I have every intention of waking up early enough to bake a pan of gingerbread for breakfast. December Sixth is St. Nicholas Day and we’ve tried on and fiddled with all kinds of St. Nicholas traditions, although none have really stuck. But we usually make gingerbread, dark with blackstrap molasses and so spicy. If we remember, that is. But this year, I’ll tack on: if I can manage it. IF I get some sleep tonight and IF the baby is content to hang out in his highchair or whatever in the morning. He’s still in a cast and he’s still frustrated by his impeded mobility and he still speedily crams every tickytacky tiny thing into his mouth. I either have my eyeball glued to him or I hold him. I will be so relieved to be able to sling him onto my back again soon. All the holding might be good for my biceps, but not so much for my household productivity. Most of today was eaten up with another post-surgery appointment at the hospital. I do love that place and everyone involved in Uly’s care, but my to-do list for today, to get ready for this weekend (a birthday. mister six is turning seven!) is not much shorter, at the end of the day, than it was at the beginning.

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