I’m on a Boat

So! My baby slept through the night the other day. Through. The. Night. The WHOLE one. From 7 p.m. to 5 a.m., and at 5, I brought her into bed to feed her and snuggle until our eyes (well, mine) could open all the way, because for some reason, no matter WHEN I go to bed, 5 a.m. is a miserable, miserable challenge. It’s all mental, I realize, but dude, it’s still DARK OUT and when it’s dark out, it is nighttime, end of story, and no one should be up and about unless they are still awake from the day prior, obviously.

Totally worth getting up at 5 a.m. for, though, right? But really, it’s all kind of moot, as she has not done it since. The return of the lone hot, bright red cheek is upon us, sans fever, and I have NO idea what this means, but it does not mean sleep, apparently. Also, I’d like to think it means teeth, but still, WE HAVE NONE.

Dude, this swine flu coverage is making me want to POKE MY EYES OUT. Thank you, nightly news, for showing us death after death in an effort to, you claim, warn us all of the threat. Tomorrow, our local news is devoting NINETY FULL MINUTES to a special about it. No, seriously. NINETY MINUTES.

Thank you! Because there is, seriously, nothing we can do about it. Are you suggesting none of us leave the house? Are you suggesting that we get vaccinated? Because if it’s the latter, THERE AREN’T ANY. JESUS CHRIST. I’m a vaccinator, as I’ve said before, and very comfortable with the H1N1 vaccine for me and the babe (no, this really isn’t up for discussion, but YOU are welcome to feel differently), but for chrissake, stop WARNING ME and telling me to TAKE PRECAUTIONS for my seven-month-old daughter. JUST STOP. Because short of making the executive decision to not get groceries, I fail to see what precautions I’m supposed to take. I WASH MY DAMN HANDS. AND MY KID’S HANDS. She’s not in daycare! Our playdates are with people we know and are VERY SMALL and would be CANCELED if the kids showed signs of any illness, much less SWINE FLU. SO WHAT THE EFF ELSE ARE WE SUPPOSED TO DO, BRIAN WILLIAMS?

(Please don’t misread that as hostility, Brian. I still love you and crush on you inappropriately every night from 6:30 to 7 p.m. EST. I LOVE YOU BRIAN.)

With all this swine flu talk, no one warned me about kennel cough, which appears to be the real danger in our house. The night the kid slept through the night? Yeah. I did not, because the dog was up all night horking, coughing and gagging, and I had to bring her into bed with us and snuggle her because she was miserable and oh my God, I can’t believe I’m saying all of this about a dog, but you know, POOR SUNNY. SHE’S A PERSON, TOO. We were convinced it was some kind of congestive heart failure, because did you know, Dr. Google ALSO works to freak you out about your dog? Yes. It is an interspecies fearmongering tool. Thank you, Dr. Google! Are you ever fucking HELPFUL? OF COURSE NOT.

At any rate, I’ve got to go make a list of the shit I need to do this week, which is rather large, looming and upsetting. First on the list is to MAKE A DAMN LIST. But not before I leave you with the song I’ve had in my head all day. The song that lends itself to today’s title. No, I am not on a boat. OR AM I, MOTHERFUCKERS?

26 comments October 19th, 2009