My toes are cold

I got Steve a weather station for Christmas, or maybe it was his birthday. It has a little device that lurks outside somewhere and then a paperback-sized monitor that sits on his desk and tells him what the atomic clock says, what the temperature is and what the barometric pressure is doing. It is also full of trivia about sunrise and moon stages. None of these snippets are of the slightest practical use to Steve in his daily tasks, but he likes to know. So much so that he returned the one I bought because it could only record outdoor temperatures to -4 (that's -20 Celsius.) He woke me up this morning by dropping the baby on me and saying that if he hadn't returned my present we might think it was actually -4 out this morning when in REALITY it was -13.5. Being mostly asleep and three-quarters suffocated by Patrick I didn't ask, but outside of mathematics what is the difference between -4 and -13.5? Were Patrick and I going to cancel our picnic for one but not the other? Oh, and he also said that someone (let's assume it was a cat) had thrown up on the stairs. Yesterday he woke me up by announcing that one of the cats had miraculously managed to find a mouse in this hermetically-sealed tomb of a new house and the dearly departed was just to the left on my side of the bed. I asked if it was my job to deal with everything gross around here and he retorted no, and I was lucky because if it was my job I would have been fired. Therefore, I handed in my resignation for the 537th time and yet again I have been asked to stay on until I can train a replacement. Fuck.

Housewifery blows, in case you were wondering. I'm thinking of becoming a Totally! Nude! XXX! Dancer! As an insomniac I think the hours would work for me, and I would get to meet a lot of interesting people. Just a thought.

Patrick is cutting his last canine, saints be praised. Although he can smack his head with aplomb, gum pain drives him to distraction. He moans. He weeps. He gnaws on his fingers. He guzzles Baby Tylenol and still wakes me up once or twice to complain about things.On the other hand, having someone sort of grizzle at you ceaselessly for days on end is annoying. We'll all be glad when this is over.

I think my post-D&C spotting IS over, huzzah. Two weeks today, tick tick tick. To celebrate I slipped into my sexiest turtleneck and whispered to Steve in a deep dark voice, "I can give you five minutes, but then I have to get the laundry started."