My "Stories"

Alright, so I'm addicted to some pretty estrogen-y TV shows... don't scoff, you are too. Grey's, of course, and also Private Practice... I mean, there are others, like House, The Office and 30 Rock that make the roster, but really the first two are the estrogen-y ones I have to watch by myself because Justin pretty much refuses. Sometimes I can get him into Grey's but never, ever Private Practice.

That really means that I have to watch them alone. And given the estrogen-y-ness of them, along with my pregnancy hormones, alone is not the best way to watch shows intended to slay your heart in every imaginable way. It's like the shows' creators are the sick, twisted rejects of the Hallmark-card writer's family...

Thanks to the magic of DVR, I just caught up on Thursday night's new episodes of both and man, I really REALLY wish I hadn't done so while Jack was sleeping in his crib upstairs, far away from the reach of my hug-seeking arms.

First of all, did the dying kiddo in Grey's really have to be named Jackson? Really? Jack had surgery on his kidney on January 15th of last year... that's coming up this week and although he's fine now, I can't help reflecting on how rough that really was. "Jackson"? Come on. Unfair.

Secondly, thank you, Private Practice, for that kid dying of measles. Why isn't it ever a cute little girl? (Not that girls are expendable, not saying that here!) Every single time something bad happens to a little boy, I see my little boy's face in the story. I'm far from being a paranoid mom, but geez, it was like a double whammy this week! I had no Justin to reassure me that I was just being hormonal and lame, I had no Jack to squeeze and cuddle and annoy with my neediness... I had nothing but the back of the couch to absorb my mascara stains and irrational sniffling.

Holy moly.

And of course, I'll be back for more next week. What is wrong with me?