the doctor was running behind and i spent much time circling the small hallway and allowing dr clark to entertain oliver with a pink panther wearing breast cancer awareness socks, a drug rep's red and white, over-sized foam capsule and a book called the 12 dogs of christmas. spoiler!: when you're expecting the twelve dogs, all you get is a cat!
so doctor culpepper strolled in and cooed over the baby's curls while he sat in his booster chair on the floor shoveling toasty o's into his piehole like he was an ethiopian refugee. she was fresh back from maternity leave with her second daughter and i told her brian and i were doing it with condoms. it always feels so weird to imply to your doctor that you're doing it. she was lickety split with the actual exam and i told her i hoped oliver wouldn't be psychologically damaged by being present for his mother's pap smear. she told me i'm due for some kind of baseline mammogram. what?! why wasn't i notified? i wasn't supposed to come due for a mammogram until we drove spaceships instead of cars and someone had managed to replace mammograms with something far less barbaric. she confirmed it was still the boob-squishing kind and i have no idea if i have to have them yearly now or not. gads.
i would like to make friends with doctor culpepper, but i will have to wait another year to try and woo her.
so i finally got out of there and the baby was all at loose ends and super grumpy after i woke him up from his riding-home nap. he nursed three boobs for forty minutes and still wouldn't fall asleep. or get down and play. grumpy, grumpy, grumpy.
the baby was called a girl at least three times. he was wearing a medium blue lap tee and monster drawers. and breck girl curls.
since darren was busy saturday night celebrating his lover's belated birthday, he took me out tonight. if i'm not mistaken, he has spent each of the last four birthday's by my side, but it was not in the cards this year. maybe that's why things felt a little off saturday.
so he ignored his usual throbbing head and picked me up after work. he came bearing gifts. i had an inkling that he might get me one of the gifts he got me. it was something i'd emailed him about a month ago asking for his approval. he knew i'd hem and haw forever and never end up buying it myself. it was a bag from etsy where these danish people sew vintage fabric on to the front of these army bags. it's fancy and my poor, black purse i'd been carrying the five years before the diaperpurse deserved an official retirement.
inside, there was a lush gift certificate, a copy of amy sedaris' i like you: hospitality under the influence (which i'd completely forgotten we'd agreed he would give me since he had an extra copy), and a vintage asian shelf sitter planter.
after darren's maiden voyage to roti grill, we managed to get a table at the meridian room. we strayed from the beaten path. i ordered a mojito and a delirium while darren (after his usual martini with a twist) got the pimm's cup with cucumber garnish and a salty dog.
i arrived home smelling like a cigarette.
is quinoa designed to clean out your intestines with its little sprouting bits? because something is afoul in my gut since having boxed tomato quinoa pilaf last night and red quinoa with lunch today. my intestines are feeling swept clean and often in an urgent way. the last round was fancy and poppyseed looking. there. that's my drunk post. are you sorry you asked for it now?