Blerck. Gack. I'm feeling all twisted and unhappy this am. Hate my job. Hate. I don't know why, though. Because it's a nice job, it really is. I'm just not in the mood. I'm not in the mood for this office. I'm not in the mood for the chicken sandwich I'm going to have to buy for lunch because I freaked out this morning (I'm late! I have to leave my baby and I DON'T WANT TO! I didn't make coffee!) and couldn't figure out how to take the damned delicious soup Jeff made in with me. It needed a container of some kind for to heat it up for lunch. That, my friends, was beyond my powers this morning. What was I saying? Oh yes. I'm not in the mood to pump. I'm not in the mood to advertise for this stupid speech contest that I am apparently the boss of for the whole school (how the fuck does this happen to me?). I'm not in the mood to be wearing these clothes (complete with three different spit up stains. But I ain't got no other clothes--I have not, unlike everyone else in the world, lost all of my pregnancy weight justlikethat (which is very annoying on many levels), and therefore have an extremely limited wardrobe at present. Our washer, also, is on the brink and stupid Maytag (aren't they supposed to be, I don't know, RELIABLE or something?) has been not sending our part for about three weeks). I'm not in the mood to teach, fo sho.

Here's what I'm in the mood for: My baby is already a big kid. When did this happen? These pictures are from two weeks ago, at least. He's already 2 feet taller and 20 pounds heavier. He likes to carry me around in his pocket.

Ossie likes: to lay on his back on my legs and let his head dangle down almost to the ground and say things like, "ahhhhhhh" whilst he does so; to gaze lovingly at ceiling fans; to pretend jump up and down; to laugh at Basho; to laugh at Jeff; to nurse; to swing; to look in the refrigerator (he gave this big sigh of contentment last night after I finished explaining to him everything in there. He was rapt); to walk around outside; to get dressed; to get his diaper changed; to talk; to laugh; to meet new people. Ossie ain't got no time for: car rides, books, bottles, being alone, sitting still.

Well hell. I have to go teach in a minute. Dorothy Wordsworth & Anna Laetitia Barbauld with a dash of Mary Wollstonecraft thrown in for good measure. Ossie would hate it.