Hang of This

Being of Generation Y, you'd think I'd have a slight clue what I was doing with this blog nonsense. Wrong. It has taken me a week to get it looking anywhere close to what I wanted it to look like, and we're not there yet. The Beautiful Boys have of course distracted me from my web efforts, but just look at them, they're worth it :)

I just want to squeeze their little baby bodies all day long. I pretty much do, when I'm at home, which now is all day every day until January 24th, and I'm PSYCHED! That's also assuming I pass this semester of nursing classes (fingers crossed). I was doing well, in my last-minute, disturbingly nonchalant style, until I had Keaton. The addition of BB2 didn't change my priorities, exactly, since obviously Grady was already tops, but two priorities, plus Justin and, lets face it, everything shiny, Christmasy, or delicious, took precedence over studying. I had a B in everything going into finals, but you never know. Not to excuse my previous laziness, but when your five-and-a-half week old gets sick and you have to do the ER dance in the middle of the first snow/icestorm of the winter, which also lands during finals week, one's exam grades understandably suffer. I've been dreaming about it in various manifestations every night, lately. Like Saturday night one of our instructors and I were a team on The Amazing Race. Serious stuff. 


Gah, never thought I'd be the "documented medical excuse" type. I don't like excuses. I might be one of the only students left who takes a professor's teaching style the way it is and shuts her mouth. I've never asked for a study guide or for him/her to cater to my learning style. No bragging here about my superior retention, because 50 years ago Power Points didn't exist; you sat in class with not Facebook on your laptop in front of you, but a pad of paper and several sharp pencils, as you were going to be note-taking til your little hands cramped up, and then more, using your claws in a pincer style. 


More about the BB's - Saturday Keaton hit 6 weeks. I alternate between looking forward to him sleeping all night in a separate room, not to mention bed, and dying a little inside every week his number goes up. Speaking of which, I like to keep ages in the smallest denominations possible before sounding ridiculous. I'm actually celebrating my 1,203rd week birthday today. I'll count Keaton in weeks til 12 weeks, and Grady in months til he's two years old. Which is next frigging month. I've been creating and nurturing humans with my body non-stop since May of 2008. How incredibly visceral and thrilling a ride it's been. Not every day, of course, but I rather like giving my body, soul and sanity to these Locklear BB's. Who are, as I type, stealing chocolate covered pretzels and snoozing at my boob. I'll let you guess, and apologies in advance if you were on my Christmas goody list. I'll hand the phone to Grady for an explanation.