Your mother needs a ship deck

I checked the calendar this morning, and you’re scheduled to be here in 91 days. There are also: 65 days till your grandfather is consecrated bishop, 33 days till one of my final exams and 35 days till the other. I don’t remember which exam is on which day because it really doesn’t matter. I have 10 classes left of Trusts and Estates, 7 classes left of Education law, and not long at all to finish an independent study. I can’t decide how I feel about any of this.

I met with the academic dean earlier this week to go over my plan to finish law school and be a mom at the same time, and I think the plan is pretty painless (though, of course, we shall see). I will have one semester of 4 hours – likely at NC Central’s law school or at the UNC School of Social Work, then another semester with 10 hours (3 or 4 classes), and a summer semester of 6 hours – advanced legal research and income tax. Why I came to law school I’m not sure I’ll ever understand. Finishing seems quite important to me, but as I’ve been considering my graduation from this awful place, it occurs to me that “graduation” seems like a wholly unsatisfying event to attend. So, your dad and I have planned an alternative graduation ritual. We are looking for a cruise. By the time I graduate, you’ll be a year old and I think that’s old enough to leave with your grandma Lolly for a week. I wouldn’t swear to that, and we’ll need to check on it, but I don’t think you’ll want to lay on a ship deck with your mother at that point, and I will be in desperate need of a ship deck.

What a rotten mom I feel like today!

I must say, I’m not feeling like an especially fit parent these days. Your brother, Rex, had to get stitches on Saturday and the reason is just dreadful. Your dad and were trying to groom him because he kept licking this spot on his wrist. I thought it might be a wound of some kind and thought we needed to get the hair off of his leg in order to properly inspect it. But, we were both a little tense at the time that we were grooming him, and consequently weren’t as mindful as we ought to have been, and I suspect we also probably imparted some of our own tension to Rex, who was especially jumpy. Well, while I was attempting to remove the hair with some ordinary scissors (a precursor to the electric clippers), Rex moved his head suddenly and dropped his tongue between the two scissor blades. I cut his tongue badly. He didn’t indicate any pain so we kept working and your dad then accidentally cut Rexie’s leg. That cut was clearly large and your dad and I didn’t think we could care for it ourselves so we took Rex to the vet, where general anesthesia and stitching ensued. Since then, Rexie has been on antibiotics and has been hard to convince that he shouldn’t lick his bandages. That worries me and keeps my attention always slightly turned to the potential for other harm. This morning, just for a little extra stress, Rex fell backwards off the bed – something he’s never done unless he was having a seizure. So, he limped around (or something – he did a funny walk anyway) for about five minutes and I panicked and called the vet. That was before I figured out that he was really fine. I bet the vet is ready to call canine protective services on me and your dad right now. Rex is enjoying all this attention though. He’s playful and his wit and charm are uncompromised. I don’t think he’s in any pain – except that he’s still trying to lick that wrist (which it turned out, there was no wound on) and he’s enjoying all the extra attention. He’s driving me up a wall, making me chant “leave it. Leave IT!” over and over. But the only alternative is a bite-not collar, which I cannot bear to do if we don’t absolutely have to. What a rotten mom I feel like today!