Breakfast at Charly’s

Sorry about the Chandler flashback but my chest is puffed out more than Jessica Simpson wearing a padded push-up bra on the third day of her cycle. My baby, Gracie, had her first recital today. Lord of lords she was the most freaking adorable thing on the planet. Yeah, she sucks at playing but dammit if she doesn’t try and she loved every minute of it. I was so proud of her because she tries and she keeps going back for the sheer love of doing. I love that about kids and miss that as an adult–doing whatever just because you love it. It’s times like these that remind me that it’s okay to suck at something; all that matters is that you love doing it and it brings you joy. And inevitably the more you love something the more you do it and the better you get at it. Learn something, people, and learn it from my ever-so-wise blog.

No, I didn’t make an appointment for my doc today but I did cancel my hair appointment. My half-inch roots are blinding in the sun but I had to forgo my beloved touch-up for the love of my daughter and to do that support thing you’re supposed to do as a parent. I do, however, have a new appointment on Saturday which Iain’s soccer, sadly, will not keep me from. If I could’ve I would’ve made it for later in the day but, alas, it was not meant to be (it’s okay if I use that platitude with soccer but not with the house stuff–got it?).

As for the doctor, I really do have to call tomorrow. The sore throat is still lingering and the cough is still hanging around (although nothing I’d run to the urgent care about). Why the hell can’t I stay healthy lately? Sure, over the years I’ve had your run of the mill stuff–colds, runny nose and other unmentionables–but I haven’t had things like the flu and bronchitis since before I was pregnant with Iain. I was hoping that change of body chemistry got rid of the yearly pulmonary-fest but it seems that ship has sailed back to Tuberculosis Harbor. Oh well. Now I can again compete in the “You Think You’ve Got it Bad? Well, Let Me Tell You . . . ” games. My one-upmanship is unparalleled. Don’t even bother telling me about your labor or your c-section because unless you’ve had 64.5 hours of back labor and a section with a classical cut making you look like you have an ass in the front, you ain’t got nothin’ on me. (See? I always win.)