I forget what day of the week it is all the time. I guess it's because I'm home all day and they all seem to run together. JD is off on Fridays so we usually stay in our pajamas until noon (2 today, a new record) and catch up on our Netflix movies. Halfway through the day, I'm stuck counting backwards from last week trying to figure out what day it is. Sunday is a good starting point because we go to church, Monday and Tuesday are kind of a blur, then Wednesday was Beatrice's xray, or was that Tuesday, definitely Tuesday because I went to my mom's on Wednesday, last night was Real Housewives of NY so today must be Friday. There, that wasn't so hard.
I do this every week. I never look at the calendar because my phone prompts me of all upcoming events/appointments. When I worked, I was forced to look at the calendar every day and my days stayed tightly scheduled. These days, there really is no reason to look. You should see the checkbook. There are several entries with "" under June 3rd because I can't figure out what day I spent what. If I can't count back from Sunday, I give up.
It's a strange feeling not knowing what day of the week it is. It feels like I live under a rock or in another, very slow-paced world where there really isn't much required of me outside of the house. Beatrice needs the same things from me whether it's Wednesday or Saturday. I still have to cook dinner for JD. Date nights don't exist at the moment. Each day is pretty much the same. I don't mind doing the same thing every day, but I don't look forward to the approaching weekends or casual Fridays like I used to. Days go by that turn into weeks and before you know it, time flies and your little newborn is 7 months old. Where was I when that happened?
Time has never moved like this before. Days have never seemed so endless and months so brief in all my life. I definitely have learned to enjoy each moment and look forward to more of the special days like today spent lovin my honey, even if I have no idea what day of the week it is.