Heartless

I can already tell that a few years from now, I’m going to be wandering around with a second kid wishing I could tell my hand-wringy new-mom self to stop worrying so damn much, because it’s all going to be FIIINE. Fine.

I mean, I think. I’m pretty sure. Once in a while I take a step back and think, my LANDS, is there anything I haven’t worried about? The amount of calls to the pediatrician, the fretting over whether her swaddle is SWADDLY ENOUGH and … God, well. Gee howdy, I’m a hilarious mess.

Mostly about co-sleeping. The thing is, I’m not against co-sleeping. Truth be told, I’m kind of PRO co-sleeping, if I may say that very gently and not raise anyone’s ire, but for me, I am too much of a pansy to put her in her own bed when she’s THIS LITTLE and then there’s also the fact that uh, she won’t sleep anywhere else, thanks to the lingering reflux.

GAH GAH GAH. And we’re very safe, etc. etc. safetycakes, but my family is up my ASS about it, like I’m going to turn into a wild X-treme AP messageboard-type person who has sex with her husband in front of her toddler or older kid (“Very gently!” they say. OMFG.) Or or OR, breastfeeds on-demand in the side-lying position into Sam’s teen years. Or worse, as I read on one of those, um, sites, decides to up her breastmilk supply so that she can … can ….

FEED HER HUSBAND WITH HER BOOBS. LIKE, ON A REGULAR BASIS FOR NUTRITION AND STUFF.

And while yes, judge not lest thee be judged, I … well, I have a hard time with the sex in front of kids and the feeding husband bit. That’s the kind of shit that gives co-sleeping and breastfeeding a bad name, yo.

This is what happens when you spend too much time worrying and Googling about co-sleeping because you’re nervous that sleeping with your two-month-old means DOOOOOOM.

(It doesn’t. Unless, you know, you do it until she’s a teenager and never give her the option of her own bed. Which we will. Very soon.)

Anyway! Dude, you guys, my life is incredibly boring at the moment. Lovely and rewarding, but BORING. The most exciting thing on my to-do list this week? Buy new giant cups for the kitchen because the McDonald’s ones we’ve been reusing are getting moldy. No, really. THAT’S IT. Other than an endless cycle of diapering, book-reading, bouncy-seat playing and some Baby Einstein gym-sitting. The last song I got in my head? Some classical tune from said baby gym.

Send help, is what I’m saying. I’m a SHELL. A MERE SHELL.

That’s sort of a lie, when you consider that this week I’m starting to feel like I’m coming out of the newborn haze and beginning to resume life as normal. A month ago, for example, the aforementioned cup errand would have sent me into apoplectic fits because a) THERE ARE GERMS OUT THERE, MAH BABY OMG; and b) who the hell can gather up that much shit to go out there and do anything, much less buy something? Are you serious?

I’m proud to say I get out every day now, and I shower every day as well. Yes, yes, fine, I still get myself irrevocably stuck in the Baby Bjorn, leaving me to waggle about like a fish out of water while Sam wails from the floor or bouncy seat, because my GOD, woman, HURRY YOUR ASS UP. Invariably, by the way, Sunny is circling the floor, desperate to pee, while I my arms flail about awkwardly, my wrist caught in the waist, threatening to break any minute. Whimpering, screaming and flailing! The ultimate parent soundtrack. But still! Small victories, folks. Small victories!

However, all of this delightful time with my infant allows me to ponder these points, some of which are excitingly pop-culture related, and you’ve likely seen me freak out about them on Twitter:

- Jon & Kate, The Downfall. You guys, I am awfully excited about this, which is cruel when you consider there are (many) children involved. But I DESPISE Kate, and her hair in particular. I don’t understand her, and I don’t understand it.

- Real Housewives. Kelly is NOT a girls’ girl. That sums it up nicely, and how awesome that Luann, who I usually despise, brought it up.

- Um, American Idol? Can I tell you how much I LOOOVED Kris Allen’s version of Heartless and how suddenly it seemed like the whole world sort of OPENED UP and for ONCE I wished I wasn’t hopelessly devoted to Adam Lambert, with his penchant for tranny-style make up and all.

I know I said this before, but I think we’re turning a corner here, and I hope to see you again very, very soon. Like, maybe tomorrow. The hopes! The dreams! The … whatever. We’ll see.

Happy Thursday!

*Kanye and Kris Allen. I bought Kanye’s album with the iTunes gift cert that Samantha got me for Mother’s Day, along with a handwritten card (ha!) where she denied having reflux, and claimed she just liked snuggling with me at night. And then I died. Adam, PS, did his own awesome things, including a gorgeous necklace with her birthstone that I love. LOVE. Best day ever, I swear, and I’m not just saying that because he also got me a peanut butter cup sundae.

50 comments May 13th, 2009