The kid's sick. Coughing bad, up about six times last night, hitting the inhaler. She sucks at blowing her nose which means she slurps it all in which means she pukes it back up. So whatever I intended to do today it better incorporate a sick four-year-old.

Found myself last night spinning myself into worrying it was Cystic Fibrosis. It's not. It's a cold. But it sure gives you pause because for some parents out there, it is Cystic Fibrosis and goddamn that must be a 20-year-ride of heartbreak and terror. This kid? This kid had a peanut scare last week but she puked it back up rather than getting airway shit like she used to. And she's had some truly terrifying bouts of croup but she's never scored over a three and you gotta get to like eight before anybody worries.

“Making the decision to have a child - it's momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking outside your body.”

- Elizabeth Stone

I think Ms. Stone was talking about emotions but fuckin'A the hard part is how goddamn fragile they are. I mean, fuck.

We've got an open house not this weekend, but next weekend. $1400 worth of catered munchies. Invites and schmoozing and all things wonderful. It's almost the point where I can consider the damn thing done; we've got two women vying to be the first to have a baby in there and the front-runner is showing no signs while the runner up appears to be warming up. Which, hey - the front runner is the hot one. Any birth photography will be hella better.

Fucked up my leg three weeks ago, probably by not stretching for ten years and being 42. Being able to run only every other day or so caused me to gain seven pounds in three weeks. Went to get my blood tests done; all normal. Doctor asked if I was relieved; I told her that it took me three weeks to gain back what it took me a year to lose when I'm only running five miles a week and that I found that frustrating as hell, actually. She tried to suggest (again) it's probably because I'm having three frappuccinos a day and when I suggested that no, I actually understand nutrition and have been maintaining a diet diary since 2011 I think I finally cracked through. So now I've got an appointment with a nutritionist, a follow-up with an endocrinologist in the referrals and blood tests to explore the idea that I have a pituitary tumor. Second physical therapy appointment is tomorrow. My insurance is paying for someone to teach me how to run again because fuckin' A my waistline depends on it.

Got a gift certificate for a massage for Christmas. It's a nice lady whom my mother-in-law has probably given $10k to over the past ten years. She's a great massage therapist, but she's also a yoga instructor. So I traded my massage certificate for a yoga certificate and went yesterday. There's a world of difference between doing yoga as intended and the gymbro buttrock-fueled Bikram bullshit I ended up doing last year.