I (heart) Valentines Day, sort of.
A few short years ago February 14th would have meant an evening of solo journaling, mostly detailing why the entire marketing department of Hallmark needed to go to hell. Or I might have spent the night cozied up with my best girlfriend in some little West Village boite, ideally one peppered with "other" lesbian couples, so that we too would be presented with a complimentary glass of champagne and wilty red rose. Now it's a holiday I can pretty much stomach once a year.
Tonight won't be anything like GiftFest 2002, which included a weekend at a b&b, two dozen red roses, gourmet chocolates, lingerie that I actually looked decent in, a hot pair of boots, and meticulously handwritten cards that made me laugh and cry and pledge my love in the most cliché terms imaginable. But hopefully I will whip up a decent enough fondue to keep Nate from reminding me why he does all of the cooking. And if we're really lucky, the baby will decide the crib isn't a half-bad place to sleep after all.
I had actually started this entry by listing of all the reasons I fell in love with Nate way back when, long before there was a dog to walk or mortgage to pay or a baby who demanded consoling right in the middle of foreplay. But I've concluded that the list was more for him than for you. And so it's going right into his card. Not everything in a blogger's life needs to be for public consumption.
(Although I will tell you that #4 was how the first time I accidentally fluttered the sheets, he responded with, "don't worry! Farts are funny!")
As for the rest of you, I hope you get off the damn computer, at least for part of the night, and try to remember what brought you to Crazy Babyland in the first place.