Power Testing

Recently Teenaged Psuedo-Stepgirl: OMG I'm totally going to get an F on my math test.
Me: Well, you can only do your best. I mean, it would suck, but if you are really doing your best, it's not the end of the world.
RTPS: Pft. What would you do if I got an F on my math test?
Me: What would I do? Well, since it's not my math test, I'd probably make dinner, eat dinner, watch some TV, and go to sleep.
RTPS: Ok, well what if Wendy was in seventh grade and got an F on her math test?
Me: Oh. Well, I'd probably take her internet away and not let her go to her friends houses untill she got a not-F.
RTPS: .....whoa now.
Me: I know.
RTPS: ...What do you think my dad would do?
Me: What do you think.
RTPS: Probably not much. Probably just say "*grumble grumble* do better in math *grumble*"
Me: Is that what you think.
RTPS: yeah.
Me: hmm. Ok.
RTPS: *blink*
Me: *blink*

Man, is she going to be pissed at me when her internet is cut and she's grounded from friends.

Preserving the Mystique

He's picked up "feminine" products for me at the store. We often discuss the status of our bowels. He has personal knowledge that my claim of "never farting" is, tragically, a lie. He watched me give birth. He's seen me eat things I found in the couch, for god's sake.

And yet I hesitate to TiVo episodes Top Chef and Real World/Road Rules Challange, because he would then see that I watch Top Chef and Real World/Road Rules Challange, and I'm just not sure I'm ready for how that might change his oppinion of me.

Tea for Two

Having now the vast experience of being someone's Mommy for an entire five weeks, I can with confidence give myself the official rating of "adequate."

This means that, while I have poked her in the eye, clipped her finger with the nail clippers, and wrapped her up in a blanket coated in cat hair, I have not yet done anything so horrible as to ensure that she will run away to follow some meteor-worshiping cult when she's fifteen. (Running away to lead some meteor-worshiping cult would of course be perfectly acceptable. Especially at fifteen. Any mother would be proud.)

My mom spent the night last week, so that she could bask in the baby-glow of her Royal Babyness. This is when I learned that in addition to being an eye-poker, my baby finds me an uninteresting conversationalist. This became apparent as Wendy, who usually regards me with all the skepticism and furrowed brow of a nineteen year-old Hot-Topic sales associate, turned to my mom and chatted her up like they were sharing gossip and scones and wearing matching hats at a tea party.

Mom: And what does that little girl think about thaaat?
Wendy: Goo! Goooo! Neh? Geeerrrr! Goo!
Mom: Oh really? Well, I think so toooo!
Wendy: Geeeh! Geh? Geh.
Mo: Yeah, she doesn’t talk to me like that.
Mom: Well, you don’t talk silly to her. Try talking silly.
Mo: HELLO WENDY I AM YOUR MOTHER LOVE ME AND WE SHALL RULE THE DARK SIDE TOGETHER. ALL SHALL DESPAIR.
Wendy, Mom: …….
Mom: Um, you just need practice. ISn’t that right, little girl? Mommy isn’t as talky as grandma, is she? Nooo she's not.
Wendy: It’s ok, I forgive her. What she lacks in the basic human warmth required to make conversation with an infant, she makes up for in copious and generously given stores of mammary treats. I mean, have you seen those things? Acres and acres of boobs, and they’re all mine! …Goo.

New

Last year on New Year's Eve, we went to a big party at a giant rented cabin somewhere in the Poconos, drank a lot of Lambic and Tully, made out with other sexy people, and ate Zoe's spicy noodles. (That is not a euphamism; Zoe made yummy spicy noodles, and we ate some. Thai peanut or something. They were delicous.)

This year, I did a lot of laundry. I had a half a glass of wine, he had a little rum and egg nog, and we watched the ball drop while leaning on each other (soooo sleeeepy!) and holding the baby, just trying to keep our eyes open.

Ahem. Mo's year in review:

1. Started substitute teaching. Five years of college and a note from the government vouching for your non-molester status, and you too can babysit teenagers!
2. Moved in with man friend. Actually, just admitted to having already moved in. I stopped sleeping anywhere else sometime in 2005.
3. Spent a month in Florida doing the Bay Area Renn Faire. (B.A.R.F.) Was this my last hurrah, seeing as I was now cohabitating with a significant other and now held a responsible job like some kind of adult? No. It was far too late for hurrahs.
4. Because I was already pregnant.

Mo's year in review should just read:

1. Got sperm poisoning.
2. Was infected all year.
3. Gave birth.
4. Cure scarier than infection.

Yeah. That sums it up much better. Because years down the line, that is all I am ever going to remember about 2006. Honestly, that is all I'm going to remember about 2006 by next week.

Today

Tuesday, I believed that I was acclimating to the lack of sleep. I was beginning to feel as though maybe I could deal with this, that perhaps one could convince one's self that sleep deprivation was a state of mind, and then talk one's self out of it. I did some dishes. I picked up some of the Christmas hurricane that still claims our living room. I made plans to go out later in the week. Tuesday was a good day.

Wednesday, all of that time that I spent feeling good about myself and doing things caught up with me. In fact, I think the entire past three weeks of baby feeding, shopping, holliday planning, and everything else that I was doing instead of sleeping caught up with me. Wednesday, I lay in bed trying to decide whether I was more tired or more hungry, and since the food was a lot farther away, I drank some water, fed the baby, and we both went back to sleep. Wednesday was over before I really knew that it started, because I never really went to sleep or woke up; I was just trapped in some mad, grinding, purgatorial nightmare in which a little elf demanded to gnaw on my flesh and refused to stop the squealing/grunting baby dinosaur fussing for a single instant.

Thursday, I recovered from Wednesday. I watched random things the TiVo had caught (yay TiVo for Christmas! We are so spoiled!), patiently saving the Venture Brothers marathon for Carl and I to watch when he came home. Which we did.

And Today, I bring you heartwarming tales of motherhood that include the phrase "grinding, purgatorial nightmare." The saving grace of this week is as follows: At the center of the all the haze and blur that this elf has made of my world, there is a bubble of clarity, where I am accutely aware of every tiny move that she makes, and greatful for it. I am greatful for her little fist earnestly clutching my thumb while she eats. I am greatful for the opportunity to watch her eyes change color from the murky mud-blue they were at birth to whatever they plan on being in the future. Right now, they are a beautiful, faceted crystal gray, ringed with the darkest indigo... Today is a better day.

Hey!

Merry Christmas!

I hope yours will be as good as mine:

warm and squishy like a full diaper...

...tender and delicious like baby toes.

I Love My Friends

Response from K-Dawgg:

"I could only image the zombie like states, but isn't that what you learned in college? How to function on minimal sleep? But I guess this project does not really have a due date. Well it did, but that was the draft print. You have to wait a few years for it to become self sufficient."

(To be filed under "Proof That K-Dawgg is Totally Geeking Out in H-Burg")

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Steph: It's okay. This is totally a free-be Christmas for you. You had a baby. Everyone knows that. You don't have to do anything if you don't want to.

Mo: Yeah, like, I could wrap up random crap from around my house, and people would just understand. 'Why did she give us a butter dish?' *shrug* 'It's okay. She had a baby.'

Steph: 'Yeah, but it still has butter in it!'

Everyone needs butter. Unless you are one of those people who doesn't like food to taste good. In which case, you need to loosen up...enjoy your life more, and butter is an excellent present for you. That or a nice pair of non-bunching panties.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

My one and only crossdressing friend from college: Holy crap! These are strange and exciting times. Way to go, kiddo!

Indeed they are, brother. Indeed they are.

Email Update To K-Dawgg

...I've had a stream of relative-type visitors. There's no way I'd be trotting out a newborn to tour the greater DelCo area, just so they could poke at her. That would be silly. And besides, there's this thing about giving birth; there is recovery time involved. And also, babies keep you up all night. Or at least, they wake you up three or four times a night, which makes for sleepy zombie-like days. Which makes one less inclined to go anywhere, do anything, or respond to emails in a timely fashion.

There is a rediculous Christmas outfit already. There are pictures. I will post them soon, I promise. ("soon" of course is a relative term. "soon" could mean by Christmas; it could also mean by Easter.)

The dog is sad most of the time that he can't come in the living room during the day, that he doesn't get played with as much as he used to, and that his bones have all been chewed down to nubs and no one has replaced them with new bones, as per the usual arangement. The dog is also very concerned about the sound the breast pump machine makes, and wishes to rescue us from it whenever it is turned on. He also wishes to chase kitties behind the Christmas tree, thus sending ornaments flying in all directions. He does not understand why this is not as fun for us as it is for him.

Christmas shopping so far has involved some online shopping that will probably not get here in time, a toaster from my mom, framed pictures of the baby, and inexplicable things from WalMart. I hope everyone likes random crap arriving four days after Christmas, cause that's what they are getting. Except for the baby pictures. They are not crap. They are good, and everyone recieving them will be overjoyed.....

In Which He Challenges the Spawn

Carl: haHA! I shall now change your diaper!!
*places baby on couch, whips bad old diaper off*

Wendy: *pees*

Carl: *Claps new diaper onto baby butt* Ha! I am swift and crafty! What else you got, huh?

Wendy: *smirks*

Carl: *tosses diaper #2 away, turns for diaper #3*

Wendy: *projectile poos at him*

And she got some distance on that one, across the couch and onto the floor. He had to pull a mad Matrix move to not get hosed with baby cheese. Honestly, I've never seen him so limber.

I heart you, Wendy. I heart you sooooo.

Delivered

Wendy Skye

December 3

2:24 pm

7 lb 9 oz; 19 in