before they're even willing to connect us to somebody who could come out and look at it.
Note to self: NEVER EVER AGAIN buy something from Sear's, Nordic Trak, or Sole. I have no idea if any one else is better, but this is getting into Comcast customer service territory and apparently nobody local can actually do anything for a treadmill other than insist assertively that it's totally fine (just you know, don't put your weight on it).
So I envision that my perfectly high end, warrantied wonderful Sole will become a piece of static furniture from hereonout and if I should ever want a functioning treadmill, I'll have to start scouring Craig's List.
Figures that my treadmill would die in the month that I ceded my gym membership. Fortunately, it's mostly nice enough to at least take a walk outside most days, but I still have plenty of nervous energy to burn off...
...slowly. The pregnancy breath-shortening and slightly strained cardio system doesn't seem to like too much effort on my part, I'm realizing. There were some treacherously steep hills on my walk yesterday that nearly killed me. This is a good lesson for our moving and packing blitz. Be gentle, Adella.
So...
That was one.
Then there was...
(2) Completely isolated work computer. No network access, no drives. Nothing. When this happens it means that unless I want to write little journaled thoughts on the hard drive, I cannot work. All of our documents and programs are stored on the network. My email is on the internet. Even administrative stuff is inaccessible. Not that several hours of rousing solitaire bouts would not be an excellent use of work time, but... well. I'm not even sure this computer has solitaire.
I spent much of the morning sulking and skulking in mom-boss' office. Putatively, I was "helping" get a mediation packet out for tomorrow and insisting we review discovery requests, but mostly I was just desperately trying to justify not leaving the office immediately, buying some boxes and heading home to pack up for the move.
Fortunately Leslie managed to think of the one "reboot something and see if that works" that I hadn't already tried - a router in her office - and although our tech guy swears up and down that should not have worked... it did. Granted we only thought of that after lunch, but we had a nice office lunch in the meantime, so it was a generally successful day. Mostly. Except for the inutile treadmill, which persistently taunts me.
Not the most propitious of Monday starts. Although I did have an excellent time at the blood draw place (once a month versus once every two days - I could dig this pregnancy stuff) before coming in to work. They exsanguinated me efficiently and had me on my way within a few minutes. Wasn't even all that late to my utter inutile workspace!
I did really quite nearly give up and go home to start packing...
Speaking of which, we are signing stuff TOMORROW!! This is really very exciting. There had been a bit of bank radio silence going on the last week or so, as our closing date loomed. Afraid to jinx it, we opted not to actually set up anything with the movers. I suspect it's too late now, so I guess I might have to stay home some time next week for a while, but I am really hoping we can at least start moving this weekend. Andrew is going to get some boxes from EI and Leslie may bring some in from her semi-recent move. Really, I really absolutely will start packing ... soon
But not today. Today I'm having lunch with one friend and dinner with another. Lord knows why my generally spacious social calendar fulcrummed on a single day, but it just works better this way. Andrew has his trainerosaurus this evening, so it's the perfect night to go out to dinner. And this was just the best day for a work break.
But soon. Maybe ... after date night? Hmmm. Wait after signing? Thursday? Some time?? Maybe???
Ah whatever, at least I can work again.
She. Weird. I really would be happy with boy or girl and I don't wanna start running rampant in the pink princess world (oh god, Frozen 2... NOOOOO don't make this just after my child will be born, please!!!). But having a gendered pronoun to refer to Fonzie is kind of... weird, yes, but also amazing. It makes her feel so much more real. I mean, as cute as the little thing is, I still mostly think of her as a particularly active organ in my body, you know? Sure there's a lot of humanoid there, but we still are a ways away from sentience here. Still, she she she she she she makes my little pregnant-lady swollen eyes all misty. (He would have as well, of course)
Let the name gamut begin! I have a long list of names that I've accumulated over times when I was fighting off miscarriage paranoias. Don't know why it soothed me, but it did. They are all composed in strict secret and I'm not sharing with my family or taking input until we find one that works for us. I've been through the family suggestion gamut with my sister's kids. I would just as soon avoid the politics. Announcing a name before the birth feels superstitiously wrong. Plus, it's our kid. Our families will learn to love whatever wacky names we come up with (Thaddea? Hanniballia? Fluffy?)
But I suppose Andrew should have some input too. Sigh. Whatever. I've proposed we make a big list and then take turns whittling it down. Basically a strike list The Bachelor for names, in which a decreasing number of names get a rose each week until week 40 comes around.
Anyways, gender news aside, the even better news is that our little piece of produce is 100% normal and healthy.
And it being happy WEEK 19, we've got more produce from which to pick (only when ripe of course): heirloom tomato, mango (!), and... actually that's it. I tell ya, the produce metaphors are getting slim here! But mango and tomato were popular enough. I'm going for mango. Nummy! Mango Lassi (may or may not be a candidate on the name list of course)
Apparently she is a mango covered in cheesy "vernix" that is greasy and white and spotted with lanugo, so maybe less appetizing. But hey, it's our little bundle of ooze and muck!
And for me? Well, I already talked to the doctor about my delightful burning-blistering skin stuff and have a nice little referral to somebody who might help me. This referral should ensure that it all clears up on its own. And some other issues that I'm sure Andrew was thrilled to hear about in disgusting detail.
In addition, I'm mostly promised a continuation of the same. Heat and heartburn, indigestion, headaches, tearing up at the thought of a gendered pronoun, and just getting that adorable cloasma (the mask of pregnancy - tell me that doesn't sound like a weirdo superhero movie).
Also, of course, there's clumsiness. As evidenced by my evening last night. First upon retrieving a ziploc of forbidden rice (apparently more forbidden than I'd anticipated), I managed to empty about seven cups into the bottom of our freezer. Requiring a crash course in our vacuum cleaner (mostly used by the cleaners). Immediately afterwards, I upended a glass of water Andrew had left on the kitchen counter. Let the games begin, baby!
And I'm even sweatier and hotter than before!
Oh and boy am I more buxom than before. Which isn't saying a lot, but apparently it's enough to make running really interesting. I'd not run since before the fertility treatments. My RE said nonono to it, and once I was knocked up, the first trimester was more or less not really the time to do anything but nap and grouse and fret over baby names to distract myself from various "oh god is that a bad sign" symptoms churled up by my changing body. Now, I'm feeling fine and probably could, but it's so close to when it'll be uncomfortable and it's been so long that it doesn't seem worth revving up again. But yesterday I was doing a test on the treadmill to see if speed was a factor. And I ran. For 8 minutes. And boy does my workout top with built in shelf bra no longer provide adequate support. OUCH!
It didn't work beyond that. I'm a wee bit relieved in the moment, if not disappointed in the long run.
Today it's FRIDAY! I have a blood test and hopefully today the treadmill guy will actually come and tell us what's wrong with the Sole F80. I'd like to know really. Really really. Like my in utero daughter, this chica's gotta move baby!
Chacha into the weekend...
Mud Month Strikes Back Of Moss and Mildew
Ok, it's spring now officially. Forget the unseasonable warmth and clemency of our odd little winter wonder-what-the-heck-happened-land. Perhaps we're not in like lambs and out like lions so much as in like lambs and out like drooling-St.-Bernards. It be soggy this morning, matey! And yesterday for that matter. But it's more notable this morning, since my husband is - of course - out in the middle of it wearing nothing but various layers of spandex and not-super-protective bicycle wrapped under his legs.
Oh yes, "we" got up early for the weekend this morning, because some teammates of his thought it would be "fun" to ride Galbraith at 8 in the morning. I'm sure it would be. Say, in our prior clement winter time. Right now, I think it's probably more like a mud-shower. But I guess dudes like that kind of stuff. Or so I can glean for all the super macho truck adverts that involve riding through lots of mud and mire to a pumpin' awesome soundtrack that oozes testosterone.
I had my fill of the great outdoors when I went out for my shopping this morning. That will really sate me for at least the next few hours. If the weather changes, I reserve the right to change this vote.
Well, this is the weekend before the theoretically big move, which is nervous making. And/or must-leave-the-house-because-everytime-I-am-here-I-feel-overwhelmed making. Except we still haven't gotten a definitive closing date. Of course. So we can't schedule the movers. So... who knows? Going to be interesting trying to find a storage place and a few couches to surf on if things don't go according to plan. But I'm sure it'll all work out. Really. Now, get me outta here! To somewhere indoors...
Happy Saturday! May your days be dry and cozy. Unless you dig miring in the mud, then by all means, join Mr. (W)right up on his mountain trek!
Lucky cultural shenanigans!
Forget moving boxes and possessions. The husband and I are moving our own tooshes from show to show. Yesterday, it was The Wonderhead's Grim and Fischer, live physical theater performed in mask about an elderly lady and the Grim Reaper. Both hilarious and touching, the entire show is a magical bit of old school theater, coordinating physical movement, lighting, sound, and brilliantly crafted masks to make a sweet and touching and utterly engaging show. Although the masks were still and set, they were done in such a way as to capture several emotions, allowing a slight turn off head and a physical gesture to make the expression appear plastic and dynamic! Really super cool! Like live action Pixar (especially Up!) or Wallace and Gromit. We got to stay for a Q&A with the troupe (all three of them) afterwards. Such an interesting calling, but they certainly have embraced it. I would definitely see their other shows and hope to some day. They do tour a lot.
Today we're having our date afternoon in Seattle at the ballet. A Repertory of Forsythe pieces, hooray for repertory performances. They're more engaging. They're typically shorter (only one intermission) and they don't center around happy peasants and princes who can't keep their pants on. A win-win all in all.
Got to culture up our little Fonzie, you know? And maybe those boxes will package themselves while we're off!
Kafka's Treadmill Repair Guys and the Internet Horror
Yesterday was just not workin' for me at work. I came into the office to:
(1) A busted treadmill. This is not news, except the "Treadmill Guy" came out to fix it on Friday and seemed certain (twice!) he had. Which is funny to me because as soon as he left the first time, I tried it. The darned thing died within 4 minutes of use. Apparently he just gets an intuition that things are working and that's enough for him? We called and he came out late in the afternoon to revisit. Apparently - this according to Leslie, as we had left - he ran it a few times, there was an awful smell and then he reported that "it works, but if it has problems again, find the manual because there's a warranty on motor parts and electronics." Basically a brush off to my ears. Or at least a referral back to the recondite labyrinth of customer service people at the Sears/Nordic Track/Sole/Whatever Subsidiary Represents Them Sort Of But Refers to Another Person Anyways (TM) company.
Which is exactly what happened yesterday. Sears refers out to Nordic Trak, who won't deal with anything unless you have some kind of magical "model number" that is not listed anywhere on the device and doesn't sound like any of the several serial numbers and technical identifiers actually on the device and paperwork. Sole has a customer service line, which refers you to Nordic Trak. Sears, once you register the device can tell that you bought it with them and give you part of the model number, but refuses to believe that there's a second part that is absolutely necessary before anyone can even talk to you about a frickin' treadmill. And there should be a five year warranty, but our device is listed as out of warranty. Which is fine, I just want it fixed, but they're so fixated on the warranty, I'm not sure they'll ever be willing to just check the darned thing out for me. I think we have to jump through fire and untie the gordian knot before they're even willing to connect us to somebody who could come out and look at it.
Note to self: NEVER EVER AGAIN buy something from Sear's, Nordic Trak, or Sole. I have no idea if any one else is better, but this is getting into Comcast customer service territory and apparently nobody local can actually do anything for a treadmill other than insist assertively that it's totally fine (just you know, don't put your weight on it).
So I envision that my perfectly high end, warrantied wonderful Sole will become a piece of static furniture from hereonout and if I should ever want a functioning treadmill, I'll have to start scouring Craig's List.
Figures that my treadmill would die in the month that I ceded my gym membership. Fortunately, it's mostly nice enough to at least take a walk outside most days, but I still have plenty of nervous energy to burn off...
...slowly. The pregnancy breath-shortening and slightly strained cardio system doesn't seem to like too much effort on my part, I'm realizing. There were some treacherously steep hills on my walk yesterday that nearly killed me. This is a good lesson for our moving and packing blitz. Be gentle, Adella.
So...
That was one.
Then there was...
(2) Completely isolated work computer. No network access, no drives. Nothing. When this happens it means that unless I want to write little journaled thoughts on the hard drive, I cannot work. All of our documents and programs are stored on the network. My email is on the internet. Even administrative stuff is inaccessible. Not that several hours of rousing solitaire bouts would not be an excellent use of work time, but... well. I'm not even sure this computer has solitaire.
I spent much of the morning sulking and skulking in mom-boss' office. Putatively, I was "helping" get a mediation packet out for tomorrow and insisting we review discovery requests, but mostly I was just desperately trying to justify not leaving the office immediately, buying some boxes and heading home to pack up for the move.
Fortunately Leslie managed to think of the one "reboot something and see if that works" that I hadn't already tried - a router in her office - and although our tech guy swears up and down that should not have worked... it did. Granted we only thought of that after lunch, but we had a nice office lunch in the meantime, so it was a generally successful day. Mostly. Except for the inutile treadmill, which persistently taunts me.
Not the most propitious of Monday starts. Although I did have an excellent time at the blood draw place (once a month versus once every two days - I could dig this pregnancy stuff) before coming in to work. They exsanguinated me efficiently and had me on my way within a few minutes. Wasn't even all that late to my utter inutile workspace!
I did really quite nearly give up and go home to start packing...
Speaking of which, we are signing stuff TOMORROW!! This is really very exciting. There had been a bit of bank radio silence going on the last week or so, as our closing date loomed. Afraid to jinx it, we opted not to actually set up anything with the movers. I suspect it's too late now, so I guess I might have to stay home some time next week for a while, but I am really hoping we can at least start moving this weekend. Andrew is going to get some boxes from EI and Leslie may bring some in from her semi-recent move. Really, I really absolutely will start packing ... soon
But not today. Today I'm having lunch with one friend and dinner with another. Lord knows why my generally spacious social calendar fulcrummed on a single day, but it just works better this way. Andrew has his trainerosaurus this evening, so it's the perfect night to go out to dinner. And this was just the best day for a work break.
But soon. Maybe ... after date night? Hmmm. Wait after signing? Thursday? Some time?? Maybe???
Ah whatever, at least I can work again.
No comments:
Post a Comment