2001-12-06
Too tired to write much. It's been a long day. When I woke at 9, B was about to leave for the old house. I did some stuff here--cleaned the kitchen, did some laundry, fed and walked the dogs--and met him there around 11. I helped a little, doing a little spackling, but I felt like such a lummox. Everything I did I did slowly and awkwardly. I know this is temporary--I hope it is temporary--but it scares me a little, leaves me feeling nostalgic for when I was young and spry. You know, a few weeks ago.
I made a run to the hardware store and to pick up lunch. After we ate I did some cleaning. Then, because I'd gotten the wrong thing at the hardware store, I made another trip. Got the right thing but forgot something else B had asked me to get. (I believe this is known as pregnancy brain.) As I drove around I listened to Hannibal, the book on tape from the library.
Finally I left him at the house so I could come home and let the dogs out and start dinner. I put chicken in the oven and got into the hot tub. Then I got out and made a salad and prepared string beans for steaming. B got home soon after. We ate, watching more Sopranos episodes. And now, soon, to bed. Tomorrow, I predict, more of the same.
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