September 13th, 2007
There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t feel badly for something I do to Emory or something he does to himself. Take right now, for example. I put him in a car seat so I could do the dishes, write this, and tidy up. Why does this make me feel as though I’m taking advantage of the little guy? He’s perfectly happy, sleeping soundly, but I still feel badly.
And we have a rule in this house that whenever he gets the hiccups we pick him up. Because the hiccups really bother him. He gets a look like, “What is this spasm? Please stop the spasm.” So we pick him up and rub his tummy. If I don’t catch the hiccups in time, I feel sad. And I apologize to him. And then I think of the number of times he had them in the womb (every night at least once) and I feel badly that I didn’t console him then, too.
Sometimes he punches himself or scratches his face with his razor sharp nails. I have a talk with him, try and reason with him.
He doesn’t get to sit up much and is instead forced to lie around and try and expel gas while the veins in his forehead plump up and his face turns blood red. It looks as if he’s giving birth, dealing with labor pains. I try and help him by pushing up on his feet and sometimes a flying fart will shoot out and go straight up my nose. And after that happens I cheer for him because I know that means he’ll feel relief until the next one.
And pooping while on one’s back should be used as a form of torture.
There was that one time he pooped in the car on the way home and it went all over him. That was terrible especially since we spent at least a half an hour trying desperately to get through Holland Tunnel traffic. I wanted to yell to the other drivers, “I HAVE A NEWBORN IN THE CAR! AND HE IS COVERED IN HIS OWN POOP! PLEASE LET US GO AHEAD OF YOU. PLEASE!” If there’s one thing New York is known for it’s forcing people to tolerate a lot of stinky crap.
And taking him to the doctor and having to strip him down so they can weigh him? That’s almost impossible for me to watch. Thank God Tobyjoe isn’t a wimp.
I’ve already warned Toby that come vaccination time, I’m waiting in the other room. With earplugs. Hopped up on Xanax. Drunk.
And the first time he suffers from a broken heart? Bitch (or dude!) is going down.
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September 13th, 2007
I barely captured Emory riding his imaginary bicycle. Click here to see him move! Move! (Or on the image below.)
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September 12th, 2007
Before I begin, I need to make it clear that I’m not concerned about this. And I certainly do not pity myself. I think I made some really bad decisions when I was younger and I’m paying for them now.
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September 11th, 2007
I was given a baby blanket as a gift. It’s the softest item I have ever laid my hands on. I was so excited to wrap Emory in it. I thought it might even become his blankie. I had one when I was a baby. I damn near ripped that thing to shreds I loved it so much. I called it “Icing” for some inexplicable reason and I constantly played with its soft edges. Here’s a picture of “Icing” 33 years later.
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September 10th, 2007
Every now and again I find it amusing to go back and look through what I searched for in Google. I find it especially amusing because of the searches that lead people to this site. For example, in the last 10 minutes, people found mihow.com by searching for the following terms: “man with vagina”, “is empathy better than sympathy”, “pooped my pants”, “boobs suck”, and “ass”.
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September 6th, 2007
Every night I wake up at least three times and tend to Emory. During that time, I feed him, pump breastmilk, change diapers, or amuse the little man until he’s tired again. (He’s been really quite good about sleeping at night. There are hours where he’d rather be held and played with but overall, I can’t complain. He’s a good baby.)
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September 4th, 2007
I haven’t wanted to say anything about this partly because I’m worried I might jinx myself, partly because I don’t trust my emotions, and partly because Toby returned to work this week and I know things are going to be different now. I’m optimistic today but a little wary of every step I take on solid ground.
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September 4th, 2007
On Saturday, I got up at 5 AM. Tired and bleary eyed, I wandered into the kitchen for some water and a snack. My aunt dropped by last week and left me 6 pink cupcakes. I love cupcakes and that love has blossomed now that I’m breastfeeding Emory. I had been dreaming about these cupcakes for hours.
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September 2nd, 2007
I hate this city. If someone told me I could wake up in Jersey tomorrow, or any other place for that matter, I’d stand up and cheer.
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September 2nd, 2007
Kids and Confidence.
“This realization was the foundation of my own brand of nihilistic confidence: ‘This person is a lazy wiper. I am not. Therefore, I should silently elevate myself in comparison. Yay confidence.’”
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