“Megalocephalic Infant” Doesn’t Have the Same Ring.

I exercised yesterday for the first time in…well, in a long time, ok? So maybe it’s been a while. WHAT’S IT TO YOU?
The “eat less” part of losing weight is crushing my spirit and I thought I would approach the problem—the problem being, of course, MY ASS—from another direction (Behind?). Focusing on exercise seems like an especially good idea because it isn’t so much the size of my body that bothers me as the shape it is in. Or isn’t.
The point is, I exercised, and it was just as I remembered: painful and exhilarating. Afterward, my poor legs trembled—probably with fear that I would make them do another godforsaken plie—but I felt insufferably pleased with myself, and as if I probably deserved a pie for dinner, possibly a bacon and peach pie with salted caramel ice cream. I just made that up, and the fact that it sounds good should make it clear that my dinner last night was not entirely satisfying. It wasn’t spelt based, or anything, just not the cheesy orgy I felt I deserved after lifting my arms all the way over my head.
Today, however, my legs ache mightily and I am feeling disinclined to move, and thus I have remembered another aspect of exercise that has flummoxed me in the past: what do you do the day after? I don’t know that I could do the same workout again today without a handful of Percoset, and yet I should like to make exercising a daily routine. If I do something entirely different this afternoon, will I still be making progress, or do you need to keep at the same thing for a bit to see results?

On an entirely unrelated note, have you seen the insurance commercial featuring an old man who travels via giant umbrella? For those of you who have not seen it, Old Man Umbrella wanders about helping people, and at one point he happens upon a forest where two tow-headed moppets have broken their bicycle chain. Why they are bicycling in a forest is a matter for another time.
“Well, what’s going on here!?” asks the old man, chortling like a jolly, jolly sex offender. He offers them an umbrella ride home, which they stupidly accept. We don’t see what happens next, but I am certain it involves a child’s blood spattered foot protruding from the underbrush, and the familiar strains of the Law & Order theme song. Did no one ever tell these children not to accept a ride from any strange old man, regardless of how rosy his cheeks or large his umbrella? Do I have to specify to Simone that an unfamiliar person with a magical conveyance still qualifies as STRANGER DANGER?

In other news, I am writing a book. I wasn’t going to say anything, because I am a little embarrassed—I mean really, isn’t every asshole who’s ever taken a creative writing workshop writing a book? —but also because if nobody knows I’m writing a book, no one can sigh and shake his or her head in a disappointed fashion if I fail. But that strategy hasn’t worked so well for me in the past, and I am thinking a little accountability in this area wouldn’t be a bad thing. After all, I have never missed a freelance deadline, presumably because I treat that writing like a job, and not some equivalent of building model trains or collecting milk glass. So yes. Writing a book. Don’t get too excited, though, I have no book deal, and it may be that this manuscript never sees the outside of my apartment. Still, I’m writing it. For sport. For kicks, as the kids say.

Also exciting: I uncovered the purpose of the soft spot on an infant’s skull. Now that the apnea monitor is gone, I get a bit nervous when Simone is asleep at night, nervous that she may actually be sleeping THE SLEEP OF DEATH. I am loath to wake her by turning on the light to check her color, because possible wee corpse or no, Milk Lady needs her rest. Happily, I have discovered that while reclining upon my pillow I can reach through the bars of Simone’s bedside bassinet and check her pulse via fontanel. Well done, evolution!

I will leave you with proof that I am not the only creative type in the family, namely a song I overheard Scott singing to Simone. That MFA in poetry isn’t going to waste, you see. Feel free to sing it to your own children:

Big-Headed Baby/The villagers throw stones at you/You run away to a cave/Your only friend is the eel/He swims in the shallows/Big-Headed Baby

Have a lovely weekend.