As month two of the summer of typing with one hand draws to a close, it occurred to me that it would be a perfect day to sing A-Ha to a baby. I do this in public while she’s riding in her sling since I have no more shame. I’m already covered in spit-up, so why not go for broke? It’s a sense of normalcy limbo contest: how low can you go?
Walking by strangers
Stranger than me
We talk of the future
Between you and me
Sweet little darling
Where will we be
Sweet little darling
Where will we be
Baby maintenance is an unbelievable process. I can’t convey the magnitude of need and doubt and joy and terror. Either you’ve crossed that bridge or you ain’t. No one can warn you in advance, and you can’t imagine it no matter how hard you try. I tear up when she smiles and hope she doesn’t see and think I’m sad. I’m not sad. It’s just so overwhelming. Each smile is like the first smile all over again. [N.B.: in retrospect, I was actually legally insane while I wrote this]
I know how you feel. The first time Goblin farted, it took her completely by surprise. Here was this little tiny puppy jumping around and around trying to catch her butt to see what was coming out of it. It was like the world was new.
Holy crap. Congratulations again, Momma. It’s a new era, and I’m incredibly happy for you.
david: i will be so proud when Harper tries to catch her own butt!
jenna: thanks. i o u an email, don’t i!
Take me on! Take on me! I’ll be shouting NO! NO! NO! I DO IT MYSELF!, in a year or two!
Or something like that.