I’m Not Sad, I Swear

It's official:  Everyone I know is pregnant.

Well, maybe not everyone. 

But this, reading my high school barkada's blog that she's 8 months pregnant with her second child after months of not hearing from her, another high school batchmate blissfully recalling her first pregnancy while in the throes of her second as well, and finally, insanely beautiful pregnant pictures of another high school classmate splashed all over her just put up Multiply site (and yes, it's her second too). 

It's when a girl of 6 climbs up to me, asking to be carried, and her mom half jokingly says (and the others chime in):  D, don't do that.  You're too heavy for Tita J.  Mataktak nya ang iyang uterus.  It's when I know they're all rooting for me, and at the same time, worried for me.

I am not usually jealous.  And I still do have ambivalent feelings about being a mom sometimes.  But there are times, oh yes, there are times when I just want to hold a baby's face to mine and smell its sweet baby breath.

I don't know where this comes from, as all I've been watching are magician movies (The Illusionist and The Prestige). And all I've been dreaming about in my sleep are cat murders.

Just Because

There are days when I get it real bad for bread.  The smell of it, the doughy consistency of it, the crunch when you bite into its crusty exterior and the pillowy softness of its insides.  

Today is such a day.  

I bought a big loaf of freshly baked french bread (still warm in its brown paper bag) and one lemon pepper rotisserie chicken.  I took out my bread knife and tried to cut the bread into pieces but I ended up tearing big chunks of it instead and stuffing my mouth with its crusty goodness.  And in between, I hacked away ample pieces of the chicken and let the tasty and moist meat dance in my tongue.  Just because I felt like chicken and bread today.

Mr. Butler Is Everywhere

On a lighter note, I saw somebody today that totally reminded me of Gerald Butler (or is my mind just tricking me into thinking it?).

Gawd, I have to see him again.  Tomorrow. 

Yes, tomorrow.  

At the gym.

Back For Good

I went to a far-away place (inside myself) and realized this is home.

And my cellphone went with me.  Unbeknownst to me, my phone has been unable to send or receive text messages.  So there I was thinking I just wasn't getting any messages from anyone, and so has taken to leaving the phone in the bedroom, in silent mode, while I scampered about the house, or took walks, or went to the gym, entertained guests and all that jazz.  To those who've called and left voice mail messages, and whom I've texted back (telling them I didn't hear my phone ring and will get back to them soon) and not gotten anything back and believed they'd just been busy with their lives too, my apologies.  

On my quest for a passable summer bod (for all those tank and tube tops), I am happy to report that the husband and I have gone back to the gym and that I may have lost 1 pound as a result.  Hahaha!  Not a lot to brag about but it's something.

Today, it rained buckets.  Instead of getting all sad about it though, like I tend to, I welcomed it by getting under the covers with the husband.  The cool air the rain brought provided much relief from the heat we've been getting lately.  Spring officially "sprung" today but we've had sunshine and cloudless blue skies for weeks now.  Beautiful weather, really.  Perfect for long drives and picnics.

Movies I watched lately:  300 (Gerald Butler, where have you been all my life?  haha!) and Casino Royale on DVD (Daniel Craig is perfect as the new James Bond, I have to agree, despite my earlier protests that no one, and I mean no one, could take Pierce Brosnan's place).   

So yes, I am back.  For good, this time.

Need A Ride?

Whenever the weather is good, the husband and I take a walk around the neighborhood.  And by  neighborhood I mean outside the gate of our community, into a short stretch of road, crossing over to the nearby Target, and back.  

Most of the time, we end up buying a few things from our favorite store.  Bags of chips perhaps, a DVD that was on sale for $5, a loaf of wheat bread.  Despite my propensity to buy things not entirely necessary, we never forget that we have to walk on the way back.  

This afternoon was any ordinary jaunt to the red store.  On the way home, casually talking about how the weekend promises to be beautiful and how wonderful it would be if the husband could just get away from work, we became suddenly aware of a car stopping beside us.  The woman driver asked us if we were all right and if we needed a ride home, eyeing the two bags the husband was carrying, which she must think were heavy.  We said we were okay;  we didn't need a ride.  

She was a good soul all right, but we couldn't quite discount the possibility that she must think we were illegal immigrants, with no car and valid driver licenses to drive with.  If we were white folks walking with shopping bags between us, she'd have thought nothing of it, that we were just two people enjoying a walk on a sunny afternoon.  We pondered on this a bit and then suddenly, we burst out laughing, as the husband started pretending that the bags were indeed heavy and upping the ante by limping, trying to see if another one of those good souls would stop and ask if we needed a ride.

Ah, to be strangers (read: strange people) in a (sometimes) strange land.