Dreamland

Today was supposed to be day 3 of no tears. Mascara could return into my life. Maybe even eyeliner if I'm feeling up for it. But no.

Target was full of the cutest babies. Then there was the baby section. The tiny baby things. The cashier who is my next door neighbor who hadn't heard the news. It was my first time flying solo on giving it. From my mouth that is. I've gotten pretty good at typing about it.

Anyway, she came up to me with all of her Ukrainian enthusiasm for pregnancy (which pails only to that of my Turkish friend) and wanted to know how me and the baby were. I told her. Then, I cried. Not sobbed. Not fell apart. Just cried.

Guy said he was proud of me and that I was doing just fine. I did have some Kleenex packed and ready in my purse so my tears were as graceful as possible. Whatever.

Just now while fixing dinner, my sniffling in the kitchen brings a call in from the other room.

"You okay, Schmoop?"

It's not what he thinks. I'm sneaking a piece of white bread and dipping it in Dreamland BBQ sauce. Mmmmmmmmmmmm. Heaven. Spicy as hell, but oh so heavenly.