| oh hey |
[Jun. 9th, 2009|01:26 pm] |
i just got done tucking you in for a nap that you actually asked for- which is completely unheard of around here. hopefully you'll actually go to sleep, although i can hear you humming to your toys in your bed.
i started to read 'where the wild things are' to you, and you shocked me by reciting nearly the entire book, verbatim. you needed to be prompted 2 or 3 times, but other than that, you had it completely memorized. i knew that you knew most of the book but to actually hear you bust out the whole thing like that in one sitting blew me away. holy crap, dude- you're so smart. my mom told me that i learned to read at 2, which i call bullshit on, but maybe i just had my books memorized like you do. i know i was an early reader and i loved books, just like you do. i hope that you continue to enjoy reading. i hope you like school.
man, you've been a little shit lately, but in a really hilarious way. speaking of books, you've become a huge fan of dr. seuss, and you're constantly quoting the cat in the hat, or green eggs and ham, but at really inappropriate times. if i tell you to stop doing something- like, "hey! stop trying to stick a fork in the outlet! you'll die!" your response would be like, "no! i would not could not! i will not, will not!" and then you continue whatever it is you were doing. this is so hilarious to me, that i have to literally force myself to stifle laughter and give you the evil frowny mom face. in fact, i feel like i'm constantly glowering at you, busting you on shit and telling you no. part of that is because you're a rambunctious toddler who is CONSTANTLY GETTING INTO SHIT, and part of it is probably because i'm a bit of a micromanager at heart. i try not to be, but i find myself just constantly blah blah-ing at you. "no! stop! knock it off!" and you don't even pay attention to me at all! it sucks. it's like telling a brick wall, "STOP BEING SO RED!" it's infuriating but then you act all hilarious and that makes it even worse.
so anyway, i just want you to know that someday, when you're older and you think i'm a total asshole who never lets you do anything fun, that despite my cranky-looking exterior, i'm really totally amused by all your antics. i'm a sucker for a clown, and whenever i catch you doing something naughty or stupid (dumping food on your lap, throwing shit around, whatever) and i say, "stop that! it's dangerous!" and your response is to laugh hysterically and yell, "NO IT'S NOT! HAAHAHA!" inside i'm dying of laughter. but, i still want you to FUCKING LISTEN TO ME because half the time you're doing shit that could get you seriously injured. like, could you fucking learn to stay out of traffic already? i am so tired of dragging you by the unwilling hand down the street because you randomly veer off toward the road. i just death-grip your hand and listen to you bitch, but i'd LOVE to let you run free and explore, if i didn't have to worry about you getting your sorry-ass killed. i've had to catch you by the scruff of the neck just before being plowed into by a truck one too many times.
i'll probably be one of those morbid moms that brings this up all the time to terrify you, but when i was pregnant with you i watched a 6 year old boy die because he was playing behind a car and got ran over. that's fucking bullshit! i don't want that to happen to you! so be more careful, okay!?
anyway. you're a super genius. your face is the most beautiful face i've ever seen. you're officially potty trained, so for the record, you were 2 and a half when you were potty trained. don't let me make shit up in 25 years like my mom does- "oh, you were all potty trained by 18 months." yeah right, mom. good job- you've established the fact that you rule at parenting and i suck. all 4 of us slept through the night from day 1, none of us ever accidentally pooped on the floor, and we all listened to you when you told us to stop doing stupid shit. hooray for you!
in an hour, your best friend poppy is coming over to play. we babysit her 2 days a week and then her dad babysits you one day a week. it's working out really well and you 2 get along really nicely- mostly because for some reason, she just puts up with all your dumb bullshit. if you steal a toy from her, instead of getting indignant, she just turns away, like- "fuck this, i don't need this shit in my life." which makes MY job really easy, as a babysitter. even if i try to intervene, i'll be all "hey poppy, you want your toy back?" and she just shrugs. you guys hug and kiss each other, and get super excited to see each other. it's awesome. i get to pretend to have a daughter 2 days out of the week and play dress-up and do goofy stuff, and you have a nice little buddy to play with. i'm glad that you have a lot of female energy in your life to counterbalance all the testosterone. you and your cousin everett are a true sight to behold- everett's new thing is screaming in your face like a dinosaur. you don't like it very much. nothing like family to bring out the asshole in people- and you're no exception. whenever you and everett hang out, it's like a ticking time bomb. i remember when i was a kid, playing with my cousins, it was a similar love/hate dynamic. you're close relatives but not as close as siblings, so there's a rivalry with no real camaraderie. what can you do? you're cousins. be nice to each other, okay?
okay. |
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| oh hi, it's me |
[Jan. 20th, 2009|12:08 am] |
Hey dude. I'm just sitting here at midnight doing nothing and thinking about our day together today. I've been babysitting our friend's daughter Poppy. She's a delightful little girl and the two of you get along just great. But I noticed some things today that make me see things a little clearer, and I'd like to share them with you.
Everyone cracks dumb jokes about how much we look alike- "Oh, you can tell you're his mom! Ha ha! Can't mistake that one for someone else's baby! Blah blah blah." But one thing that kind of blows my mind is realizing how much you ARE like me. I don't know if that means that I am a 25 year old with the personality of a toddler, or if that just means you're going to grow up to be like me, but I can tell you that I have a lot of empathy for your current situation. Of course, that just means that I have all these DOOMSDAY type thoughts about what you're going to grow up to be. I am terrified of what my personality will be like on testosterone instead of estrogen.
For instance- today, you were trying so hard to impress Poppy. You were laughing hysterically at nothing, at the top of your lungs, purely to draw attention to yourself. You were showing her all your toys, just bringing them over and playing with them in front of her. You were saying things like, "Hey, wookit this!' And generally being a totally hyper spazz. And guess what? I know. I've been there- I AM there. I'm technically an adult but I have this problem too. People come over, and I get so excited. I used to get drunk and show people all my photo albums- I still would if I didn't feel so embarrassed. When you get all into your meltdown mode and start screaming about shit not going right- I feel your pain. I still cry when I screw up the breakfast I had planned. I understand what it's like for something to go all wrong and to be really upset about it. It's awful!
So I don't know what I'm trying to say here- is it my job to equip you with the tools to deal with these types of emotions? Or is it my job to let you know that it's okay to act this way, to feel this way- and to not feel embarrassed about it when you get older? It's okay to be so excited to see someone else that you want to tell them everything about anything you've ever liked all at once. It's okay to never want the party to end, if it's just crying on the way home from the park or when you are the lone jerk being pissed about last call at the bar. It's okay to want to have fun every second, but I feel like I need to do a better job of teaching you to deal with disappointment than maybe my parents did- I'm still working on it.
Anyway. You are awesome, as usual. I love it when we're reading Green Eggs & Ham and you read the two characters in 2 different voices. I think you're a genius. Sweet dreams. |
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| omg sno! |
[Jan. 2nd, 2009|09:46 am] |
Sup dude. I guess it's been awhile. I just sat at our new dining room table that your daddy bought me for Christmas and zoned out on the internet while you ate an entire bowl of oatmeal, by yourself, with no assistance from me, and only minimal spillage. (One half-bite's worth on your lap, that's it!) Oatmeal is the only substance that you can eat without any help and I make it for us almost every morning now, because it's been cold, and because it's easy, and cheap. I make enough for both of us and I choke mine down, even though I'm learning that I actually hate oatmeal, the texture makes me want to gag if I think about it hard enough, so I don't. I'm still reveling over my discovery that adding frozen blueberries to your oatmeal both INCREASES DELICIOUSNESS, and also cools the oatmeal WHILE heating the blueberries- creating the perfect bowl of lukewarm oatmeal for you to chow down immediately. This is a vast improvement over previous inferior bowls of steaming hot oatmeal, which made you whine and sob hysterically as I frantically fanned them, trying to cool them off enough for you to eat. Discovering the blueberries-as-ice-cubes trick has made me feel like a supermom, a mom capable of any tricky feat. Every time I perform this trick, I feel like a badass, even though NOBODY ELSE IN THE WORLD CARES.
So! You're over 2 years old now. Right now you're standing about 10 feet away from me, shitting into your diaper while watching CARS MOVIE CARS MOVIE CARS MOVIE CAN I WATCH CARS MOVIE? I hate this movie, by the way. The Shrek obsession was one I could easily handle. I like Shrek! He's a very lovable ogre, I agree wholeheartedly with the anti-fairytale theme, and the music in Shrek 2 is pretty darn good (David Bowie! Buzzcocks!). But the Cars thing, ugh. One of my resolutions for this year (hey, it's 2009 now! You're going to be 3 this year. Holy fuck.) is to rely less on the television to keep you busy. On lazy days, on bad weather days, on whatever days, I tend to just let you watch whatever you want to watch while I geek out and relax. This has the desired effect of producing a slightly less irritable mommy, but I don't want you to be a TV KID, so I'm putting the kibbosh on the whole thing. You know, after I'm done typing this. Besides, you're shitting! I don't want to interrupt. We spent most of the summer at the park for HOURS at a time, letting you run around like crazy. Even when we go over to our buddy's house all the time, you get some energy out. But as soon as it started getting really cold, I got lazy. Sorry, I want to work on that.
Let's talk about your development, okay? You produce sentences worthy of most 3 and 4 year olds! This morning, you jumped onto my lap and exclaimed, "Awwww, mommy you're so CUTE! You're the PRINCESS!" A few minutes later you said, "Aw, I'm tinkerbell, and you're Peter Pan!" You also sometimes like to tell me that I'm the princess (previously mentioned) and that daddy is Shrek. I find that adorable. You can ask for things using complete sentences, like "Mommy, I need a glass of water please." (Although usually you just holler MOMMY I WANT WATER" and then I remind you how to ask politely.) You can easily count to 10, and you know a ton of songs. You can sing all of "Take Me Out to the Ballgame," and of course the ABC song. You know twinkle twinkle, the night-time song that we sing to you (more on that in a moment), and I'm a Little Teapot. You love to sing and we love to listen and sing with you. You even know some books by heart- when we read you the same book every night, I only have to say one word and you finish the rest of each sentence. When we read Green Eggs & Ham together, you go crazy! You get so excited and you have some of the pages memorized pretty damn well. On your way to reading!
As far as potty training is going- well, that's part of the 'to work on' list for this year. You peed on the potty a few times this summer and then got over it completely. We eased off, not wanting to freak you out, and then got you a new potty for Christmas, hoping for a renewed interest. You've actually peed in it a few times, but you've still never pooped on a potty. Honestly, I'm not looking forward to asking you if you need to take a potty break every 30 seconds, but we HAVE to get you potty trained, if only because I can't afford to keep buying diapers, man- that shit's expensive! It will happen.
The biggest milestone for you(us) last year was getting bedtime under control. I'm sure I've done enough bitching about how annoying our bedtime routine was- first I nursed you to sleep for like a year and a half, then we spent another 6 months or so just walking around with you in the backpack until you crashed out, until settling on laying down with you to get you to fall asleep. Eventually I got REALLY tired of the whole thing, and you weren't sleeping all that great anyway. So, I bit the bullet and went for the whole "cry it out" thing, and surprisingly, it wasn't very traumatizing. It's something I tried a few times before (but couldn't get through more than 20 minutes of it ever, you poor little guy) but this time, it just worked. It was the right time, I guess. You needed to learn to sleep on your own, and now you can. Every night, we read you a few books (always ending with the same one, "I Love You Through and Through," one that you have memorized) and then sign you the night-time song. I've had morbid thoughts about that song- wondering if something happened to Jason and I, who would sing it to you? Nobody else knows it, your dad made it up. It goes like this:
Go to sleep little Eli
Go to sleep little Eli
Just rest your head and close your eyes
Give it a try
We love you so
There's no need to cry
Go to sleep little Eli
Go to sleep little Eli
We'll say farewell
To the setting sun
We had a long day
But now it's done
So go to sleep little Eli
Go to sleep little Baby
We had our fun
Our song's been sung
I love you son.
There, now you know. We sing this song to you, and you lay in bed under your little blanket and sing along with us, while yawning. Then we kiss you on the cheek and leave you there. Some nights you go straight to sleep, some nights you lay there bitching about some particular toy you want, trying to buy more time. You'll be like, "I NEED MY SKATEBOARDING GUYYYY" and then I'll feel bad, and find your skateboarding guy and bring it to you, and then you'll be like "I NEED MY CARRRR" and that's when I know to just leave you alone, because you're being a turd, haha. In the morning you wake up and holler, "MOMMY I NEED MILK AND WATERRRRR!" and that's how we know you're awake. This morning you said, "I need milllllk. And water." It was funny. I love your sleep-rumpled hair. I love that you sleep 13 hours a night now. I don't love that you no longer nap, but I'm dealing with it.
And now I have to change your poopy diaper. Next time I write in this thing, you better be pooping in the toilet, dudebro. |
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| is this like a drunk dial? |
[Aug. 6th, 2008|10:51 pm] |
okay i'm NOT drunk- first of all. i had one glass of wine earlier. so one could say that i'm in a... heightened emotional state, to say the least. but not drunk.
anyway i was in the process of putting you to bed, which at this point in your life consists of you drifting to sleep in the backpack as i sway back and forth, usually hovering above my laptop reading while you pass out. tonight i was reading this incredibly depressing article about a feral child who was raised in abominable conditions. of course my immediate reaction was to lean my head back, to feel the warmth of your hair against my cheek, to grip your little foot in my hand. later, as i lay you down in bed and you whimpered a little for me to stay for a moment, i sat there in the dark with my hand on your tiny ribs thinking about how you were made. no, not the dirty part. the part where i grew you in my belly.
i've never been one to go all moony over the MIRACLE OF LIFE BLAH BLAH BLAH- i mean, the part of me that is intrigued by the way the universe works is completely blown away by the whole thing, but i'm not like one of those nutcase christian MOMMIES who display giant blinking graphics that have descriptions of their developing fetuses toes, fingers, nervous system, etc. it is a mystery of the universe which blows my mind, but with which i do not generally concern myself. all will be revealed in time, right?
but then i was thinking about the first official ultrasound i had. do you remember? no, not the ER one at 11 weeks- the scheduled one. a technician fumbled around and i think that might have been the day i found out you were a boy- i can't remember. oh wait, i just looked through my other journal's archives and confirmed- yes. the day i found out who you were- elijah ray johnson (archives confirmed that this name was picked out the day of the ultrasound already! crazy! ) was the day i found out what it was like to be terrified for your child.
you probably don't recall being in my womb, which is cool. it turned out that you had a minor umbilical defect, which was cause for concern. the evil perinatologist tried to talk me into getting an amnio and a battery of tests that may or may not confirm a variety of defects, and then offered me an abortion. at that point, 22 weeks or so- i was feeling your kicks strongly, and the idea of an abortion did not appeal to me. but i was ABSOLUTELY TERRIFIED. that feeling never quite went away, to be honest. the whole time i was pregnant, it was in the back of my mind- "abnormality." the perinatologist never extrapolated as to what kind of defects you might be in for, but it's a moot point- you're perfect in every way. developmentally, you were right on schedule, if not a little ahead. you were born early, as you know- because of my preeclampsia, unrelated to the umbilical thing. that's a whole other story- that's the "LET ME TELL YOU HOW BAD YOU FUCKED UP MY BODY" story, and we're not telling it today. the "YOU ALMOST KILLED ME" story can wait for when i'm feeling less generous.
so now that you are a healthy, happy, perfect, beautiful, sweet, loving (etc., etc.,) almost-2-year-old, and i read stories about how people are fucking annihilating any chance for their kids' survival, it makes me want to vomit. it makes me want to cut people's eyeballs out. i can't even go into detail. i know i've had this thought before- i may have even trudged it out here, in this journal, for everyone to look at, but i'll share it again. having you made me wish that i believed in god. not because i'm all that excited about the idea of god (it's not that i don't "BELIEVE" in god- it's that i don't trust religion or take it seriously in any way. if there's a god, i'm down. but i don't know how to deal with that information.) but because i wish that i had someone reliable to thank for your existence. so that i could sit down and say "thank you, god. thank you for my perfect, beautiful son. thank you for making sure he's healthy after worrying so much while i was pregnant. thank you for every second i get to spend with him, even if i'm fucking hysterical from the monotony of stay-at-home-motherhood or whatever i get crazy about. thank you for his beautiful eyes, the way he smiles, and everything else about him. but most of all, PROTECT HIM. PLEASE."
so i just say these things in my head, and hope that someone in the universe is listening. i do my best to protect you at all costs- so much so that, my friend alia relayed to me a story about her taking a sharp object away from her daughter and saying, "you'll poke a hole through your heart!" and her fiance said, "who are you, alice?" people use me as a hilarious example for overbearing parenting, i guess. i don't think it helps that i watched a 6 year old die while i was pregnant with you. i'm so committed to protecting you, but i'm conscious of my hovering, and i try to keep it to a bare minimum.
eli, i just want you to be happy, healthy, and live a long and strong life. do what you think is best, be a good person. show up on time. work hard, do people favors, just because you want to. DON'T RUN OUT INTO THE FUCKING STREET. i love you. i want to go press my face against your neck and breathe in baby smell while you sleep, but that might be uh... a little bit creepy. i'm just so happy you're okay. |
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| POTTY PAHTY. |
[Jul. 20th, 2008|09:45 pm] |
sup sup sup elijah rayyyyy. right now it's quarter to ten and you're slung over my back in the trusty, dusty, somewhat musty backpack. since weaning, it's been the preferred method of getting you to sleep, since the only other way is to lay down with you and pretend to fall asleep (which usually results in either mind-numbing boredom, or actual sleep) and eff that noise.
the real reason i'm writing is that once again, you've hit a major (MAJOR!) milestone. you peed in the toilet tonight, dude. and i nearly wept with joy. not because i'm looking forward to potty training (i'm not) or because i get any serious pleasure out of watching you urinate (i don't) but because i am just so, so SO proud of you. you're a real big kid now, a real kid and it blows my effing mind every second of every day. the things you can say, the things you KNOW- i can't get over it.
today your dad told me that after driving over an unexpected bump in the road today, you looked up at him and asked, "what the hell was that?" while i don't appreciate the naughty words (whatever, i don't really care that much) i can't help but find it HILARIOUS beyond belief. also at dinner tonight, you were desperate for a bite of a burrito so you begged, "want this! want this! waaaant thiiiissss SO BAD!" and me and your dad just looked at each other like "did he just say that? SO BAD?" where are you even picking up this stuff? it's awesome. i don't have to actively teach you words and phrases anymore, you just keep BUSTING THEM OUT OF NOWHERE. the other night you looked at jason when you were laying in bed together and said "YOU'RE THE BEST, DADDY."
so anyway, potty training begins, and while i'm not looking forward to the accidents in public, the disappointment or embarrassment you'll probably feel, the inevitable poop smears in places i don't want to see them- the stinky bathroom, let's face it. potty training is not pretty. but it's just another massive step in the direction of you growing up, and i can't believe it.
i love you, kid. |
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| 20 months |
[Jun. 2nd, 2008|10:26 pm] |
Hey buddy. So much is different now, it's crazy. I can hardly comprehend it. Today, while talking on the phone to my sister Katie, I told you to count to ten, and you did! You just counted, straight through to ten! (okay, I had to prompt you when you got to 8, because you could tell by my expression that you were doing a good job and you got too excited to finish on your own.) This is one of those things I think that people are going to think I'm making up when you're older- "Oh, Eli was counting to 10 at 20 months old!" But it's totally true. Aunt Katie heard it! You've actually been able to count to ten for awhile, but it's really rare that you'll do it when prompted. You're just kind of BRILLIANT! Or at least, you have a really good memory and good verbal skills, and that is pretty cool. It's funny because it FEELS like an accomplishment, kind of, even though I know that I had very little to do with it besides providing you with my DNA. I know I was an early talker, and an early reader, and now I'm a very verbose adult. I don't wish that on you, haha!
The real reason I'm writing, is that about a month ago, with very little fanfare, I stopped nursing you. I expected a massive series of tantrums, I expected you to tearfully beg to nurse, and I was prepared to give in once or twice, in order to have some kind of "goodbye" nursing session. Except, that never happened. The day I decided to stop nursing you, you were kind of cranky around naptime and wouldn't go to sleep, and then bedtime was a little rough but we managed it- and so I fully expected you to wake up first thing in the morning begging, "Boobie! Boobie!" But you just... didn't. In fact, you didn't ask for it the whole day. I kept waiting and waiting, and nothing. I have to admit, it broke my heart a little. I didn't realize that our nursing relationship, as frustrating and rewarding and crazy as it was, was almost completely prompted by me at that point. I wanted to wean you for a lot of reasons- the ubiquitous "I want my body back!" was right up there, I wanted you to be independent, I wanted to be able to get some more time to myself. Now that it's been a month, I miss it a lot, but I have to admit that of all the things I've cried over in the last 2 years (jeez, where to start? Will Smith's "Just the two of us," Prostate cancer public service announcements, various forms of guilt, anything to do with children getting hurt or killed, etc., etc.) I don't think I've cried because I'm not nursing you anymore. Oh wait, yes I have. One day you fell and hit your head pretty hard, and you ran to me crying for boobs, and I couldn't give you any, and I cried. Sorry! I'm sorry. But you didn't seem to mind. You just snuggled up and nuzzled your head into my shoulder and cried for a minute, and then you went back to playing. Actually, I think now that you're not nursing anymore, you're a much more loving child. You run up to me and give me huge hugs. You give me kisses and tell me you love me. You don't treat me like a human pacifier anymore and it kind of rules.
If you're reading this, you're probably thinking "JESUS CHRIST MOM, PLEASE STOP TALKING ABOUT YOUR BOOBS." I can't help it. I spent the first year and a half of your life nursing you CONSTANTLY. The first 6 months, practically non-stop! It was a huge part of my identity as a mother. I have to admit I went through a crazy boob nazi phase where I was so concerned with breast feeding, I was constantly bitching about stupid crap and reading all kinds of weird pro-boob propaganda. Eventually, when nursing you stopped being the only thing I did ALL EFFIN DAY, I started to get over it. It's such a small part of being your mom, now. It's not something you're going to remember, (god, I hope not) and it's not something I am ever going to do again. So anyway. RIP, boobie baby. Welcome to the world, grown-up kid.
And you're SO grown up. I can't believe it. You're almost too tall to walk under the kitchen counter overhang. You run and JUMPAJUMPAJUMPA. You can talk as well as some 3 year olds! You tell me and Jason that you love us, you give us kisses. When you want up, you say "HOLD YOU!" in this amazingly pathetic little voice. You love pizza, ice cream, and cheese. And snap pea crisps.
I've been letting you watch cartoons lately, and now you ask for them. Actually, when you start bugging me to watch cartoons is when I leave the tv off all day. But if I want to clean the kitchen, or zone out for a minute, or whatever, I'll throw on OPB. So far I am pretty sure it hasn't melted your brain. You love Dragon Tales (I HATE THAT FUCKING SHOWWWWW) and Sesame Street the most. Dragon Tales is so stupid. I can't wait until you're older and I can be like "look at this dumb ass show you used to make me watch with you!" We also let you watch The Simpsons a lot, but it's on DVD so at least you're not stuck watching all the annoying commercials.
Okay buddy. You're crashed out with dad and I'm going to go to bed. Good night! |
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| 19 months |
[Apr. 22nd, 2008|09:38 pm] |
Elijah RAY!
Dude, where to start? First of all, I don't know if I've properly addressed the 'destroyer' thing. In about a month, I'm going to get a big-ass tattoo on my forearm of an owl, with banners that read: (what else?) HELLO DESTROYER. Trying to explain it in brief to the tattoo artist before he went to finish up the tattoo he was working on, I realized I don't have a very concise explaination. There's a jumble of reasons why I call you Destroyer.
1. It's funny!
2. Brighid and I joked about naming you Destroyer while I was pregnant. Nobody else thought it was a cool idea.
3. OW, MY VAGINA!
But seriously- it sounds so mean, calling you Destroyer, right? Like, "wah wah, having a baby destroyed everything!" Well dude, guess what? You DID destroy my life. You ruined everything about the way it was, and I couldn't be happier. How long can a person stay a chainsmoking alcoholic? Yes, I had fun before I had a baby. Yes, I went out and partied a lot. I also used to drink every single night, and almost every night, I'd get so drunk, I'd end up crying about something dumb and making an ass out of myself. Half the time I'd wake up not really remembering all the 'fun' I had the night before anyway. So yes, you were a destroyer in the best sense of the word. A catalyst for change. Giving birth to you and raising you has been the biggest challenge of my life, and I think I'm stepping up pretty admirably. Not just because I quit smoking and drinking every day, but I'm becoming stronger in a lot of different ways. I know it seems like I focus on the negative all the time, but that's just because it makes for better reading. It's easy to take things less seriously, to crack jokes, to be hilarious and crass- when I'm talking about the crappy stuff. The hard part is taking the real, touching, sweet things, and talking about them without sounding cheesy or stupid.
So I'm getting this tattoo soon and I'm so excited. I know I have this blog (and the one with your pictures) to remind me of you, but it will be nice to look down and see a picture that reminds me of you forever. My little baby!
Usually I hate putting you to bed, it's a pain in the ass. I've taken to letting your dad do it while I laze around doing nothing. I feel like I've earned the breaks, after all. But tonight, dad's working, and when I snuggled up to you, I put my face up against your hair and inhaled so hard. I'm trying so hard to cherish this time. So far, this is my favorite age you've been. You are so loving, so sweet. Oh yeah, and can we talk about how brilliant you are? You can count to ten. You probably won't believe me when you're older and I tell you that you could count to 10 at 18 months, but it's true. You just started doing it. We count with you a lot, but you just counted, one through ten, all by yourself one day. Now you do it at random, but you won't on command. I sit and read books with you, going through the alphabet, the numbers. You love to sit on my lap and point out all the things in the book. You can say pretty much any word at this point, it's AMAZING. What's even funnier is the word you use when you CAN'T say something. It's just this all-purpose sound you make when you either don't know how or don't remember how to say a word- it sounds kind of like huckleberry, but it's more like "hickuh-berber." or "huck uh bluh bluh." Hilarious! You just started talking in sentences all of the sudden, pretty much the day you turned 19 months. "Don't touch it!" "Please get down!" "Mommy cook!" etc.
But best of all, you can say "I love you." I'm not 100% sure if you know what it means or anything, and I don't really care. The fact that you say it at all is enough to bring me to tears. I even saw your dad get misty once when you said it clear as a bell.
Overall, I would say things are pretty good. I can't remember the last time I stood over the sink weeping uncontrollably. I love you SO, so so so much. The moments of frustration are now brief compared to the hours of fun we have together. Sure, sometimes I go insane trying to drag you down the street by one arm, because you refuse to walk, be carried, or ride in a stroller, opting instead to melt into a puddle on the sidewalk. But that has nothing on how amazing it is when you are getting cozy for your nap, snuggled up in bed and you look up at me and whisper "Mama" with a half-smile on your face, your eyes slightly droopy. The way you hug now, by squeezing your arms around my neck.
I'm looking forward to watching you grow so much. I can't wait to do real craft projects with you (instead of just having you hand me crayons and exclaim "color! circle! circle! meow!" and watching me draw for you) and I can't wait to teach you to read. I can't wait to see what kind of kid you're going to be, but right now you are still my little destroyer. Your arms are still chubby, your belly is still round. Your voice is squeaky and adorable. Your hair is wispy with the slightest baby mullet that you won't let us snip. You adore us completely and unconditionally. You're not sarcastic yet, you don't know how to be a dickhead. You're like a sweet little puppy. I love you, dude.
(See? The sappy stuff isn't as funny to read.)
<3 mom |
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| blastocyst |
[Jan. 14th, 2008|11:35 pm] |
Hello, Elijah.
2 years ago today, you were a little bundle of cells in my uterus and I didn't even know you existed yet. I remember the day we made you. It was a rainy day, I read a book that I loved and it made me cry. I went inside to spend some time with your dad, and then I went back to the porch to write about it in my journal. (Eww, haha!) And then you were there! And I didn't even know. I didn't find out until a few weeks later, when we went to meet up with Bill in Seattle. I kept eating and eating and eating, and I couldn't seem to even choke down a beer, even though we were bar hopping. Bill kept poking fun at me and saying things like "You're pregnant! I can tell by looking at you!" I thought he was nuts, but then the next day I peed on a stick and then you went from hiding out to BLOWING A HOLE IN MY UNIVERSE. I don't even know where to begin.
2 years ago, I went from chain-smoking boozehound to herbal tea drinking vitamin-taker in a matter of days. 2 years ago, I weighed about 145 lbs, had a dyed black bob, and a collection of cute clothes. 2 years ago I only had a tiny patch of stretch marks on one of my thighs.
Today, I woke up to the sound of your voice saying "Mama. Mama." It was husky and urgent and I plopped a boob into your mouth and dozed. I rubbed my feet against your daddy's feet. After you were finished nursing, you sat up and declared "PLAY." and hopped off the bed. You jacked your dad's phone and ran out into the living room with it. Today I screamed at you a bunch of different times for really stupid reasons. I was frustrated and each time, I immediately apologized, but still felt embarassed and guilty for acting like, well- like you, I guess. Like a dang baby! Today you ate handfuls of spaghetti and laughed when you tossed it on the floor. Today you screamed hysterically when your dad left for a business trip.
Tonight I yelled at you for slapping me in the face while you were nursing, and you didn't even look at me. You just kept staring straight ahead and nursing as if I hadn't said anything. I immediately felt like the worst mother in the world, apologized over and over while you continued to nurse, and when I said "sometimes you are just an annoying little monkey!" you unlatched and said "Ah ah ah ah ah" like a monkey without missing a beat. HILARIOUS, DUDE.
Tonight I ate a bunch of ice cream and made myself sick, whoops.
All the things you can do melt my heart in so many different ways. The way you say "mama" when you need me, the way you will run across the room with the sweetest smile on your face to give me a hug, the sound of your laugh. You're a real little kid now and every day you blow my mind a little harder with the things you understand. You point to the sky and say "airplane." You point to the door and say "Dada." You tug at the neckline of my shirts and say "peaaaase!" when you want to nurse. When we hand you toys, you say "Thank you!" You are the smartest kid in the world. My life is so different in ways that I never could have imagined. Tonight as I was mopping up after dinner (quite literally), I started thinking about all the family dinners of my childhood that all blend together in my head. Did you know that we sit around the same table now, Eli? The table we have dinner at is the same one I sat around when I was tiny. When I was your age, practically! That table actually says, "Paul was here, 1992" on the bottom of it, can you believe that? Your Uncle Paul tagged the dining room table. I was thinking about how glad I am that we all sit together and have dinner every night, just the 3 of us. I love sitting there, even if it's just in silence, even if the house is messy and we had a bad day. I love being a family with you and your daddy. Even though I get moody and frustrated and act like an asshole sometimes, I can't imagine doing anything else with my life that could be more important or fulfilling or beautiful than just sitting around having dinner. Watching you place bits of steamed broccoli on top of your head and then cracking up like it's the funniest joke in the world. That's it! I love you. I'll see you bright and early. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 13th, 2007|02:44 pm] |
Yo dude.
I told myself I was going to diligently document your first year through words, pictures, sounds, anything. I knew that I would hardly remember it, and I wanted to hold it all dear. I think I thought if I didn't cherish every second, I would be doing something wrong as a parent, like someone would revoke my license.
Now it's gone. You're a year and 2 months old, and right now you're sitting in your high chair, chowing on some cubed tillamook cheddar and cheerios, saying "nawwwwww no no no" while I type on my dorky little laptop.
If pressed, I think I would say the most startling discovery about parenthood has been the loneliness. I'm with you 24 hours a day most of the time, so I shouldn't be lonely. I'm never, ever, ever alone. Well, hardly ever. But it's real, and it's boundless, in a way I didn't know was possible. It's a good thing that I was lousy about writing about your first year, because I think my diary would have read a lot like the one I had in the 8th grade. "Dear Diary- nobody understands me, nobody cares about me, nobody wants to hang out with me. My clothes aren't cool. Boys don't look at me. I feel ugly and gross and stupid all the time." The only fundamental difference would be you, dude. In the 8th grade, I was awkward and stupid and ugly and socially retarded, but I had only myself and puberty hormones to blame. Now, I have you. I could blame all my problems on you, and I'd be right to do so. Every single change that has come in the last 2 years or so has been directly related to you. Not even my shoe size is the same, isn't that fucked up?
Now that you're a year old, it's getting so easy. You can hang out by yourself for literally MINUTES at a time. I get out of the house at least once a day now, and you are on a semi-predictable nap and bedtime schedule. Things couldn't be better! You are learning to talk, and you know so many words now that I have lost count of exactly how many there are. Your first word (besides dada and mama) was "ball." You can easily say words that begin with b- you say ball, bubble, backpack, balloon ("baooooo") and lots of other stuff. You said "tasty" the other day and I still think it's amazing. You're a chubby little walking, talking toddler. I am incapable of describing the joy I get from watching you accomplish small tasks. I mean, I get it now when people say shit like "Oh man, it's worth it!"
I used to think it was some kind of mantra for exhausted, broken parents- "it's all worth it!" like it's the only thing that gets you through the day or something. But, at least now I know it's true. Nobody can understand the satisfaction until they have their own kid, so it's not even worth talking about. I love you with all my heart, and I would not trade you for any number of hipster dance parties, size 8 pants, or late-night rollerskating parties. You've altered my life so dramatically that if you were not my kid, I'd want to kick your ass. But for some reason, I love you for it instead.
Love, Mom. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 23rd, 2007|11:46 pm] |
hello destroyer!
dude, so i was just sitting here, watching seinfield at 11:20 p.m., with your daddy's leg stretched out across my lap, and looking at someone's new year's eve pictures, my buddy when she was pregnant. i started thinking about being pregnant, and then i suddenly remembered a really fun night. me & the dbl went to our friend asa's birthday party at his house, and some rock & roll bands were playing. i wasn't all THAT pregnant yet, i could feel you wiggling, but i wasn't all popped out crazy yet. it was when you were so tiny that when you wiggled, it was like a little flutter in my belly. anyway, some bands played in the living room and you were dancing around all crazy in my belly, it was so funny! i remember putting my hands on my belly and almost crying because i was so overwhelmed by the way you were already reacting to the world around you. i didn't know if you were terrified or having fun in there, but you were MOVING TO THE MUSIC, and it was crazy.
so now, you're in your crib (god knows for how long) and your daddy is asleep on the couch next to me. you're like 7 months old and things have been crazy lately. i've been going a little bonkers, and you're developing so fast i think it's freaking you out a little. you cry a lot and you get really overexcited and freak out. but you also have this amazing laugh, and your cheeks start to swallow up your eyes when you smile, and you have FINALLY STARTED TO REACH OUT FOR ME, which is what i've been waiting for pretty much since i found out i was pregnant. tonight i was holding you on my lap and i was sticking out my tongue at you, and you were laughing your ass off and reaching out trying to grab my tongue. it was awesome. it managed to totally erase the last week of hysterical crying (me AND you) and sleep deprivation and all that lame ass bullshit.
so, i've absolutely decided without a doubt that you're not getting any brothers or sisters. i'm sorry, dude. i know that you will probably grow up to be a weird, isolated, lonely only child, just to fuck with me, to punish me for depriving you of a sibling, but i've DECIDED. it's not fair for me to be pregnant, to have a new baby, it's not fair for you or for jason, or for myself. i've never been this crazy before, and i want it to END. i've got to get these hormones straight, i've got to get a handle on myself, so that i can be a good mom for you. because, i sit at home and watch all these terrible daytime tv shows, and i see these mothers on tv that scream at their kids, and jerk them around, and basically act like cranky toddlers, and i can SEE MYSELF IN THEM. i watch the women on dr. phil act like total assholes to their kids and instead of clucking my tongue and saying, "tsk, what an awful mommy!" i duck my head a little and say, "fuck, if i had 4 kids, i'd probably smack them around, too." i UNDERSTAND these women with their uncontrollable rage, so i know now that it's only fair to make sure you're the only one. i want life to be good for all of us, and i know the only way to keep things good is to keep things simple. so, please don't hate me when you're a grown up and you don't have siblings to push you around, to make you feel like a little kid. (you wouldn't know what that is like anyway, because you'd be the oldest. trust me, it's no picnic to watch yourself regress.) please don't hate me when you're playing alone in the living room on a cold, rainy afternoon. please don't hate me, because i will be here, and so will your cousin everett, and so will your daddy, and we will keep you company. you don't need siblings. TRUST ME.
anyway, dawg. back to the point: i'm never going to be pregnant again (or if i am, i won't be for long, anyway) and so i won't ever know what it feels like to have a little buddy floating around saying hi. i feel like i cherished it enough when it happened, even through all the crazy hormonal crap. i remember you in my belly. i just wanted to tell you that.
love you, g.
-momz |
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| here you are |
[Jan. 8th, 2007|01:01 am] |
hello, destroyer.
i couldn't have picked a more apt description of you, dogg. it's been almost exactly 4 months since you popped out, and my body is still hella fucked. right now, you're chillin' in your bassinet, presumably asleep for the rest of the night. however, you tend to defy presumptions, so as usual, i'm hanging out, awake, waiting to see if you wake up again. it's a pretty fun routine, eh? hey, i can't complain.
let's talk about damage control: i'm a tiger. i'm a purple and peach tiger. my body is all stretch marks, big, jagged, red stretch marks from hell. they start on my belly, wrap around my love handles across my back, climb down my legs (OH SHIT WTF? YOU ARE AWAKE AGAIN?) and end mid-calf. my stomach sometimes resembles the puckered latex of a deflated balloon. my breasts take up most of my upper torso & they swing lower than ever before. i have ingrown toenails from wearing too-small shoes, as my feet have inflated to a size & a half larger. i have acne. i have massive patches of dry skin on my arms. i have a rash under my left breast. indeed! you are the destroyer.
let's talk about you, though! at one week shy of 4 months of age, you weigh roughly 18 lbs, you are aprox. 26" long, and you have a full head of dark brown hair. you have massive rolls of fat around your wrists and ankles. your belly is big and round. you have an inverted left nipple! you have a 'heart-shaped' tongue. you have a roll of fat on the back of your neck and about 20 chins.
you spend most of the day finding ways to make my life a living hell. okay, that's not true. but the last couple of days have been punctuated with the most mind-numbing screams i've ever heard, and it is making me a smidge crazy. i have chalked it up to a growth spurt. sometimes when you are screaming, i have to set you down and bite the side of my wrist really hard to avoid screaming right back at you- and sometimes when you are screaming i tear up in sympathy. you look so pathetic with your face all screwed up like a chinese dragon, and your little fists in the air. it is enough to make me cry!
oh man, but when you are in a good mood? you have this cackling laugh/shriek thing that makes me SO ECSTATIC. seriously, it is the best sound i have ever heard. i wish i could record it and put it on a keychain and listen to it all day or something. you stick our your fat little tongue and squeal and it's a beautiful fucking thing, d00d. i love it. oh dang, i love it.
i can't believe how fast you're growing. i mean, i can- i can believe it. but it's still pretty dang intense. whenever i get super stressed out or annoyed by the demands of motherhood, i just keep trying to remind myeslf that this is the only time you will ever be this tiny and i have to squeeze every last drop of enjoyment out of it. i have to love every second, because time is moving faster for me than it ever has, and it is fucking terrifying. i try to picture you as a teenager or an adult and it feels like it will only be a few weeks when that will happen. i'm gonna be so old! my body will be so fucked up and i will be so old, oh shit!
oh yeah, and also i have a feeling that tomorrow you will explode with fecal matter, since you have only pooped a little bit today and all you did yesterday and today was eat. that shit's gotta go somewhere.
okay dude you've been down for awhile so i'm gonna try to hit the hay. listen up: i love you with all my heart, and i wouldn't have my life any other way. if it weren't for you, i'd just be another drunk-ass, douchebag art fag who does nothing but get fucked up and tell stupid stories over and over again. it was fun while it lasted but it's not a very good way to spend your life. i love you. I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU. i can't wait until you start hugging me back.
love, mom. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 18th, 2006|07:09 pm] |
dear twerp: (er, hello destroyer)
you know, darling- there is something to be said for smoking cigarettes. sure, they are expensive, smelly, (whatever, i still think they smell fucking delicious) and poisonous- but the one redeeming factor is that they are RELAXING. not relaxing because of the chemicals involved- though they help, but relaxing because the very act of smoking a cigarette is to take a time out. it's an excuse to get the fuck out of a situation and sit down for 5 minutes and stop being so goddamn crazy about everything. so, when everyone, and i mean EVERYONE gets on my case for being in a shitty mood because i'm 6 months pregnant and INSANE, i remember smoking and i want to cry.
everyone keeps asking me if i'm going to start smoking again after i have you. i don't know, dude! i don't want you to smoke because smoking is stupid- it's stupid to pay a large company money to kill you. i don't want you to smoke because it's bad for you, and i don't want you to smoke because it would make me A FAILURE AS A PARENT, but dang i want to smoke so bad. so what if i do start smoking again? i'm a fucking adult, right? i'm allowed, right? i don't know.
motherhood is stupid because suddenly people start scrutinizing your life choices. you're lucky that you are going to be a dude (for a lot of reasons) but mostly because you never have to be pregnant. you will probably someday be in your father's situation, which is to say: stuck listening to a crazy broad bitch all day about how crummy it is to be pregnant, which is probably no fun at all, but you won't be the one having to walk around with your big fat belly sticking out, fielding incredibly personal questions. "are you going to breastfeed?" "was it planned?" "are you going to do cloth diapers?" "are you going to start smoking again?" "are you going to co-sleep?" etc., etc. and every single question is a fucking judgement. what should i answer? who is going to think what? what if i just told everyone i was gonna stick a bottle in your face, throw you in a stroller, and chainsmoke my way through your childhood? why can't i have the balls to embrace being a crappy mom? i'm already so fixated on doing it right, on NOT FUCKING YOU UP, on making sure you grow up happy and well-fed.
okay, darling. the room is filling up with my crazy fucking family again, and they won't shut the fuck up and leave me alone. gee, i can't wait for you to meet everyone. i apologize in advance for exposing you to a bunch of loud fucking crazy people. maybe after i have you my hormones will level off and i will stop being so fucking cranky all the time, but i doubt it. i think what i really need is a TIME OUT, and by TIME OUT, i mean CIGARETTE.
<3 yer momz. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 7th, 2006|11:24 am] |
what is up, my destroyer?
i am just sitting in some boring cafe downtown, killing time until we go see the midwife. you have been beating me up all morning, and in fact- that seems to be a trend with you. every time we go to the doctor you freak out. do you not like the doctor, already? it's cool, i like to know that you are in there. it's really eerie that now i can see you poking my belly, like you're trying to claw your way out or something. you are a little animal!
me and your pops are moving into our new apartment now, and we already have a dresser in your room. we had a little 'aww' moment over it- you have a ROOM now, dude. bill's hooking us up with a crib so you'll have a place to sleep (even though you will probably sleep with us for awhile anyway) and we have your monkey sitting on top of the dresser. i am not sure about decorating yet but i was thinking about doing a paper collage, or maybe covering a whole wall in felt and making felt cutouts that stick to it. WHATEVER, YOU KNOW. I've got some time to worry about it.
really briefly: a lot of people have been talking about transgendered folks lately, be it weirdo moms online who have nothing better to do but post about hypothetical shit all day and/or our friend xavier. i bumped into xavier the other day and he asked what we were having, and i said a boy- and then i mentioned (like i usually do, casually and in a joking voice) that i was kind of hoping for/expecting a girl. i was, i thought you were a girl! i don't know why. anyway xavier was like, "well, maybe you'll get lucky and he'll be transgendered!" which left me sort of mifffed. is that "getting lucky?" i'll be the first to admit i do NOT understand transgendered culture for a moment. i can't imagine a woman not having any sort of pussy power or feeling connected to her body. i can't understand a man wanting to cut off his penis. i just don't get it! but anyway i just wanted to say that if you are born a boy but for some reason you decide that you are a girl, or maybe you just have your wires crossed and you can't help it, that's cool, as long as it makes you happy. but i just want you to love your little body and not think there's anything wrong with it. okay? OKAY. and no, i probably won't let you wear dresses to kindergarten, no matter how hard you beg. even if you are fully convinced you are a girl, i'm not going to let you grow up thinking that wearing dresses = being a girl. there's a lot more to it than that!
okay, psycho 'issues' ranting aside, it's really cool when you punch me in the stomach and i can see it. i'm starting to think of you like the little person you are going to be, and it's pretty fun. see you soon, d00d.
-yer m0mz. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 4th, 2006|12:14 am] |
yo dude.
tonight i finally got around to putting some headphones on my belly. you didn't really wiggle around or anything so i can't tell if you cared or not. i know you can hear stuff though, because the other day i yelled something and you thrashed around a little. anyway, my point is that like most parents with any sense of music appreciation, i am just really hoping that you'll like some good stuff. i'm trying to get you off to a good start, EARLY. i mean, with childhood staples. i think you need to grow up knowing who the beatles are, who the stones are, about bowie and simon and garfunkel and bruce springsteen. also stuff from my generation, too- i keep thinking that joanna newsom is basically little kid music anyway. same with the unicorns. i plan on using the unicorns as our fun time singalong record. i know that you will end up listening to really fucking weird shit that i don't 'get' and it will be a bummer for me because i'll feel like a failure as a parent or something- just know that we are trying. we want you to like good music. i can't even imagine what kids are going to be listening to in 15 years that could be more appalling than most of the crap i hear on the radio nowadays- unless they basically broadcast pornography on the radio or something. i'm cool with the angry white kid stuff, and the depressed white kid stuff, and the crazy hip hop (though i'd prefer you stay the fuck away from the 'bling' crap and the stuff that is super sexist and homophobic- you don't need that sort of negativity, baby.) and the weird country and pretty much anything. just promise me that you'll like simon and garfunkel.
anyway, another thing- i am having this problem where i am just assuming that because you are gonna be a boy (in theory) that you'll be just like your dad. so when i think about music you will like, i figure you'll like a healthy mix of oldies and metal and shit like your daddy does. and when i imagine what you'll be like as a teenager, i picture a little teenage jason with his skateboard and nerdy haircuts. but that's totally unrealistic of me- i have no fucking idea what kind of person you are going to be. you could be exactly like me. you could be exactly like... i don't know, a total stranger. so, sorry that i'm already projecting on you what i think you should/will be like. i'm not doing it on purpose. but you should really try to be like your dad, because he is awesome and way more mentally stable than i am.
okay, speaking of your dad- where the fuck is he with my taco bell? bitch needs to bring that shit home!
-love mommy |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 2nd, 2006|10:16 am] |
good morning destroyerrrr:
yesterday, i was really hungry and i stopped at a subway to get some food. there were these two little shithead boys in there, running around like crazy, trying to reach behind the counter, bumping into people without apologizing. with my low blood sugar, i have to say i was pretty infuriated. i know that it was probably because their mother, a nordstrom-y, soccer mom type, was completely ignoring everything they were doing, opting to shrug at the other annoyed customers and say "what can i say? they're WILD! haha." but i couldn't help thinking "GOD I HOPE MY KID ISN'T AN ASSHOLE LIKE THESE KIDS."
everyone keeps telling me that you won't be an asshole as long as i am a good mom. but MY mom was a good mom, and look how my brother turned out! please, i beg of you- apologize when you bump into ladies (or gentlemen.) hold still for a few seconds! don't always try to get into everything! don't look at me with a shiteating grin when you do something wrong because you think it's cute! please be a nice kid!
thanks! <3 mom. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 1st, 2006|09:55 am] |
Wait, I want to write something else.
It's going to be really weird doing this, knowing that other people can read it- especially knowing that you'll read it. It's like how when I write in my real journal, ON PAPER, I think about people reading it after I'm dead or something, so I'm careful with what I write in there. Anyway, I get embarassed when I am very publicly heartfelt or otherwise too serious- so forgive me if I am often a big smartass or it seems like I'm just doing this for fun or something. I am dead serious about writing these notes to you. I want you to read it when you're grown up and know that we were thinking about you right from the beginning. We already bought your 18th birthday present, for crying out loud. It would be cool if I could sucker your dad into writing in here, but he's not really into blogging/writing stuff. I think part of the problem is that he knows I mentally correct other people's spelling, and he doesn't want me to nitpick him, but also he is just one of those people who is comfortable enough with who he is that he doesn't have to fiddle around with stuff like this. I'm a pretty loopy, antsy person. I need things like this to keep me occupied and remind me that I'm doing stuff.
That's my biggest thing right now- wondering which one of us you are going to be like. Or maybe you'll be a combination of the two of us. I think it would be really cool if you got my nerdy artistic stuff, and my social tendencies, and my tendency to blurt out whatever the fuck it is I think about something, but tempered with your father's practical nature, tact, and mathematical mind. But you will probably just be you, and it's going to be so cool to watch you turn into a person instead of the lump inside of my belly that makes me have to pee all the time.
God, I can think of so many things to write in here that would just be boring for everyone, including you, to read. I want to tell you everything right away- I wish I could just start teaching you everything I know because it seems like fun. It's going to be fun to go to OMSI and the Children's museum, and everywhere else. We'll probably take you to the zoo, but the zoo is depressing.
Okay I will probably write again later. You're going to grow up knowing that your mother spent the majority of the time she was pregnant just TYPING. I joked once that you were probably going to be born with a USB port. THAT WOULD BE SO COOL, RIGHT? Let's just hope that the slight radiation produced by my laptop doesn't deform your brain, okay? |
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| (no subject) |
[Jun. 1st, 2006|09:28 am] |
Hello, Destroyer:
I'll refrain from calling you by a real name yet, because even though we saw your little weiner on the ultrasound, there's no real 100% way of knowing if you are a boy or a girl until you come out. I gotta say, I was so convinced you were a girl- I'm still not sure you're a boy. Either way is fine, although I am pretty bummed about the clothing aspect. Little boy clothes are boring and ugly. Little girl clothes are cute. But boys are fun, right? We'll have fun no matter what.
Anyway, so I am being creepy and I started a livejournal so I could write you little notes and all my friends could read them. Is that creepy? It gives me something to do, anyway. Being pregnant is so boring, and you already have a bunch of hats and blankets. There's only so much stuff I can knit, so I sit on the internet all day. And I quit smoking so you would be healthy, so I can't even do that. Dude, I don't even know how old you are going to be when you read this. But I think I should probably print it out at some point and bind it up for you to have. That would be cool, right?
Here, I will tell you what is up with me, so you can know about your mom. Right now I am 22, and I am 22 weeks pregnant with you. It's pretty fun, but I am not that into being pregnant. Being pregnant makes you crazy. You are also always stepping on my bladder and that's not very cool- it hurts. I know you're probably just bored and restless in there, and I can't imagine that it can be very comfortable for you to grow so fast, but sometimes it hurts or startles me. But most of the time it is a familiar, reassuring movement, so don't stop doing it. Most of the time I just hang out with your dad, and geek out on the internet, and stuff like that. I am not a very exciting person right now. I used to drink a lot of alcohol and smoke a lot of cigarettes but you have to stop doing things like that when you get pregnant, so now I just sit around a lot. I used to read a lot of books, too- but I also used to chain smoke while I did it, so I have a hard time reading now.
Anyway. It's a rainy day and I just woke up and had sour cream & onion chips and a Sprite for breakfast. Wheee. Maybe I'll write something else later. |
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