Today marks the 16 weeks of Baby Moo's development. Surprisingly, or not surprisingly, yesterday was the first day I made it through without one of my little magic pills. I had been rationing them, saving them for the creeping malaise that always seemed to arrive at 1pm in the afternoon.
I feel SO much better. And as I walked home yesterday, walked, not shuffled, I realized that. Of course, then I panicked. Now what?
Because I'm a Lutheran-raised Midwesterner who was brought up not to put on airs and that hard work really was its own reward and warned not to get too self-satisfied because, really, who did I think I was? I look at the world with a particular slant which is common to people who didn't grow up in a culture that told you you were "special" and made sure every kid got a blue ribbon on their art project. Even the kid that ate his stale macaroni necklace.
It's known as "waiting for the other shoe to drop". In other words, don't get too comfortable.
But it was difficult not to enjoy not feeling like death on wheels. So when I turned the corner and walked into the alley to the backyard I saw Matt come driving up the alley from the other direction. But instead of waving like a normal person, I turned around, bent over, and pretended to moon him. I shook my butt like a disturbed baboon at the zoo.
He drove up and stuck his head out the window. "Well, it looks like SOMEONE is feeling better."
Yes, yes I am. How on earth did you know?