I've been reading a series of essays on motherhood. There is some great and very moving writing, but as a whole, we are a burdened lot! At least some of us are. Divorces, miscarriages, disease, accidents, birth defects, mental illness. You name an issue, somebody's grappling with it. I cried over every other essay. Remember? I'm pregnant, people. Reading all this has made me feel very, very lucky and secure. And I got to thinking, my struggles are small, they are day to day, maybe a tantrum or two and some nausea, or a faucet installed upside down. Upon close inspection I can certainly handle it gracefully and I hope I do. Or I will try to. Or I'll pretend better. Or something.

I haven't called my contractor back since the bathroom was (sort of ) finished. He called to make sure the ceiling was painted completely and wanted to talk about money. The ceiling wasn't done, it looks like they primed but didn't do the actual paint. And here are some other sloppy things that could be improved but I'm really, really tired of arranging things and having workmen in the house. It is unexpectedly draining. Plus, after all the stuff that got screwed up, I really don't feel like having to pay any more money unless he insists on it. I know that I'm going to have to revisit my opinion on this, since they did rebuild the floor joists and that was not built into the initial estimate, but I think that if he needs that money he needs to spell it out to me.

That damn cake is gone, we ate the last of it yesterday and it was so delicious.