I just plugged my phone in and while I was messing with the cord, my kid rolled over. So I held my breath and counted to twenty.

The crib is still fourteen inches from my side of the bed. She will be potty trained before she's weaned or sleeping all night in such a way that I don't have to participate. I'm almost certain.

Independence is a funny thing.

Today it was so hot that when the dog protested the last two uphill blocks home, I actually put a treat in the stroller basket to see if she might hop on in for a ride.

She declined my offer.

This plant blew off my deck rail at some point while we were out of town. Today, I finally got around to picking it up.

Life adapts.

My kid has adapted admirably to both the broken leg and the total destruction of her schedule after two trips in two weeks. She's gotten very good at asking to be moved. She has taken back to crawling better than she ever did the first time around.

And right now, at 9:15 on Saturday night, she's giggling her little head off in her crib. Realistically, her schedule will probably be a disaster for the rest of the summer.

Once upon a time, my father's sister got it into her evangelical head that her nieces needed religion. My single mother was like "If you want to take my kids from 9 to 12:30 on Sunday, that's a-okay with me" and so, off we went to Sunday school and a church service.

I was raised as a "non-practicing Catholic" (sometimes my mom would specify that *she* was non-practicing where we were merely baptized at ages two and three to placate her mother and thus were barely nominally Catholic. Later I went to Catholic high school and was a member of a congregation for the tuition discount. Also because my grandma needed a ride.)

PS in the middle: I got excited and bought a bottle of champers today and then my husband fell asleep and I drank it all myself and I'm drunk-blogging on Friday night like its 2002.

Okay. The scene. It's maybe 1987. My father has remarried to a woman who is maybe barely twenty. My sister (age 6ish) and I have learned about how some girls never grow up to like boys, specifically in the context of our newest aunt and her sexual preference. This is quite a revelation.

So. We are at church. And Protestants have (or had in the mid eighties, I couldn't tell you) a "Children's talk". All the kids come down near the altar and get a little lesson in front of everyone and then have the option to go to the nursery.

Down we go. And the lesson is about lies. This is mid-eighties Kentucky. Small town in the county my family moved into in the 1840s. There's a Q&A. They hand my sister the microphone.

She explains that it turns out that some girls are lesbians. And lesbians can't get married. She would like to grow up to marry her best friend. They're going to be lesbians. Said best friend has a gender neutral name.

So, if the friend dresses up like a boy and says she is a boy so they can get married, is that a big lie or a little lie?

My mother always said that after that, my grandma's friends starting sitting a bit closer to the front of the church. The aunt in question moved out of state shortly after (unrelated but still).

My step-aunt who prompted this little from the mouths of babes tolerance speech committed suicide eight or nine years later. I always understood it was partially because of the intolerance toward her love life, not from her family, but from everyone else. Regardless, a terrible thing.

It's been nearly thirty years since my sister took up for gay rights in public. Her first big action, as it were.

I'm so happy that marriage equality is the law of the land. We need full equality, in employment and housing and and and, but, today, for now, let's celebrate. What an amazing, fantastic thing. I can't believe it took this long.

My daughter isn't old enough to voice her gender identity, let alone a sexual preference, but it makes me awfully happy to think that her cohort will grow up to be appalled that that time her auntie spoke up about marriage equality in church ended up being the talk of the town. I'm so glad they're going to think marriage equality is the way things just are. Because obviously that's just how it ought to be.

It's 11:20 pm, and my kid isn't asleep yet. Today, two of my sorority sisters were in town so we spent all afternoon being touristy. Then she fell asleep at four and I jumped at the chance to clean out the bathroom cabinets.

So, at 6:30 pm, she awoke. Dinner, bath, toothbrush, then we played for awhile. Went for a walk around the block. My husband is at a party, so it's fine.

I mean, except for how we actually have plans tomorrow morning and have to get up at a specific time. But mostly it's fine.

I've been wearing my FitBit again recently. I wore it briefly years ago in another life where I had an important-sounding desk job that included much purposeful striding up and down hallways in and out of conference rooms, but even involved lunch magically appearing most days and also a minimum of 45 hours/week ass in chair time. I got discouraged and put it away.

But! This is my new life where I play with my kid all day, and I often feel as though I never sit down. So much so that I feel like my life expectancy has really increased.

So, I pulled it back out.

It's helping with my walking the dog goal. Also, my poor darling kid broke her leg on our vacation, so I'm back to walking for two. Lots of stroller pushing.

I also kind of like the data about how well I slept, etc. I've learned that some nights, I can log a thousand steps before four am. Parenting overnight is just that much fun.

Which is why at 10:40 pm, when I saw 9,885 steps, so close to the damned goal, I went ahead and climbed out of my bed and straightened up a bit to reach the goal. At 9,998 with water pitchers refilled and so forth, I walked back in the bedroom.

Still 9,998. I climbed out of bed a second time to get those last two steps. I used them to give my husband one more goodnight kiss (he's computing in the other room).

10,027 steps and 25 floors. I win today.