So we had a Texas-sized thunderstorm about 2 a.m. this morning. It was nuts. At one point the lightening strikes were so close not even half a second would pass before the thunder clap would boom. Even Sam the Dog was scared. I was jumping out of my skin with each huge strike. And, of course, I kept thinking: "Next thunder clap, Wilder's going to wake up screaming bloody murder!" Did he? Nope. I guess thunderstorms must replicate womb sounds to some degree, because he slept some deep, hypnotically primal sleep through the whole thing. I think Jerry and I could have grabbed wooden spoons and a couple pots and pans and run around the house singing "Supercalifragilistic-expeealidocious!!!" at the top of our lungs in Kermit the Frog and Miss Piggy voices and he wouldn't have peeped.
Of course, five minutes after the storm subsided, he woke up hollering.
Babies ... so unpredictable.
So I leave for Vegas in about 3 1/2 hours. Meeting three girlfriends there. I'm SO looking forward to it -- the pooltime, the poker tables, the girly-talk, the icy-cold cocktails, the lights, the ridiculousness that is Vegas -- but man, am I dreading saying goodbye to my boy. I've been hugging on him and kissing him like a crazy woman all day. Jerry's for certain going to be sick of my "so how are you two doing?" phone calls by the time I get home on Sunday. I'll just have to do it quick, like setting a broken nose, right? ByeWilderbegoodbenicetodaddyIloveyoutonsandwillmissyoubye!! And then go out to my car and sob while I navigate the highways to DFW Airport.
That said: Viva Las Vegas! And may the Gambling Gods be good to me!
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