And etc…

So I was taking my birth control pill the other night and I dropped it. Into the sink. I almost lost it. It’s a very tiny pill, you know. And then, the next night, I did it again. I would like to note that I was completely sober (though tired as all get out) when this occurred. Hence, I have decided the problem here is not me. Nope. It’s the pill.

Wait? What’s that? You’re complaining about the birth control pill? Yeah, I know. It IS one of the best things to ever be invented. Or handed down by God, depending upon where you stand on all that religious stuff and science. I love the pill. You know why? Because I hate accidentally getting pregnant. Of course, I’ve never accidentally gotten pregnant. Yet. However, I’m sure if it happened, I would hate it. After all, we all know how I was a huge ray of sunshine that time when I got pregnant ON PURPOSE. I was like a giant, radioactive, brain-frying ray of effing sunshine, that’s what I was. For eight months. Yeah, that’s probably why Baby came early. To save humanity. This MIGHT make my child the messiah. But maybe not. Just saying. If you feel like making comparisons between me and the Virgin Mary, who am I to stop you? Although I guess she wasn’t so huge on the pill. Since they didn’t have it back then. God probably would’ve been pissed if he’d been cockblocked by the pill, huh? Yes, even I can’t believe I just typed that.

Anyway, I’m in love with the pill. It’s awesome, even when it makes me all hormoney and mad at stuff. Because it makes me not pregnant. However, there are ways we could be improving this thing, science. Because despite it’s awesomeness, there is still room for improvement here. You know how I know? Because it’s apparently really easy to forget to take the pill, first of all. And it’s easy to lose the pill even when you fully intend on taking it. Like by dropping it down the sink, for instance. And then you have this whole month where you’re worried about what the hell is going to happen if you do anything fun. Or, you know, even not fun. Really, this is not about fun. This is about PREVENTION, people. (Note: this is not about safe sex. That’s your deal. I can’t solve this problem for you. You have to help yourself. I recommend showing your kids HBO and letting them figure this out on their own. Or showing yourself HBO and figuring it out on your own. Hell, basic cable would probably help to. Especially if you’re looking to some random person on the internet for help with this. So, just a suggestion.)

So I’ve been thinking about how we could fix these problems–how we as women could always remember to take the pill (at about the same time everyday, according to those really friendly-looking gals on the commercials…and never drop the pill down the sink on accident–which they do not cover in the commercials. They probably should, though), and I came up with the best idea ever: combine the pill with Diet Coke. Hello, science? Why have we not done this? We’re already drinking this caffeinated beverage of glory, why can it not also help us not become pregnant on accident? And, this way, all those women wouldn’t forget to take it. Because you don’t forget to drink your Diet Coke. For many of us, this is the only way we make it through the day. Or, I guess, beer would work as well. Alcoholics also deserve not to get pregnant on accident. To each her own. And really, this would add to efficiency and free up a little time that we could all spend watching more tv or something of that nature. Or working I guess. But not if you drank the pill in your beer because that sounds like a bad plan. Or a great plan. Depends on your job.

So, pharmaceutical companies, if you’re reading this, and we all know you aren’t, please work on placing my hormone regulatory supplement into liquid, caffeinated, fizzy format. And, maybe, just maybe, you could convince my crappy insurance to cover this prescription. All I’m asking for is some birth control coverage. Yeah, I’m not clear why the insurance company wants me to have a baby so bad, but I guess they do…it’s possibly because they want me to wreak havoc and thus give them more business. Probably a decent marketing plan. I know I scared a bunch of people last time I was knocked up…

Hey, look. This is me, writing something that is not my dissertation. Don’t tell. I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to be doing this right now…I need to save up all my sentences for that super long thing. Ah crap. Baby just woke up. Why does she have to do that so much?

……….

Cut to three days later: She’s asleep again. She has, of course, fallen asleep at other times in the last few days, but never when I’m not mostly just too dead from trying to get her to fall asleep to do anything else. So at this moment I’m going to write some more I guess. I forget what my point was going to be with this entire blog entry, so I’m just not going to bother having one. Note to any writing students out there: this is not actually a successful writing strategy. Do not engage in this type of writing. Especially if you’re in my class. Please.

You know what the weirdest thing about having a child is? You don’t finish much. I don’t care what it is we’re talking about. Watching a television show or movie? Not going to see all of it. Eating? Why bother? (Note: not actually a good diet plan, by the way.) Research? If you’re me, if you can’t focus on something for more than five minutes at a time, it’s useless to try to do it. When I get distracted, I forget everything. EVERYTHING. This is very similar to the way I focus so intensely when I’m reading something that I don’t notice anything else. I believe this may be a failure to multitask. I know we’re supposed to be all about the multitasking these days, but frankly, I suck at this. I cannot do it. I don’t even talk on the phone while driving (though I don’t think I should be saying that that’s a bad thing, necessarily). I can’t walk and text at the same time. Well, I technically CAN, I just can’t do it well. Anyway, so the point here is that I need an extended, uninterrupted period of time in which to accomplish anything, and my life no longer has these times. However, contrary to this, I am finishing my dissertation somehow. It could be that I’ve decided it no longer needs to make sense. Maybe I’ll make up something about how it’s “hypertextual in its ability to jump from one idea to the next without transitions.” That sounds pretty technologic. Maybe someone will even buy it…If not, I still have my bring puppies to the defense approach.

And now Baby is awakening. Gotta go.

Note to expectant mothers out there: Don’t get too depressed. I still make time to watch TV. I just make Baby watch it with me. Of course, some people say that’s not a good thing. But I prefer to think I’m teaching the child about culture. Also, the soap operas teach her how not to get blackmailed and stuff. Good info to know.

Note to anyone who wants to comment on my ability to be a mother: shove it.

Hey you. It’s me. Been a while. Or maybe not really, if you think about how long time has existed, though you can’t really define existence without time. And the ethereal nature of time. And whoa. I’m getting all philosophic-like on this time business so I’m going to stop here. I haven’t even had anything to drink and I’m talking like that.

So, look at me blogging and whatnot. What have I been up to…hmmm…. Well, lately I’ve been trying to think of a hobby I should take up, which I may have mentioned before. Or maybe not. I do have some insular thoughts I don’t reveal to the outside world, after all. Hobbies, hobbies, hobbies. Turns out I’m not really actually interested in anything that takes effort. TV-watching is apparently not a hobby. People-watching, not a hobby. Because the definition of a hobby, I guess, is something that takes work. Well, life, I have WORK for that. I don’t need a hobby with which to do more work. So screw you, extracurricular activities that will make me a well-rounded and self-satisfied individual! Crap, I just used an exclamation point. Apparently I am quite passionate about this topic.

Do you think being overly critical of stuff is a hobby, or just a way of life? What about mocking people? Or getting really angry? And then repressing said anger so as not to do anything to get arrested? Is that a hobby or just a route to early death from heart failure?

I’m starting to think that hobbies are just dumb. Sure, it’d be nice to have an outlet. But that’s what I have “complaining on the Internet” for (also called Facebook). And no, Facebook is not a hobby. It’s a procrastination outlet. I’m pretty sure procrastinating is not a hobby. And going back to count all the times I’ve used hobby in this post is more of an obsessive compulsion than a hobby.

Also, anything that is really just exercise in disguise is not a hobby. So running and all its less exhaustive variants are not hobbies. Especially if it’s a marathon, because the only reason to run for that long is if you are running away from your entire campus falling into a hole caused by an earthquake. And your campus is 26ish miles wide and you happen to need to run from one side to the other to get out. Also, you do not have any wheeled device to use. And you’d better be the Flash (or happen to be experiencing a slow-motion earthquake) because otherwise you’re not going to make it.

So, hobbies = glorified activities. Perhaps they were invented by the guy who invented synonyms and the thesaurus. He was probably trying to put some more filler pages in there to really sell the thesaurus as practical and a good gift for holidays. It’s really too bad people just use the Microsoft Word thesaurus nowadays, thus nullifying the actual definition of synonym. It now just means: random words the computer gave you that may or may not have similar meanings to the word you have selected. And apparently, I think a lot. But no, that’s not a hobby. That’s just a thing I do. Also, I enjoy how meta it is to look up synonyms for the word “synonym.”

So I feel like it is still July 23rd, the day Baby showed up. Seriously. Due to the fourish hours of sleep I get a night (that’s an average. One time I got more and it was awesome–thank you Husband), it is like the day never ends. Life is all one long day. Long is not even a strong enough word for it. It is a never-ending day where everything repeats itself ala Groundhog Day. Baby cries. Baby gets new diaper. Baby eats. Baby screams for no reason. I have to bring Baby into the bathroom with me in order to go to the bathroom. Repeat. (Hopefully that bathroom part is not traumatic for Baby. She doesn’t seem to care at the moment. Or even realize what’s going on. And, well, she poops in front of EVERYONE, so what’s the big deal? She probably thinks it’s normal for bathroom activities to be public affairs.)

I’m not really sure how I’m still alive. I think it’s chance. I find it hard to believe that everyone starts life as a baby, and yet the human race has survived. Really? If this is all the result of intelligent design, well, it seems like a risky plan. Sure, babies have reflexes, but the helplessness and the screaming…aren’t endearing. I can’t wait until we can open up the lines of communication here. Sure, everyone tells me I’ll miss the days when she couldn’t talk back, but at least she’ll be able to poop on her own. And I’ll be able to again. I can’t wait.

So, I’ve been out of touch with the world for about seven weeks now, and that’s because about seven weeks ago a tiny person came out of my body. Apparently this is what happens when you’re pregnant? Having never been pregnant before, I wasn’t totally convinced. But it’s true. First you get really huge and then you have a traumatic life experience that you’re supposed to be happy about. Well, I guess after the drugs kicked in, I WAS pretty content.

Daphne Colette came about a month early–don’t know why. No one ever told me. Apparently she’s just super punctual. She does not get that from her father. Here’s a fun fact: did you know that when your water breaks, it just keeps on flowing until the baby comes out? I suppose that’s so you can’t just pretend that you’re not in labor, even though that’s what you sincerely want to do at that point because it’s eleven o’clock at night and you would prefer to have a decent night’s sleep before the ordeal of delivery.

If you were wondering (and really, who wouldn’t want to know the gruesome details? That is why people have such a fascination with medical dramas, right?), about eight hours after the breakage of the water, Baby came out. And no, I did not do it the “natural” way (”drug-free”) because I don’t believe there is such a thing. “Natural” childbirth would involve being by yourself in the woods and having to fight off bears or lions at the same time as you’re pushing Baby out. That is the “natural” way: cavepeople style. Also, you probably die at the end from blood loss. Or being eaten by said bear or lion. So yeah, I’m freakin’ ecstatic that I went with the epidural, especially because while I only pushed for thirty minutes, we were stalling and waiting for the doctor for about half of that. I would’ve been pretty pissed if I could’ve felt those contractions while we were “waiting.” Especially since I was already irritated because A) in labor, duh, and B) it took three nurses and four different tries to get the IV in my arm and I had a bruises from that for about a month. Yeah, I was so happy about the epidural that I pushed the button to get more of it towards the end even though the nurse was all, “it won’t kick in for twenty minutes and you’ll be done by then…” Yeah, I’ll be done, but I’m sure there’ll still be pain. So there. And it’s not like I need to walk anywhere in twenty minutes. Where would I go? Work? The mall?

So anyway, now husband and I live with a very small person who does not yet speak English or sleep for more than twoish hours at a time. If I weren’t so sleep-deprived….uh, what was I saying? Yeah, I’m having trouble with coherency lately.

So if you know someone who has a baby, and you notice they’re tired, don’t be a stupid person and say “Gee, why?” in a jokey way. That just makes us want to cut you. And quit telling us to sleep when the baby sleeps. Do you know how sad and depressing and aggravating it is to try that and realize that half the time the baby is only going to sleep for ten minutes, and it’s impossible to know when that will happen? Seriously, the worst part of the day is usually getting out of bed. So let’s not do that fifteen times a day, k? OK.