Monday, after 2 beers

At some point, I started thinking it was a bad thing to toot my own horn.  I still want to toot my own horn, I just am scared to do it and feel as if wanting to toot it makes me a bad person somehow.

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I love my life, every moment and every aspect of it.  I am aware every moment of how fortunate I am to live in this envelope of safety and security.  I am aware always that it could be taken from me in a moment, but I live as if I know that that will never happen to us - I complain because I am lazily secure in the false knowledge of our imaginary protected status.

"Bad things happen to other people, and that is so horrible.  That goodness that isn't us," she arrogantly thought as she gave her husband the side-eye, shooting him with daggers of anger over the still-full sink of dirty dishes.  I mean, he was home an hour before her!  What did he do - relax?! 

Good lord, the stupid shit I invent to be pissed off about.  As if we're going to be here forever.  As if we have time to argue over the fucking dishes.

Fuck a little dirt, right?

Getting to the end.

Geneva didn't ask for milkies this morning.

There is absolutely no reason I should feel melancholy about this.  But here I am, all wistful and a little sad.

I know she's not done, that tomorrow will be back to the status quo and I'll be annoyed and wish she would just wean herself already.

But one day she will be done, and she will wean herself, and I will miss all those times for all those years when it was just sweet bonding.

Parenting is so confusing.