 | |
| ::: ::: Journal entries: ::: ::: :::
Check out: The Product Junkie, because it's super-cool, despite my lame reviews. Artifact:
Really, I think more adult clothing should include ears.
| Monday, November 21, 2005 Riley has recently learned that screaming and wailing as though his limbs were being gnawed by angry beavers is a pretty effective way to get our attention. He's never been much of a crier, but perhaps that was only because his vocal chords had not matured enough to deliver the volume of sound he aspired to. In the last several days, anything that displeases His Royal Majesty has been met with a shock-and-awe campaign of tears and blaring howls that leave us wondering where our sweet baby went and who in the hell is THIS tiny asshole? It's very Darwinian of him to break out this new behavior at the same time that he's trying out a constant variety of heart-searing smiles, because it is only his ability to flip back into Jekyll mode and suddenly beam a gummy pink grin from his cry-hole that's keeping me from taking him to the hospital and demanding my money back.
Adorable by day, AIR HORN by night. The other day Riley was exceptionally cranky, and I had tried jiggling, singing, pacifiers, formula, and was considering running away to join the Foreign Legion when he fell asleep next to me on the bed; a light, irritable sort of sleep that was threatened by the slightest movement on my part. So I stayed in a perched, uncomfortable position for over an hour while Riley dozed and grumbled and the entire right side of my body went numb but oh, it was peaceful. Then he woke up and wrote me a citation for not having a bottle primed and ready. While I was lying there, monitoring my breathing so as not to create an audible disturbance and thence release the Kracken, I considered the many changes Riley has brought into our lives. There's the responsibility, of course, and the reality that his development is subject to our influence (a troubling notion when you consider the very bad language we've done nothing to curb, and in fact have made worse by watching Deadwood, the world's most cussingest show and one from which I quote my favorite phrase - "Well, ain't you a wise fuckin' owl" - waaaay too often). There's also the impact of tending to a demanding creature whose needs must be met RIGHT THIS INSTANT or we will all suffer the consequences, which shall be Dire Indeed and may involve both pooping and screaming. Life since Riley has meant putting my own preferences aside. I no longer get to choose when to sleep in, when to shower, or the pace at which I consume my dinner. Small things, but they fractal outwards and I am just starting to understand it, the idea that he will always, always come first. That I am willing to sacrifice anything for his benefit. And what a monumental ground shift this is for selfish selfish me, and how I am grateful for this change. How I feel like I am meeting a facet of myself for the first time, and I am proud. For the first time.
::: After three years of head-scratching and plotting, the squirrels have finally infiltrated the bird feeder. Apparently they installed a tiny trampoline underneath it, for I have no other explanation. Unless....squirrel jet packs?
::: Me (watching Riley studiously working his pacifier): "Man, that looks so soothing. I wish I had a binky." |
