I am in a relatively sour humor today. I feel as if I could snap at any given moment, and I detest that feeling. It's poison in my blood. I have a heavy, strange feeling of impending doom. I feel a lot like Michael Douglas in the movie Falling Down, right before he exits his car and abandons it on the freeway in the festering traffic jam on his way to get a hot breakfast and a new semi-automatic weapon. I think it's a combination of stress, being trapped indoors, and fighting the cold Brian has had for a week. Of course, I haven't received the full-blown version. I have been taking my vitamins and working out daily, so my body is just really busy being exhausted and fighting it. It would almost be better to just get it over with. Luckily, you can't really tell I feel like soggy cat food in the photo above because sick eyes disappear right into black and white.
Erik has a doctor's appointment tomorrow. We see doctors so infrequently that I think my tolerance for them has actually lessened. I hate the waiting rooms filled with cutesy crap that Erik doesn't even notice, the cheap furniture teeming with billions of microbes, and the chance the nurse who assists won't know what the hell she is doing, wielding a needle as if she is Luke Skywalker with a light saber, merrily twisting it around in my child's tender flesh. Oh yes. Hopefully by tomorrow I will feel a bit more like Ms. Merry Sunshine and less like Jack the Ripper. Now that I think about it, most of my mood probably stems from knowing I will have to sit in that waiting room. If that doesn't make me feel like going on a shooting spree, nothing does. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. I hate being immersed in that environment against my will. I hate it. Erik tries to mingle with other kids, and they end up staring at him or scaring him to death with an unexpected noise. The last time we went to this particular office, a very sweet little boy said hello a little too loudly, and Erik began screaming and ran to me. God. I hate it.
We don't have an orthopedist, but my gut is telling me we probably should. I will ask about this tomorrow and perhaps contact the children's hospital in Portland or a Williams clinic across the galaxy for suggestions. As Erik is the only child in town with WS, I don't expect to get even a single answer I need tomorrow, but I feel like I need to at least figure out where to go from here to ensure he is growing properly. I'll run it up the flagpole and see what happens.
Erik is enjoying the pool at physical therapy this afternoon. I'm glad he got out of the house today, as I feel I am boring him to death. At therapy when his PT swims him over to the thermometer in the water and asks him what it says, he confidently and consistently announces the temperature is 92 degrees. Apparently that was what the thing said months ago, and Erik never forgot. It's very Rain Man and makes us laugh.
Today Erik came up to me out of the blue and loudly announced, "I have a question." I have no clue why or where he picked up this phrase. When I looked up from what I was doing and let out a snort, he began to laugh, too. I love my little Random Man.
I was invited to a girlfriend's house for margaritas, chicken enchiladas, and an afternoon watching ridiculous movies and sitting in the hot tub Saturday. I'm so in. It's when I'm edgy that I usually let my worries go and have the most fun. Re-reading what I wrote just now, I think I am getting a tad bit crotchety and need to remove the two-by-four from my posterior.
Jose Cuervo, here I come, baby.