one fish, two fish, sad fish, blue fish

I have the sweetest son in the world, really I do.  So why am I coming up so short on photos of him?  I did score a petit Canon camera for Christmas, but haven’t downloaded any photos from it yet because my desktop computer is still unplugged from our move.  Moving is hard and so is its aftermath!  And being 30 weeks pregnant on top of that is hard, too.  There is so much pressure on my crotch and tailbone.  Ouch.  TMI.  Let’s move on.

Last night when I was reading to George – the book was Happy by Mies Van Hout – we arrived at “sad” fish.  George explained that sad fish was sad because his mom was at work.  You know?  It killed me.  I'm not sure I'm alive right now.  This post is probably being written by my ghost.  There is a vicious cycle of guilt that routinely runs through me, does no good, destroys me, and then hibernates until I turn a page in a book.  While it hibernates, I tease myself and say I'm doing right by my family.  

In my world, sad fish isn't the child.  Sad fish is the mom fish that is going to work - leaving her children in the care of others so she can babysit grown women at her "important" job.

But, he does look happy up there, doesn't he?