Of July

July.

July for me is a tried and true month. Deaths, usually. But birthdays always. I've never had an uneventful July. How about that.

I took to the scale today. The first time, in let's be honest, a long time. And I wasn't that shocked when the digits that popped up were the same. I'm so use to seeing them when I look down, they are the number equivalent to the casting of my shadow. That's good though. That's really good. Having pushed the big 2-0-0 at the height of my pregnancy, being back to where I started ten months later is a pretty good feeling.

Things are changing faster now. Time's in a hurry to slip by. Some one has broken the hour glass and the grains of sand are spilling out over the tile like the tide is rolling in.

Aida won't nurse. Started this week. I can't decide if it's because the promise of her upper teeth are pushing like two fat people at an all you can eat buffet or if because it's closing time at the milk bar. Either way, I'm backing to pumping. A past time that isn't as hated as it once was but won't be missed after the next two months put us on the road to separation.

I'm tossing around an idea. Nothing will come of it, more likely than not. But the possibility that of a 'might' is enough to have me making plans this weekend. I'm not sure what's in my head. We shall see.

Until next time, Blog o mine.