I wrote an excellent sentence today.
|Baby in her hat, to cheer me.|
The baby woke up at five this morning, and indicated she thought this was a good time to begin the morning, which wasn't very nice. I fed her, and while I sat feeding her, ideas for the essay I've been working on ricocheted off the inside of my head. I worried they would leave me before I had a chance to catch them.
I changed the baby's diaper, put her in an outfit and a hat that matched. A hat to cheer me up about the early morning. We played with her toys and practiced her tricks and I read her two chapters of Frog and Toad, a book that makes her kick her legs and squeal with delight, which is sort of the effect it has on her father and me. Once we were done reading, she started to twist and fuss and indicated that maybe I was right after all, maybe this was too early for the morning. So I took her downstairs and put her in her swing, and I began trying to catch the tail of those writing ideas.
And then I wrote a lot of really-quite-good sentences. And then I wrote an excellent sentence.
The essay is about my great grandparents, and the sentence is about marriage and divorce and omelets, and it made me remember how good it feels, to get it right. I'm sick today. A cold incoming, and some weird business in response to the antibiotics I took for mastitis. The baby has been sleeping terribly in general at night, so my body is heavy and sloggy and sad, and my house is in a state most unbecoming of a visit from my mother-in-law, who is flying into town this afternoon.
But I wrote an excellent sentence! So the world feels shiny and delicious. It flung its arms out and shimmied and gave me jazz hands, the world did. And I love that feeling.
I wish for you the same, today. I wish for you something you really love. I wish for you a good solid shimmy from the world.