Tuesday, August 26, 2008
How about that Michelle Obama, huh?
Sorry about the non-posting. Someone - and I'm not saying who - has suddenly started taking booshitty half-hour naps which is barely enough time to cruise Facebook, much less craft some genius. (BTW, what gives with the private profiles, Facebookers? How am I supposed to stalk if you keep thwarting like that?) The poor guy's got another tooth popping through (#3. Mama's little hillbilly!) and he's dying, dying, dyyyyyying to crawl. Between the extra special neediness (stranger anxiety, realizing the world is a big place for a small fry, tooth pain) and the extra short naps, carving out "me" time is elusive these days. Combine that with some super fun self-doubt (I can't write, can't act, are those liver spots on my hands?) and you've got a recipe for hardcore wingeing. (That's the British version of "whining" for you unpretentious types.)
That said, the boy sure is great. And large. Man, this kid is big! I can't leave the house without someone commenting on the giantness of him.
"He's 8 months? Really? Woooooow!"
"Oooh, I can tell your mama's just starving you!"
Or my personal fave:
"He sure is healthy!"
Apparently I have given birth to Paul Bunyon. (If anybody has a lead on a stuffed blue ox, I'm in.) I think the kid's got a perfectly normal, adorable amount of pre-walking chub but it seems that New Yorkers like their babies lean. I'm never quite sure how to respond to people when they say things like that. They're always cooing and patting and loving him up so I don't think they mean ill, but "uh, thanks?" always feels like the wrong answer. It's like when I was pregnant and people would stop to tell me how huge I was. Thanking them for commenting on my heft just didn't fit the bill.
I have no idea where I was going with this. (The convention coverage is distracting.) How do you carve out "me" time, babywranglers?