I got up this morning and realized that I had actually been breathing through my nose for part of the night, for the first time in maybe three full weeks. Well, there was an hourlong stretch where one nostril plugged completely shut and I woke myself by tweetling a high-pitched whistle type of snout-noise that, as I lay there, actually made Dog get up from her bed and pad out to the living room where I heard her gruntingly clamber up on the couch, probably cursing my name the same way JB does when he tentatively whispers, “Babe? Is there any way you can . . . not snore so much?” (The answer is no, I cannot snore less, nor can I roll from one behemoth side to the other without a heaving moan of exertion, nor can I go for half an hour at a time without getting back out of bed to pee. Welcome to the third trimester, sweetheart. Just remember: YOU DID THIS TO ME.)

I hesitate to say it, for fear of jinxing myself back into the land of All Mucus, All the Time, but jesus god I think this cold is almost over. Finally. I expect my Purple Heart to arrive in the mail any day now.

In other news, I have three things to tell you:

Thing the First: I escaped my family, the laundry, and a sink full of dirty dishes this afternoon to see a movie with Ashley, and while I think I would have enjoyed any piece of crap that was playing, just because it was such a treat to get out all childless and fancy-free like that, we saw No Country For Old Men, and if you’ve been on the fence about seeing it, I recommend that you run don’t walk to the theater, because two. Thumbs. Up. It’s vintage Coen brothers: dark, funny, and filled with fantastic dialogue, particularly every single sentence that comes out of Tommy Lee Jones’ character’s mouth.

Thing the Second: I am going to be writing for ParentDish on a regular basis (RIP ClubMom), and I hope you come visit me there. I don’t know if I can add my entries to a widget or not, but in the meantime here’s a direct link to my posts.

Thing the Third: my child is on a food strike and he’s currently living on crackers, peanut butter sandwiches, and the occasional Frosted Mini Wheat. This sort of thing would have made me batty several months ago, but now I just slip him a vitamin, shrug, and hope for the best. Either I’ve mellowed in a good way, or I’ve officially lowered the parenting bar to the floor. Not sure on this one.

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