So tired, but happy
Last night I was falling asleep and thought about the funniest thing. It's comical in itself, to be laughing out loud in a still dark room. I thought about earlier in the day when I gave George a bath. He ran around the house naked laughing and shrieking as I tried to wrangle him. When I managed to drop him in his bubble bath, he was still reeling from our cat and mouse game. He has doing a crab yoga pose, lifting his butt up and down. He started shouting, "Check this out guys," to me and Kiki. He was flopping his peen around and found it so neat-o he wanted to show this trick off by shouting, "Check this out guys!" over and over. I tried to not laugh because it might prompt him to do this in public sometime, like after swim lessons. So I acted slightly impressed, a little, "Whatevs. You've got your tricks, I've got mine."
Sunday I was fighting the Mean Reds like crazy. My idea to move to the East Coast is definitely under evaluation, since two weeks of rain had me bedridden. I'm not completely inclined to blame my valleys on the weather, I'm thinking it could have been an emotional hangover from the peak of elation preceding the weekend. Both my sisters had babies last week and I spent four days opera singing Life Is Beautiful while cooing over baby pics and face timing morning, noon and night.
Exhaustion compounded things; it didn't help Sunday was daylight savings time, so we lost an hour, and George woke up twice that night. The first time he woke in a screaming fit that he wanted to go to Carson City. This has happened before; he wakes up disoriented and fucking pissed, demanding he return to a certain place, like the car, shower, living room or my parents house. I think he wakes up from a dream and is totally confused why he is not in the place he just felt he was in, and then freaks the fuck out, because thats how he likes to deal with things.
The second time he woke up because he peed the bed. After changing the sheets and putting him in fresh pajamas, he went back to sleep.
Sunday I was fighting the Mean Reds like crazy. My idea to move to the East Coast is definitely under evaluation, since two weeks of rain had me bedridden. I'm not completely inclined to blame my valleys on the weather, I'm thinking it could have been an emotional hangover from the peak of elation preceding the weekend. Both my sisters had babies last week and I spent four days opera singing Life Is Beautiful while cooing over baby pics and face timing morning, noon and night.
Exhaustion compounded things; it didn't help Sunday was daylight savings time, so we lost an hour, and George woke up twice that night. The first time he woke in a screaming fit that he wanted to go to Carson City. This has happened before; he wakes up disoriented and fucking pissed, demanding he return to a certain place, like the car, shower, living room or my parents house. I think he wakes up from a dream and is totally confused why he is not in the place he just felt he was in, and then freaks the fuck out, because thats how he likes to deal with things.
The second time he woke up because he peed the bed. After changing the sheets and putting him in fresh pajamas, he went back to sleep.
When he started his morning hollering, I thought I might as well smother myself. I asked my husband what time it was and he said 6:30. I leaped from bed, ecstatic to have slept an hour later than George usually allows, but I quickly realized I jumped the gun, and it actually was his normal 5:30 torture time because of daylight savings.
Sunday I felt a bit like Brie Larson in Room when she is getting depressed in the room. I was being a shitty parent, hiding under my blankets, unable to communicate unless it was, "Could you please excuse me, I need some personal time." Room was such a disturbing movie to me, a film that "sticks to your ribs."
I spent the second half of my youth in South Lake Tahoe, and the year before I moved there Jaycee Dougard was kidnapped. Her picture was on every shop window, and we all heard the story of her being snatched off her bike on her way to the bus stop, with her step-dad chasing down the car. It was surreal when she was discovered, such incredible news. I can't imagine her mother's joy. I haven't read Dougard's book, and now I hear she is writing a second one. I don't think I will ever read it because, even though her story ended up being amazing, the decade in captivity would be unbearable.
I heard an interview of the man who kidnapped her, and all I got from it was this horrific line, "I don't know why anyone would ever let their kid walk to the bus stop."
My daughter is starting kindergarten in the fall, and I toured her school the other night. They explained how kids are dropped off at "curbside pickup." I can drop her on the curb and she is escorted to the gym, where she will wait with her class and be collected by their teacher.
I nearly fell over. I will never be able to drop this tiny little person off on the sidewalk and drive away. I'm going to park my car and walk her to the doorway of her classroom, every morning, because I heard this simple thought from an awful person.
After I watched Room, I stopped jogging in the street, and ran only on the treadmill because I thought too much about how you can get snatched right off the side of the road. It's been raining, so it's not like I've been fighting off an urge to go pound the pavement, but today, with the sun out and clear skies, I couldn't pass up being outside with running in my dark and damp garage.
My friend called while I was out and we chatted about work, kids and summer trips. She told me about her friend having a baby and getting a fucked up epidural. The same thing happened to me with George. The doctor fucking stabbed the epidural in too far, and ended up giving me a spinal tap. No one realized I was already at 10cm, and the baby needed to be pushed out immediately, but my entire fucking body was numb. It was one of the worst moments of my life because I was scared for my son, and panicked I might be paralyzed for the rest of my life, living in a hospital bed. After George was born, and I barfed all over myself, I laid there, and worried. I pictured Javier Bardem in The Sea Inside, and how he lived in a hospital bed as a quadraplegic and all he wanted to do was die. I started to feel tingling sensations after time passed, and began believing the doctor, that I was going to recover.
I don't know what happened after George arrived, but I have some sort of psychic powers since then. It could have been from the incident being so scary, feeling like we weren't going to make it. The psychic feelings might be fading, but for the first two years I felt like I was reliving time. Maybe I'm misdiagnosing feeling a slower pace of time, where my body and consciousness are slightly out of sync. I don't know, but it is fucking weird, but kind of awesome.
I read an article that said childbirth can lead to psychic abilities, so I guess if I ever had a third I might become full-blown psychic, and could start up a hotline. It would be cool. I could do a commercial where I wear a psychic hat, and shake my wand, repeating, "Check this out guys!" I do not have a movie to compare this aspiration or experience to... Yet! One day. I can dream it up next time I'm reeling from an emotional hangover, hiding under my covers for hours recharging my batteries. With my weak psychic powers, I still have no way of knowing what George is going to do. He cracks me up all the time, even hours later, when I think about it, all alone in a dark room.
Sunday I felt a bit like Brie Larson in Room when she is getting depressed in the room. I was being a shitty parent, hiding under my blankets, unable to communicate unless it was, "Could you please excuse me, I need some personal time." Room was such a disturbing movie to me, a film that "sticks to your ribs."
I spent the second half of my youth in South Lake Tahoe, and the year before I moved there Jaycee Dougard was kidnapped. Her picture was on every shop window, and we all heard the story of her being snatched off her bike on her way to the bus stop, with her step-dad chasing down the car. It was surreal when she was discovered, such incredible news. I can't imagine her mother's joy. I haven't read Dougard's book, and now I hear she is writing a second one. I don't think I will ever read it because, even though her story ended up being amazing, the decade in captivity would be unbearable.
I heard an interview of the man who kidnapped her, and all I got from it was this horrific line, "I don't know why anyone would ever let their kid walk to the bus stop."
My daughter is starting kindergarten in the fall, and I toured her school the other night. They explained how kids are dropped off at "curbside pickup." I can drop her on the curb and she is escorted to the gym, where she will wait with her class and be collected by their teacher.
I nearly fell over. I will never be able to drop this tiny little person off on the sidewalk and drive away. I'm going to park my car and walk her to the doorway of her classroom, every morning, because I heard this simple thought from an awful person.
After I watched Room, I stopped jogging in the street, and ran only on the treadmill because I thought too much about how you can get snatched right off the side of the road. It's been raining, so it's not like I've been fighting off an urge to go pound the pavement, but today, with the sun out and clear skies, I couldn't pass up being outside with running in my dark and damp garage.
My friend called while I was out and we chatted about work, kids and summer trips. She told me about her friend having a baby and getting a fucked up epidural. The same thing happened to me with George. The doctor fucking stabbed the epidural in too far, and ended up giving me a spinal tap. No one realized I was already at 10cm, and the baby needed to be pushed out immediately, but my entire fucking body was numb. It was one of the worst moments of my life because I was scared for my son, and panicked I might be paralyzed for the rest of my life, living in a hospital bed. After George was born, and I barfed all over myself, I laid there, and worried. I pictured Javier Bardem in The Sea Inside, and how he lived in a hospital bed as a quadraplegic and all he wanted to do was die. I started to feel tingling sensations after time passed, and began believing the doctor, that I was going to recover.
I don't know what happened after George arrived, but I have some sort of psychic powers since then. It could have been from the incident being so scary, feeling like we weren't going to make it. The psychic feelings might be fading, but for the first two years I felt like I was reliving time. Maybe I'm misdiagnosing feeling a slower pace of time, where my body and consciousness are slightly out of sync. I don't know, but it is fucking weird, but kind of awesome.
I read an article that said childbirth can lead to psychic abilities, so I guess if I ever had a third I might become full-blown psychic, and could start up a hotline. It would be cool. I could do a commercial where I wear a psychic hat, and shake my wand, repeating, "Check this out guys!" I do not have a movie to compare this aspiration or experience to... Yet! One day. I can dream it up next time I'm reeling from an emotional hangover, hiding under my covers for hours recharging my batteries. With my weak psychic powers, I still have no way of knowing what George is going to do. He cracks me up all the time, even hours later, when I think about it, all alone in a dark room.
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