The State of the Offspring

In order of birth . . .

Cubby is done with preschool for the year and was so, so excited for a "Nature and Art" day camp he was supposed to do this week. They were going to build shelters! Forage for wild edibles! I got him his very own (disposable) camera! OH, THE JOY.

Then he spent last night intermittently crying because his stomach hurt and he couldn't sleep. He got up this morning thoroughly wretched, feverish, and definitely in no condition to build shelters or anything else. I'm hoping for a speedy recovery today so he can go to the camp tomorrow, or else my heart might just break from his disappointment.

Charlie is a right little pisser when his brother is sick. He senses his advantage and brutally capitalizes on the weakness, jumping on Cubby's head, running off with Cubby's tea, pulling the blanket off of Cubby's prone form. What he really hates, however, is when Cubby claims my lap. Hell hath no fury like Charlie denied his rightful lap spot. He's going to be a real peach when this new baby arrives, I can already see. And speaking of that . . .

Winston is the in-utero name bestowed upon this unfortunate child by A. I must assume it's in homage to Churchill, of whom A. is a fan. This, despite the fact that we don't know the sex and won't for another couple of months.

Anyway. Winston is due on December 20, which is . . . well, I won't pretend I'm thrilled about this. As one of the unfortunates with a birthday near Christmas (mine is two days after), I can attest to the suckage. We can only hope Winston comes ten days early like Cubby did. December 10 isn't so bad. I won't even contemplate being overdue by, say, five days. No.

And that brings you all up to date. Now if I may be excused, I have some gestating to do in the form of inhaling an unhealthy quantity of Fig Newtons. Peace out.