Bible dip, revisited

It's been one of those mornings already, and it's only 8:13 am. I woke up on time, but realized that I could not walk out the door without taking a shower. I push it sometimes, perhaps exiting the house a bit riper than I should, but there was no questioning it this morning. The shower put me back 10 minutes, getting my oldest out of bed put me back another 10.

My plan was to get to work early, as I have to leave early for two afternoon appointments. Exiting the house 20 minutes later than planned was a set back, but one I could perhaps at least partly make up on the drive into the office. About a mile into the drive the gas light went on. Gassing up put me back another 6.

I finally made it to my computer, at 7:49 instead of my planned 7:30, only to realize that Ellie's blog post from yesterday was still posted. Shit! Don't tell me that it's my day to post on MYE....

Oh, but it is.

So, with nary a witty idea in my head, I've decided to Bible dip. (The practice that Augusten Burroughs in "Running with Scissors" introduced me to, where you grab the bible, open to a random page, and blindly point to a word on the page that will give you some sort of direction.)

Seeing as I don't have a bible in the office (or at home, for that matter), I decided that the next best thing was to use the medical copyeditors' bible -- you guessed it -- Steadman's Medical Dictionary.

I ended up on page 891 with my finger on lobus, luckily one of the shorter words in the tome.

lo'bus, gen. and pl. (1); one of the subdivisions of an organ or other part, bounded by fissures, connective tissue, septa, or other structural demarcations.

Well, that can mean only thing -- motherhood.

I mean you are at first connected to your children, bound by that slimy umbilical cord, and that leaky old placenta.

Then the cord is cut, but the connective tissue remains. Your children are a living, breathing part of your heart, out there in the world, without you.

They tug on your heartstrings almost daily, mess with your mind incessantly, and  leave you wondering, as you drift off to sleep each night, how on earth they will ever survive when the structural demarcations fade with the passage of time.

Oh, my babies -- lobus 1, 2, and 3, we are forever bound by fissures and septa!

I guess my day's work is to ponder that.