And etc…

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.

How are you feeling? Do you really want to know? Seriously? I’m not sure how to describe it…besides, well, pregnant. There is a tiny person inside of me assaulting my interior organs and muscular-skeletal structure. So if you know what that feels like, that’s what I feel like. If you don’t, well, I can’t describe it because I’m not a creative writer. Although one would think a technical writer should be able to describe this…if it comes to me, I’ll get back to you.

Where do you want to eat? If I haven’t already specified an exact location and meal, I don’t care. Trust me–if I cared where we ate, you’d know by now. Just give me some freakin’ food already.

What letter does your baby’s name start with? I’m not telling you–I already denied you the name we’ve decided upon, why would I want to sit and listen while you try to guess what it is? I understand you’re curious, but it’s only a month or so you’ll have to wait. Deal. If you did guess the name, I’d probably feel compelled to change it, and we don’t need to go through that process again. I’m not sure I’d survive. Well, check that–I’m not sure my sanity would survive. Being a PhD student, it already hangs on a pretty skinny leash. And it likes to hide. It is as if my sanity were a labrador retriever puppy who is very good at being quiet and hiding sometimes. At other times, it is very good at running away from me–though I can see it across the yard…I just don’t have the energy to go over and get it. I sit and wait for it to come back when it gets hungry. Also, my sanity sometimes poops in your yard. But it has really cute puppy eyes so I just can’t get mad at it.

What if your baby is a boy instead of a girl? Um…then it will have a penis? And a boy name? It’s not going to ruin my life, if that’s what you’re asking. And my tastes in general tend to run gender-neutral, so other people won’t have to be appalled. Though if the kid wants to wear a dress, I’m not sure I care. Go for it. Gender expression is fun. And who’s going to tell a baby/toddler they’re dressed ‘wrong’? At least he won’t be naked. Though if he were, there would be no gender issues with which for people to get all up in arms.

It is like this list never ends.

There are a lot of things that should never (ever) be said to a woman who is pregnant. Some of these things seem fairly innocuous. I feel I need to clear this up.

You are so small. Um, thanks? This is like telling a woman that she is doing her pregnancy wrong. Don’t do it. You may think this is a compliment. But really, you’re saying, “why aren’t you nourishing your baby person correctly? You should clearly be killed or ostracized in some way. Also, I know more about pregnancy and life in general than you.”

You look like you’re ready to pop. So, you’re telling me I’m fat now? Also, let’s not mention “popping” because it just makes pregnant women realize how much they need to go to the bathroom. So, thanks for that.

When are you due? Not a bad question, per se. We just grow tired of answering this. Ditto with “Do you have a name picked out?” and “What is it?” These just sort of seem like personal questions. Why do you care? Any why should I tell you?

Do you really think pop-tarts (or any other food items) are good for the baby? Well, frankly, I don’t care. I’m sure pop-tarts won’t kill the baby, and I want pop-tarts. A lot of them. Thanks for insinuating that I’m trying to kill my offspring, though. I’ll definitely take that under consideration.

That baby is going to be born addicted to caffeine! Ha ha! Yeah…this is a joke? I drink caffeinated beverages–below the recommended limit, actually. Caffeine is not meth. It is not heroin. But thanks for telling me I’m a drug addict who is, once again, harming her unborn child deliberately. This may be a symptom of being pregnant “behind the Zion Curtain” (my new favorite phrase). In fact, when someone said this to Matt after he told them I had just drank a Diet Coke (in explanation of my rush for a bathroom), he became quite enraged. Though I wasn’t there, he reportedly did not act on this rage. Good job. Of course, this may also just be symptomatic of everyone in the world feeling like they can tell pregnant women what to do, because we are somehow less than individual, free-thinking, sentient beings.

And finally, just don’t say anything in a cutesy voice. This might just be me–I’ve always had a problem with cutesy voices. They make me want to punch people.

Oh, and we don’t actually want to hear about your own pregnancy. I know you might mean well, but it’s either going to be a horror story of your arduous labor, or you’re bragging about how you were better at pregnancy and labor because, for instance, the kid came out in five minutes or you didn’t get an epidural and are hence a “super-person” who deserves praise for giving birth ‘naturally.’ Though, I imagine to truly give birth naturally, you should be forced to do it in the woods without water and possibly all alone. Just a thought.