Sunday afternoon

A slight damp-cold day has turned into a beautiful spring, 55 F and sunny afternoon. My baby girl, poor thing, must still be sick, what with the phenomenal poo she had this morning, the small appetite and now going into her 4th hour of napping. She never does this. Not this long. And I heard another splurt from her (and the smell) about an hour ago and wonder when do I wake her up to just change the diaper so this doesn't turn into a rash, too?

Four hours. I've gotten a nap (I'm a bit sick, too, I guess, tired after a 2 hour nap and good night of sleep). M has gotten a nap. I'm writing in my blog on a Sunday with no babysitter in sight. I have a non-instant coffee. M and I have made some lists and decisions about something other than the next 2 hours. I've had a chance to sit with my Oprah magazine (can I tell you how excited I get everytime it arrives here? So American, without being all about celebrities and fashion and sex quizzes. And the book section practically summons my Kindle out of the drawer it inhabits.), and decide I'm not in the mood to read it. Yes, I'm sick, too.

I flip some colorful pages and wonder why the magazine has so many beauty product advertisers when it also contains so much "love yourself the way you are" writing. The writing I like, the ads make me a bit tired.

Crows and magpies sit on still-bare branches outside the living room window, so from the chaise that has broken free of the sofa and come to the corner, I can still see the city and the lake. In summer that won't be true, anymore. But then dinners, and afternoon baths, will provide all the contentment instead.

Four hours. I've watered the tulip bulbs that came home from Amsterdam. And I have a bit-too-hot bath tub waiting, bubbles and all, to clean that little bum when it wakes up. Sunlight warms my legs through the window. The door to the balcony is open for the pupper to come and go as she pleases on such a warm afternoon.

I hear a tiny cry. Time to go washa-wahsa.