The whole feeling better thing was a complete psych out. I still feel like crap. I’ve now lost my voice. (Save the wise cracks) And my sinuses are imploding like a big black hole. I’m sure of it.

But enough whining. Really. I mean how much whining can one girl do about being sick?

Oh Gentle Reader, you’d be *so* amazed.

I had hoped to spend today in bed, but I got cornered into a play date for Dinara yesterday at the dance. We all know how much I love playdates. But ReciproGuilt kicked in you see. So I’ll be doing that a few hours today. Hopefully, John can handle most of it so I don’t infect the poor kid.

The dance was fun. John and I tried to do the Macarena. I think we put a little too much hip in the swish before the jump. We looked ridiculous but had fun. Noah asked me to dance and I danced several dances with him. The boy has rhythm. And he can do a mean Twist. I danced one dance with Dinara but she truthfully was more interested in running off with her friends then dancing. And Emma and I mastered the Chicken Dance. Ahhhh the memories.

Emma got a pedometer from Gramma and lost it at the dance last night. Much drama ensued. We’ll be buying her another one because it was very motivating for exercise. Hopefully, it will turn up before I shell out money for a new one. But I suspect some kid will just pocket it.

Today is actually Em’s birthday. She left this morning for Girl Scout Encampment. So I’m missing her. It’s sad that she’s gone on her birthday. This time, eight years ago I was in the hospital cursing my mom for convincing me that my labor would not be more then 4 hours. You see no one in our family’s labor had been more then 4 hours. So I was drug free, expecting this baby to appear anytime. Yeah…well, Emma didn’t make her entrance till 8:30pm. She had a mighty big head and turns out my hips aren’t quite as big as they appear. Heh. It was a long day. Filled with failed epidurals, a morphine spinal that made me puke every 20 minutes, and culminating into a forceps delivery. And once she was here? She was the perfect baby. She was so tiny, so beautiful, and such a miracle.

It’s been eight years. Eight. Time is speeding up. It’s like the velocity of time has increased with age. Like a snowball rolling down hill, picking up speed as it gets bigger.

I wonder if there is some physics theory about that. I wonder if it’s all these sinus drugs that are making me think about the velocity of time?

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