Don’t be too fooled by the title; this week wasn’t really that bad. It’s just that we’re in a rather trying time for several reasons. We’re moving in a month, so that’s difficult in and of itself, but on top of that, I have to start pulling crap together for graduate school, and Kira is having some wild stuff going on with her eyes.
First off, grad school stuff: the biggest problem is deciding where I want to go. Most schools have around 100 applicants, but will accept around 7. So the odds aren’t very good for anyone applying, and that means I have to apply to several schools to increase my chances of getting accepted anywhere. I feel I’m a pretty strong applicant, what with my experience with research, good GPA, fantastic recommendations from PhD.s, and my sweet car, but I have a couple of things that could be better. I feel I can improve my GRE math scores and my nun chuck skills are short of adequate. So I am scheduled to take the GRE again one week after we’ve moved. Another problem is that the psychology GRE is scheduled two days after Kira is due. Yeah, that’s a little thing we psychology majors call “gambling”. Anyway, lots to keep me awake at night there.
Now onto Kira’s eyes: while we knew that pregnancy brings changes to prescription and general eyesight, for the past few weeks Kira has complained of a blurry spot in one eye and a yellow ring in her vision from the other eye. Although several people use varied chemicals to bring about similar results in their own bodies, Kira’s is quite unwelcome and frankly, worrisome. She has seen an opthamologist, who said it was probably related to pregnancy, but didn’t tell us much else. She has an appointment with some retinal specialist tomorrow and he should be able to give us some more answers. In the meantime, she’s walking into things and people.
Avey had an interesting week. She spent most of it doing somersaults and cartwheels inside of her mother’s womb, and she won the “Who Can Make Mommy Throw Up” contest once this week with a sneak attack. She’s been enjoying the beautiful music by Bach that her dad plays for her most nights before bed, and is glad to be molded so early into a well-cultured patron of the finest German composer ever to take a quill to hand. Modesty, however, prevents her father from taking too much credit; after all, her mother doesn’t protest the nightly concerts too much either.