alive and kicking

You know, until you spend some time with a person who actually depends on supplemental oxygen to breathe, you really take the whole breathing air thing for granted.

Poor baby has to have tubes taped to his face 24-7, providing air to keep him, you know, alive. This makes me sad, and scared for him, because I wonder if he will ever be able to breathe on his own, or if he will toddle off to preschool dragging an O2 tank behind him.

So life, and it's beauty and delicacy, is to be celebrated.

Which is why I threw yet another (this might have been the 5th, but who's counting) 29 For-EVAH birthday bash on Friday night. Yeah, I didn't mention it before, but I recently celebrated another year of life. On the actual anniversary of my birth, I had a horrendous fight with my dearest darling, and fell asleep sobbing into my pillow. Not exactly the birthday of my dreams. Thank goodness for the birthday bash planned for later in the week. In a departure from the usual throw down, no one was coming to my house, which is cluttered with tanks of oxygen and plastic tubing and a bouncy seat and bassinet and assorted carseats, blankets, wipes, diapers (clean of course) and medical forms and receipts. I was not going to actually clean for my birthday party, and this year I wasn't cooking, either.

The obvious solution was to celebrate at the cafe - which we did, in high style. I hired a sitter for the older kids, packed up baby, and headed to town. There was much food and laughter, I was serenaded by a handsome boy (while my husband rubbed my shoulder pretending not to mind and probably desperately hoping we had been sitting together for this special event. He might have been glaring at the boy singing Crazy Love down on one knee at my feet).



I ended the evening with one too many rum and cokes, and had to be led to the car giggling by my husband and my darling Jeff. Jeff, for those who do not know, is what some people might call my Main Gay. He's just the nicest guy ever, and his partner Rusty is amazing too, and they have been wonderful friends, fellow oglers of Cyndi Lauper, and admirers of my very handsome husband who thankfully was straight enough to marry me and not one of them. Because given the opportunity, every gay man and straight woman (hell probably the lesbians too) within 100 miles would like to be next in line should I suddenly drop dead. Some are more discreet about it then others, which I appreciate. The woman who assured me that should anything happen to me, she would take good care of my family ? Yeah, she's on my list, and her name has been passed around as the one to question should I actually die an untimely death. Because I got my suspicions. And she definitely was NOT invited to my party, lest she poison my food.

ANYWAY - I'm not dead yet, I'm 29 and holding (until it becomes obvious that I am NOT, in fact, 29. Then I guess I'll bump it up to 32....)