I've decided that the octopus (which I thought I parted ways with last night, but didn't) is something like a fetus:
He's happy, calm, sound asleep–as long as I'm on my feet, moving–and right before it's time to get up in the morning.
But sit down? Within minutes it wakes up. Starts thrashing.
I used to think I had a button on my rear end that sent out a screaming signal to my children every time it came into contact with a chair: She's sitting down! She's sitting down! Report to battle stations!
I think the octopus can hear it too.
I'm beginning to suspect that it's some kind of cosmic get-off-your-duff-and-get-busy system gone haywire. A blessing in an excruciating disguise; there is no possible way I could ever get fat and lazy at this rate. Not to mention that I will never, ever, ever, roll my eyes again when one of my children tells me their tooth hurts. Or have any other unexplainable pain, for that matter.
And not only that–I came across this blog today, and felt more than a little ashamed of my whining. Stephanie Nielson's story is heartbreaking and beautiful. I admire her strength; her embracing of life; her sense of purpose…and I'm so glad it's not me.
Makes me almost fond of the pathetic little cephalopod in my cranium…