……….

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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.