Tentative steps

Helena on Wednesday evening took her first look-ma-no-hands steps across the bare floor. We only got as far as five before she propelled herself in the direction of an object she could fall onto (the side of the sofa). But it's a start. By this morning we'd worked up to eleven steps. There's still a little problem with directional control, with a strong tendency to sway toward inanimate objects that could provide support. The steps are so tiny, almost imperceptibly inching one in front of the other, that it looks almost as if she's exerting all this energy merely to walk in place. But she's walking! She'll get the hang of it.

Thursday my throat felt pretty normal again, but my eye was itchy. A trip to the clinic confirmed a mild case of conjuctivitis. Yuck. The thing is, waiting for two and a half hours to see the doctor, I'd developed such a migraine — the worst in recent history — that I was pretty incoherent with debilitating pain when I did see him, and though he "tapped" my sinuses, I think this test for infection was pretty inconclusive cuz, having a migraine, it felt like he was hitting a pressure point and it actually provided relief. So he said there was no sign of infection, other than the eye thing, but I'm pretty mad cuz I didn't think to make him check my throat and I'm sure he's wrong. My throat's still got a tickle in it, and it occasionally forces a hacking cough.

So I'm more angry, really, than sick. I do feel run down, but I'm mad at myself for not taking better care of myself the last couple weeks. Little things, like I've been forgetting to take my multivitamin and I've neglected to keep the fridge stocked with orange juice and broccoli. This nonsense has got to stop.

I have been diligently applying drops to my eye. And let me tell you, stuff going anywhere near my eye really freaks me out. (I should be watching Gray's Anatomy this weekend.) But I'm doing it for my little girl. This infection stops here.

I applied for a job yesterday with Cirque du Soleil. Imagine, running away to join the circus. Nevermind that their headquarters is here in town and it would be in the capacity of technical editor.

The job involves "manuals, guides or other documents of a technical nature (processes, training materials, etc.)" and I would be required to "verify the validity of information with content specialists." J-F and I spent hours speculating as to the nature of these documents: Installation and maintenance of the trapeze 2000 (or, humans cannot fly). How to seat 30 clowns comfortably in a Volkswagon Beetle. The cover letter: "I have extensive experience in working with clowns, though I myself never clown around on the job."

Last night we rented Lost in Translation. Bill Murray essentially plays himself, or what most of us would surmise is his real self, which is just fine. The film is a keen observation of what it is to be a recent philosophy grad still trying to find herself, to have insomnia, to be in a strange land, to be a family man having a midlife crisis (I'm guessing). The audience has to provide its own insight though. Contrary to popular opinion, we feel the ending was a little contrived in providing too much closure (serves us right for not being European). Really lovely.