I promised a raspberry bran muffin recipe.
I'll post it (although I don't know who, beside My Beloved and I who share a strange preoccupation with fibre and its myriad sources, will care) but not today. Because the recipe is alllll the way downstairs. And I'm not.
Sometimes my vacuum cleaner sounds like Chewbacca. Usually, for some reason, when I'm doing our bedroom. This amuses me no end.
And I needed to share.
I know I haven't talked about our baby and/or adoption plans here for quite some time. To be honest I really haven't talked about them anywhere for quite some time. Except, of course, with My Beloved.
I know it's odd, given how much information I've divulged in the past, but for some reason I just want to hold it all close to me right now. It feels like all I've done for nearly five years now is raise hopes and dash them. Over and over and over again.
We do have a plan. More or less. As much of a plan as it's possible to have under the circumstances (we've learned the hard way how laughable it is to make "firm" plans), but for now they belong to us.
We've trod some very difficult ground together with our whole worlds watching, and we just need to go it alone for a while.
With, please, no questions asked.
I'm not being cryptic here. I'm not pregnant. I'm just saying the silence is on purpose. We need the space. I need the space.
Want to know something un-fucking-believable? I would have been having the twins next month. NEXT. MONTH.
I was due right around Thomas' birthday (the 9th of March), but I would have been induced at 37 or 38 weeks if I hadn't already had them.
So it would have been February.
Again with the "would haves".
I'm so done with the would haves...
I haven't had chocolate in days.
This would probably account for yesterday's fantasy about diving naked into a gigantic caramel-filled chocolate so I could swim around in it, taking in great gulps of caramel and nibbling at the sides of the chocolate.
It's possible that I may love chocolate just a little too much.