Wednesday: I Spoke Too Soon

Look how Ivan and I have the same ears

I promise never to mention potty training to you again.  It will not happen, I will not do it.  You will be in the dark forever.  Maybe when you are 92 you will wonder to yourself, "Did that Young Sloan ever take to the indoor plumbing?", and I just won't discuss it.

This is because; we were doing well; we fell off the wagon after the great pregnancy drama of two weeks ago; we recovered; and then we fell so far that I was beyond consolation, and now we may be on the up and we may not be, and I will never speak of it.

Anyway, I take some comfort in the fact that a lot of things went south after my emergency pool drama.  Soemone stopped potty training, someone started climbing out of bed at 3:00 in the morning and clinging to me like a spider monkey, and someone started rejecting his bedtime and insisting that there were monsters.  Sort of sadder still, someone wants to be carried and held, and I really cannot do either thing.  Aaahh, the heartbreak that appears to be ensuing in the process of adding a new member to our family.  It is rather tragic and adding to the burden of my worry and guilt.

At the very least, the Sloan home is baby ready.  The trundle bed mattress was accomplished today, and now there is really only the finishing touches on Ivan's new sleeping situation and a few bedding choices.

In the evening, I was able to swim 2000 meters slowly and carefully at the rec center, with no adverse effects.  So, I can apparently keep swimming, but honestly, I cannot attend swim class at my regular pool  after the events of two weeks prior.