On Tuesday night I burned my finger. I was cooking enchiladas in the oven and when I reached in to pull the tray out one finger slipped and landed right on the rack. I’ve never been burned before and I must say the pain was quite spectacular. It radiated down into my whole hand and it felt like the fingers around the burnt one were on fire. The next day I was surprised to see nothing but a raised patch of white skin but my father assures me it was a deep burn, so I don’t feel like such a wimp.
I hate cooking. I’m so tired of cooking. I miss the days when I ate microwaveable foods and other such junk and didn’t worry excessively over how much and how often. In fact, one of the things I remember most about being pregnant with Tristan was the constant need to plan and prepare healthy meals. Numerous meals.
I’m a little more relaxed this time around but still, sometimes the societal pressure to maintain an ideal body type gets to me. Which is silly because everyone has their own ideal. I’m referring of course to people who comment on how thin I am. If you ask me, my sister Carissa’s crazy hourglass figure is ideal. Maybe that’s why I’m so sensitive to critical remarks about my weight. I come from a family of strong, sturdy types and by comparison I’ve always felt so damned frail. It really does fascinate me, though, how many people are unable to allow for the vast spectrum of ideals that exists outside their own. Just sayin’.
Tristan’s bedding came a few days back and it’s so cute! As I suspected, Tristan is not at all interested in such material details, but I LOVE it. I bought him some cute Spongebob pajamas on Tuesday since most of his pj’s are boring. He’s such a smiley little devil!
Today I finally got out of the house without my Booger attached to me. Carissa picked me up and we drove to El Dorado to see a movie. It was good to get out. When I called my father this morning to confirm he was babysitting he made his usual fuss about being tired and achey and every other excuse he could think of but I kept my cool and finally asked “So, are you coming?” to which he grudgingly responded “Yeah, yeah…” He’s an infuriating person to deal with but for his troubles I’ll refrain from saying things to him like “Why are there chips in Tristan’s bed?” and “The bathroom door needs to stay closed at all times!” and “Now his schedule is messed up! Good god man! Think about the schedule!” once he gets back here with my boy. Control. I suppose it must be relinquished from time to time.
I should have went out to a restaurant before coming home. Carissa was hungry but I didn’t feel like spending more money and, of course, I had a strong urge to get back to Tristan. Now my dad is out with Tristan and I’m here writing this blog entry. I suppose I should do something. Or just kick back and enjoy the silence.
Good to get out. Good to get home.
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