Counting

Counting my blessings for the sheer purpose of not LOSING IT ENTIRELY.


Trial: Annalise dumping seltzer water into the top of the cable box, rendering it dead as a doornail and hissing softly. Blessing: More quiet time. Dave says it feels peaceful.

Trial: Uncomfortably, enormously, unattractively, RIDICULOUSLY still pregnant. Blessing: Able to nap when Annalise naps. Currently not being woken 75 times a night. Haven't had to go through that torturous thing called labor yet. No one nursing off me day and night.

Trial: Dishwasher missing two front wheels on top rack, so you have to hold it up when you load and unload dishes. Also so loud you can't hear yourself think when it's on. Also it's from 1962 or whenever dishwashers were first invented. Blessing: It washes about 3/4 of the dishes in each load pretty well, and and sometimes the top rack doesn't go collapsing and crashing into the bottom one, breaking our stuff.

Trial: My phone needs a new battery so ridiculously that a full charge lasts less than an hour. Blessing: I always have a good excuse to get right off.

Side note: Late pregnancy's greatest irony: The desire to scrub areas heretofore never considered, while too large to recover if such scrubbing positions were ever assumed.