So, it's, like, Christmas Eve and stuff, so I'm supposed to be writing a heartwarming post about family and love and that kind of thing, especially with Christie and I having our very own Fetus!, which is now the size of an apple and responds to stimulus (clearly gets that from her side of the family) and I think might not even have a tail anymore.
Honestly, though, it hasn't quite kicked in, yet. We've had so much going on this year with the new bathroom and the Fetus! and weather and our to-do list always seeming to have N+1 items, where N is equal to the number of things we're capable of accomplishing, that there's been a serious shortage of those quiet moments to sit and let the holidays soak in like rum into fruitcake or eggnog into the rug.
At least, that what it feels like right now, with the last minute rush to get things done in time for tonight and tomorrow, not to mention a few gifts that seem to have just disappeared in the rush of hand-me-down baby stuff into the garage, loaner maternity clothes, drywall tools, and rushed cleaning. Seriously. We haven't got a clue, which is sort of frustrating. Getting your shopping done only helps if you remember where you put the damn presents.
But there have been eddies in the current here and there. Christie and I had a two hour drive back from Kansas City yesterday to chat and sing carols and make happy small talk about the past and the future and what's it going to be like. And last night we lay in bed, she with her crossword and I with my magazine, tires spinning on the icy street outside and the wind in the trees, and it felt like things were just exactly the way they were supposed to be, and all was right in the world.
And then the cats starting fighting, and I had to throw a shoe.