“You should know that you are hated” – A must read for parents of daughters.
I’m not sure why they hate you. You didn’t do anything to them. You don your princess crown, take up your sword, and pretend at Pokemon. You read your books and you learn how to draw comics and dragons and you play piano and practice kung fu. You delight in pretty dresses and weaponry. You love me when I nurture you as a mom, train with you as a warrior, and play video games and card games with you.
This is a must-read letter, from Mur Lafferty to her daugther. It is brilliant and true and funny and sad.
An excerpt from the infamous baby book.
In Aubrey's baby book, at the very beginning, it asks what the mother's "thoughts and feelings" were/are upon finding out you're pregnant. When I bought the book, I didn't know what to write, because I was worried that if I told the truth, I'd horrify Aubrey when she was old enough to realise what my words meant. But I decided that honesty, above all, is the most important lesson I can teach my kid. And so last night, I wrote my "thoughts and feelings", and thought I'd share them.
The best and worst thing about finding out you’re pregnant is that it scares the living hell out of you. Because I didn’t want to freak your Dad out, I took the pregnancy test on my own, and other than me, only your Aunty Jenni knew that your existence might be possible.
When the test came back positive, I was really scared. Not because I didn’t want you or because I thought I might suck as a mother, but because it meant I had to really be a grown up now. Spending money on albums, t-shirts and dresses, quitting a job whenever I felt like it, taking ages to finish uni… That all had to stop, basically. I didn’t see it like my life was ending or anything, but it did make me wonder and worry that maybe I couldn’t be myself anymore. Now that you’re three months old, and your Dad and I are as silly and funny and crazy as ever, I know that fear and worry was unfounded.
I worried about normal stuff too, of course. How your Dad would react when I told him (he was perfect… shocked and potty mouthed, but perfect), how we’d afford to pay for things, where we were going to live, if you were going to be healthy and happy, if you were going to be ugly… I wish I was kidding about that last one, sugarbee. But it all didn’t matter after a little while. You were in my tummy, you had made it your home, and it was all good.
Your Dad and I made a conscious choice to have you. We could have decided not to have a baby, and that would have been okay. But I’m so, so glad you’re here, and our decision is the best one we ever made. We love you so much, Miss Aubrey. We hope you love us too. We’ll always do our best to take care of you, and show you all the awesome, fun, silly, pretty and special things that are in this world. All we ask in return is that you listen, joke, smile and sing. And that you stay happy.
Love,
Mama
The imagined versus the reality.
So, I wanted to talk about some things that I thought would happen/would work before I had Aubrey, and what is happening/working now that she's three months old. Isn't that interesting...?!
So, you'll recall I went on and on about wanting to use cloth diapers, as an alternative to disposables. The reasons were primarily cost and environmental concerns, though I was unsure as to what would be cheaper in the long run. Well, it doesn't matter anyhow, because Aubrey HATES cloth diapers. Like, truly hates them. We have about 6 or 7 that were gifted to us, and each time I've tried them on her, she's squirmed and cried and kicked her little legs until I took it off and replaced it with a disposable. So, that's that. I mean, I'm sure I could force them on her and deal with the complaining until she got used to them, but... Well, I don't want to. If nothing else, I have a very bright little girl, who is very in tune with what she wants. She only cries when there is a problem, she forcibly pushes her bottle out of her mouth with her tongue when she is done eating, she lets you know very clearly when she's tired... Why bother her when she knows what she wants? So we're using biodegradable disposables, and she's a much happier tiny human.
I generally assumed/hoped that Aubrey would be a good sleeper. AND SHE IS... so far. She went through a short period of restlessness and sleeplessness, but at 3 months, she is already sleeping straight through the night, and having 2 - 3 day naps. We generally try to make her get her quota of 15 hours a day, and she doesn't always make that, but she's happy when she's awake, so that's good. I'm not going to leave her bored and upset in her bed, simply to try and make her sleep more, if she can be up and happy and chatty with me. So that's nice. A full night's sleep is easily the best thing in the universe.
I really didn't want to force my kid into pink clothes. But the Baby Industry Machine makes that pretty difficult. I've discovered that if you have a lot of money, you can clothe you kid in basically anything you want. There are robot onsies, and alien shirts, and skinny jeans. But if you're on a budget, you basically have to make the best out of a lot of pink stuff. I've found a lot of purple and grey things, which is nice, and as we head into winter, there seems to be a lot more colour choice. Over summer, I rocked her out in some yellow. But pink has been the main colour I've had to deal with, and I've had to make peace with that. It happens. Before I know it, she'll be five, and she can wear Spider-man t-shirts and skinny jeans and really look like our kid. Until then, we do the best with what we can afford. Though I've just bought her a tartan skirt that is pretty boss.
Now, for your enjoyment, another picture of my not-ugly kid:
Miss Aubrey Lorelai - 3 months old.
Server move complete.
Hooray for everything. Soon I'll be back posting frequently, with a different design and shit.
Until then, go to Google Image Search and type in "Milo Ventimiglia". You're welcome.
Moving server.
So, I'm going to move MyParasite.net over to a different server over the next few days.
You'll notice some down time. Ignore it.
I'll be back soon and things.
x
Almost 12 weeks. Almost.
So, I haven’t updated this in a while. I think that might be because I’ve been busy raising a parasite. A parasite that is no longer based in my stomach.
My daughter is pretty brilliant. She’s placid, smiley and generally happy. But there have been some bumps in our otherwise rather smooth road…
- Aubrey Lorelai is often frustrated with her own rate of development. This means we have to help her sit up pretty much all the time, so she can feel included in the conversation/goings on of the day. That can be pretty tiring on your arm, but it’s better than her getting pissy because she’s stuck on her back.
- She went through a pretty heavy colicky period, and that sucked, but at least we knew what it was. Like a lot of little girls, she gets wind by freakin’ LOOKING at her bottle, let alone drinking it, so that early period was frequently loud.
- I unfortunately sucked at the breastfeeding thing, in that boob milk was non-existant. Which happens, but whatever, I was pretty disappointed, especially because I felt like everyone was super pissed off/judgemental about it. It was frustrating and upsetting, but fuck everyone, ‘cause I KNEW my kid wasn’t getting enough to eat, and now she’s happily chugging away on formula like a champ. We’re using an organic formula that seems super kind to her tummy, which is all kinds of win.
- She’s finally growing in to her 000-size clothes. For ages, she would only fit into 00000, and we just didn’t have clothes to fit her. Now, she has tons of 000 stuff, but it’s all summery, and we’re starting to get into the colder months down here in Oztrayla. So despite the kindness/”here, let me get rid of my junk”-ness from strangers and friends, we’ll probably have to buy her a bit on a winter wardrobe. Eh, it happens. At least I can choose her clothes now, and not sit and smile while people force worn-clothes on to me, and I have to take them because I’m not rude and I can’t justify buying tons of clothes when I’m being given them. Soon, though, she’ll fit into her skinny jeans, and all will be right with the world.
- She has a bit of a reaction to her immunisations, in that she was cranky for a few days for no apparent reason. But beyond that, she took those jabs like a champ. My daughter, the boxer.
Other than that… Stuff is pretty good over here at Chè Harper-Uldum. Aubrey sleeps through the night most nights, which is a fucking god-send. She’s smiley, she “talks” frequently, and basically lights up when her Dad gets home. She loves a cuddle, loves her grandparents, and is getting to a stage where she’s enjoying cartoons, which is weirdly cool. I don’t want to just sit her in front of the TV for hours, but having 20 quiet minutes to do the dishes and put the washing on and go to the bathroom while she watches Ben 10 (yes, that’s her favourite) is pretty lovely.
Here is a picture of her, taken yesterday:
Aubrey Lorelai, 11 weeks old.
She is the light of my pathetic existence, and I am not worthy.
But god, she STINKS sometimes. Fucking hell child, are you baking the son of satan in your bunghole?
And on that note…
One month.
Well, we're four weeks into this thrillride.
Aubrey is growing like crazy, though she's still only just fitting in 0000 and 000 stuff (and her 00000 jumpsuit, that she wore home from the hospital, still fits). So she's still a small lil' lady, but we like her like that.
It's all pretty mental. Like, she knows my voice and Ben's voice, but she doesn't 100% know our faces yet, because her vision is still shoddy (apparently it doesn't amp up to 20/20 until 8 months, sheesh). So she'll look at you and be all "huh?". But then you speak, and she gets it. It's a bit rad.
Sleep has become the most valuable commodity in this house. So valuable that Ben and I trade it. "You take these hours, and I'll take these hours, deal?". My ma comes about once a week to crash the night and let us have one good, full night's sleep, which is amazing and super appreciated. I feel genuinely sorry for anyone who doesn't have help like that, because it's a life saver for us. She'll get into a sleep routine, but that'll last maybe 5 days, and then she'll transition into something else. But that's cool. She's so easy going in basically every other way. We took her to my best friend's house for dinner on Thursday night, and she was placid and happy and sleepy the whole time.
Aubrey Lorelai; A lady and her purple singlet + sheepskin.
Things I have come to care greatly about:
- Sleep, obviously.
- Showers. Showers are golden. I generally have to wait until Ben gets home to have one, and it's a shining beacon of wonder and cleanliness and and awesome when I step under that stream of water.
- Food. Yes, it's possible for Tubby McLard over here to care more about food. We usually have to eat dinner in shifts, and I seem to be missing lunch a lot while I manage Aubrey and get normal household stuff done. I actually got to sit down with some pasta and watch an episode of Glee with lunch this week, and it was amazeballs.
- My hair. God, it's hideous. I look like George Harrison, only with really bad layers, and brown fading and grey regrowth. I have a hair cut booked on the 21st of Feb, but this may be the year of the great head shave because keeping up with my cut is going to be one hell of a challenge. Starting fresh might be fun.
Beyond all of that normal, boring shit... It's pretty great, actually. When she smiles, the world stops. Her eyes are magnificent. Her skin is gorgeous, her nose is like a tulip, and her love of music is already apparent. She is possibly the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and I've seen Rooney Mara naked, so that's saying something.
I'm looking forward to the bigger stuff. The laughing, the sitting up, the playing. She's still in that "eat, sleep, poop, repeat" stage, and while that's time consuming enough as it is, to be rewarded with a giggle or something will be pretty awesome.
So, I don't suck at this. I'm as shocked as you are.
A lady and her space mat.
Growing kids grow fast.
So, my kid is now almost two weeks old. She’s grown about 4cms in length, which is batshit mental to watch happen before your very eyes, and she’s a hungry little jerk when she wakes up. She’s also super pretty, which isn’t fair really, given how horrible I am to ugly people. I should have been given a butt ugly kid, to teach me a lesson. But the universe has decided I’m the keeper of rare beauty, so win. Until she turns 13, when she’ll be locked under the stairs.
So anyway, Aubrey and I were in the newspaper. One minute I’m live-tweeting my labor because I’m a dork and it was a welcome distraction between the sheer horror that is contractions, and the next we’re having our picture taken in relation to it. The fact that the amazing Amanda Palmer was tweeting me during labour probably helped somewhat. I figure it’ll be a cool story to tell my kid when she’s older (“Hey Aubrey, when you were born, musicians were impressed and it was painful!”… I may have to work on delivery of the narrative, but you get the idea). Check out the article here.
A few folks have asked about her name. I first heard Aubrey via the delightful Aubrey Plaza, and after some research into the name’s meaning, I found out that it was traditionally a male name, and meant “king of the Elves”. Yeah, that was just dorky enough to work for us. So we added it to the name list that lived on our fridge for four months (other names on there included Parker, Kit, Molly, Eleanor and Zoey). During that time, I found out that Aubrey was the name of the first and second Earls of Oxford, which rules, so it moved up the list, but was still second behind Zoey. The reason for this was simple; I had my heart set on calling her Zoey Stardust, as a tribute to David Bowie and because it’s awesome. But when she came out, she wasn’t a Zoey. She was too delicate and, well, elfin. So we went with Aubrey, and it’s kind of perfect for her.
Her middle name is a lot more simple. I fucking love Gilmore Girls, you guys. Like, a lot. Not just the show, but Lauren Graham is basically my dream woman. Have you seen her? Heard her? She’s brilliant. I would sever many, many limbs to do horrifically dirty things to her, and then we’d hang out or something. If you haven’t watched Gilmore Girls, you’re missing out… The entire thing is one big pop culture reference, a dorky joke about something else that no one gets. And if that doesn’t seal the deal, it was created by two of the smarties behind Family Guy. So yeah, check it out. Anyhow, both the name characters are name Lorelai, and I love the name. It’s pretty. It reminds me of Lauren. And traditionally, it comes from the name of a maiden who turned into a water sprite/siren, in Germanic mythology, which I think is pretty damn bad-ass. So there you got. My daughter, the Kingly, Elfin water sprite. She’s already too awesome for her own good.
Now I’ll share a few select pictures of my kid, for your enjoyment. If you dislike baby pictures (and if they weren't pictures of my gorgeous kid, I’d probably hate them too), why not go here and read awesome stuff by Kate Beaton. Yeah.
Staring with interest at her mumma (aka, me)
Heat wave + tummy ache = cuddles in bed to chill out.
Best frowny face ever.
The Neverending Birth Story.
So, it happened. I have a daughter.
At 3:19am on Wednesday, January 11th, I had a contraction. I didn’t think much of it, and chalked it up to Braxton Hicks. It was mild-ish, a cramp in my lower back and hips. It was enough to wake me up, though. They started coming every 30 – 40mins or so from then on, and I wasn’t too worried. When Benjamin got up at 6:30am for work, I explained what was going on, we were both cool and calm, and he went to work that day as normal. My best friend came and hung out with me during the day, and we ate pasta and had a Three Musketeers marathon, with me getting an owwies every half hour. No big deal.
I didn’t sleep that night, which isn’t surprising. The contractions had amped up a little, pain-wise, and were coming about every 20mins. But I read and kept myself calm, and tried to rest as best I could. The next day, the contractions were a little more painful again, and I thought “okay, this isn’t just Braxton Hicks, this is labor. I’m in labor.” That was a weird realisation, since I knew she was smaller and it was always just assumed I’d go through to my due date, if not later. I wasn’t 100% ready. But I stayed calm, Ben went to work again, and I just lay in bed, contracting every 15 – 20mins and reading Richelle Mead books on my Kindle app.
Then at 11:30am, I lost my mucus plug. Yes, I know that’s gross you guys, but it happened. And then, I lost. My. Shit.
I called the hospital first. Tried to calmly explain what was happening as tears streamed down my face, sitting alone in my big house while waves of pain rolled through me every 15mins. They confirmed I was in labor (which gave me a giant, internal “Well, duh” moment) and asked me to call back when my contractions were 5 – 10mins apart. Then I called Ben. AND HIS PHONE WASN’T ON. After screaming and crying about this for a good full minute, I called my brother, who works with him, and got him on the phone. I don’t think I said anything more than, “HOME. YOU NEED TO COME HOME.” And he, by all accounts, bolted out of the stinky warehouse he works in and drove home. I then made a similar phone call to my mother, who made a similar mad dash out of her house, though she had a 1.5 hour drive in an overheating car to my house, bless her. And then, I waited. Up until that point, I think that had been the longest 25mins of my life, from the time I spoke to Benjamin to the time he walked in the door. I felt so utterly, irrevocably scared and worried. It was go time, and I absolutely, positively was not ready. At all.
When Benjamin got home, I relaxed a little. We determined my contractions were proper contractions, they were about 15 – 20mins apart, and that they hurt a lot. I’m not good with pain at the best of times, but shit, they weren’t great. I tried to rest, without any luck. I tried to watch TV, tweet it out, occupy myself in any way, and it didn’t work either. So I just walked laps around the house, counting the minutes between contractions and feeling rather sorry for myself. This went on for hours. And hours. Only instead of being easier to handle with each contraction, each one got worse, and more intense, and hurt like a motherfucker.
To give you an idea of the time frame we’re looking at here, I felt my first contraction (though I didn’t know it was one at the time, we now realise it was) at 3:19am on January 11th. By this point, it was 12pm-ish on January 12th. So I had been in some form of labor for 33 hours now.
By 9pm, my contractions had hit between 6 – 8mins apart. So I called the hospital again, explained my symptoms, and they asked us to come on down. Now, the hospital is a 45min drive away, at least. And despite lying down on the back seat whilst Benjamin gingerly drove over every bump and pot hole in the road, it was definitely an uncomfortable ride. We arrived at the hospital close to 10pm, and I waddled up to the first floor, to the labor and delivery ward (who the fuck puts a labor ward on the first floor, by the way?). Then we had to wait in the waiting room for about 40mins before I got seen by anyone. Originally a lovely midwife got me situated, but then she went off shift, and a portly woman with a bad attitude and fingers that were way too thick to stick up my bajingo gave me an internal. She was clearly not impressed, told me I was only 1.5cms dialated and to go home. I was having contractions every three minutes at this point, and I started to protest that I knew that going home would be a bad idea, but she’d hear none of it. She then gave me Temazepam, insisting I’d probably have a good night’s sleep and wouldn’t have the baby for another 24 hours, at least. So I took it. I’d come to regret that.
Now, I never usually take anything like that, at all. In fact, I think that may have been the first time I’d taken anything close to a sleeping pill in my entire life. I’ve never been on pain medication stronger than over-the-counter codeine, so that shit hit me pretty quick. Only, it didn’t stop my contractions, or the pain associated with them. So on the 45min drive back to the house, I’d fall asleep for about two minutes, wake up in AGONY, and then fall asleep again. It was really, really unpleasant. What made it more unpleasant was that literally 15 minutes after we got home, my water broke. And it broke all over my bed, in a pain-free moment that was becoming more and more rare.
So, let’s recap. My contractions are maybe 2 minutes apart now. I’m in intense, searing pain. My water has broken. And the hospital has sent me home, on a sleeping pill. Yeah, this wasn’t exactly the relaxed, unpanicked, drug-induced birth plan I had organised.
My mother calls the hospital again, and they tell us to “not panic” and head on down to the hospital in about an hour. 40 minutes later, I notice that I’m now losing blood from my bajingo, and I know that ain’t good. So as we’re scrambling back into the car, we call them back, so they know to expect us. And we then commence the 45min drive back to the hospital. I’m trying to lie in the back seat again, but with every bone-shaking, teeth-shattering contraction, it becomes more and more apparent that the contractions aren’t just getting worse, but I can FEEL my daughter pressing down further and further through my pelvis. At one point, as we round the corner on the second-last turn to the hospital, I felt the car seat actually flex below me, with the pressure being put on it. Yeah, this wasn’t good at all.
So then I have to WALK to the delivery ward again. Seriously, this was the longest walk of my life. Every 30 seconds, I almost collapsed in pain. I finally made it to the delivery ward, and then had to wait a few minutes to see someone. Luckily, I think they figured out that things were getting pretty bad. I had the same woman give me an internal, and her shock was pretty apparent when she realised that not only was I completely dialated, my daughter’s head was super visible. That’s when the staff finally kicked into gear, and I was wheeled (thank god, the walking was over) into a delivery suite. By this stage, I’ve crapped myself about three times, because I’m so fucking classy, and the shock I’m going through is akin to a high pitched whine running through my brain over and over. The pain was excrutiating. They say that you “forget” the pain of labor, but I’m telling you I remember every single detail of it. It was the single most horrific thing I’ve ever felt, amplified by the intense fear I felt. I don’t remember much about how anyone else was feeling, but Ben tells me now that he was on the verge of tears himself, and very close to assaulting anyone who was close to him. I can’t imagine watching him go through anything remotely close to that and keeping my cool, I don’t know how he did it.
Finally, I meet the midwife who will deliver my baby. And she’s amazing. FINALLY, someone amazing. She forcefully tells me to lie on the bed, gingerly gets me to open my legs, and calmly but strongly tells me I’ve got no options open to me now. Pain relief of any kind will be pointless, and my daughter is in serious danger if we don’t get her out right now. RIGHT NOW. Before I can even process that information, she grabs her assistant, a student midwife, and the forcibly pry my legs open by each leaning on one. Then, she instructs me to push. I refuse. She tells me again, a lot angrier, that she really is in danger, and I HAVE to push, and I HAVE to listen to her. Somehow that message got through, and I don’t know how it did, because at this point, I’m not me any more. NJ didn’t exist. I was some kind of primal other person, someone incapable of actual speech or thought or hope. The pain was so intense that I literally couldn’t see. The midwife then calmly explains that if I push when she says to push, and stops when she says to stop, not only will my daughter be okay, but the damage I’ll suffer will be minimal. Once again, I’m not sure how I processed this information, but some how, I did it. I pushed.
Writing this now, I’m getting pretty emotional. Not because it was traumatic, which is was, but because of all the things that didn’t go the way they should have, of the bitterness I have towards some of the hospital staff I dealt with, I can’t believe that I had the strength to do this. I know that sounds insane, because women have been doing this for millions of years, most in places where medical staff and hygiene aren’t exactly a priority. But if you have any sense of the kind of person I am from this blog, you know that this was never what I dreamed about or wanted. When I got pregnant, I came very close to getting an abortion. I didn’t see any kind of future for me that included a child, and I never thought I’d be able to get through nine months of pregnancy, let alone ANY form of labor, even one that is largely pain-free. But here I sit, with my daughter asleep in her pram next to me, and I can say this: I pushed when I was told to push. I stopped when I was told to stop. I screamed so, so very loudly, my tonsils were raw afterwards. I gripped my mother and Ben’s hands so tight, and all I could see was red and black spots. And after maybe 30 minutes, I heard someone crying. I thought it was me. But it wasn’t… It was her. Someone put her on my chest, and she looked at me with wide eyes, and immediately stopped crying.
She knew me instantly. It was the most bizarre thing I’ve ever felt. She was quiet, and paying very close attention to my face. I didn’t know how to feel, really. All I knew was that she was utterly beautiful. No ugly baby for me, guys. My big fear was unfounded, because she’s gorgeous. In a voice I didn’t recognise, I gushed out loud to Ben about her, and I instantly knew her name, and the horror and the pain and the pooping and the screaming stopped. I had a human being on my chest, covered in gunk. It was surreal, and remains surreal. The fact that all this happened on Friday the 13th is pretty hilarious, given that, in my head, it reads like a horror movie.
I’m thankful for a lot of stuff in my life. I’m thankful for my family, for the music of Ben Folds, for Coca-Cola, for stuffed animals and The Simpsons and free internet porn and comic books and slutty lingerie. I’m eternally thankful for Benjamin. But currently, holding the number one spot in that list is me. I’m pretty proud of myself, and I’m thankful that I had the character and strength to deal with this experience, and come out of it with a healthy, content, pretty, curious, sleepy little girl. And I get to share her with someone pretty amazing.
Aubrey Lorelai Harper-Uldum was born at 2:40am on Friday, January 13th. She weighed 6.5 pounds, was 48cms long, and was born with a full head of dark hair, big sunken eyes, and a pouty mouth. She is breathtaking. And we made her.
The final countdown.
I'm about to hit 39 weeks. This shit could kick into gear at any time. Hopefully not before I eat, because I'm hungry right now. I'm always hungry at the moment.
I thought I'd post a little on the stuff I'm excited about. I'm a pretty negative person, 99% of the time. My glass is half empty. My cup runneth over, and I complain about having to clean up the mess. I'm fully aware that this is a personality flaw, so hey, here's me trying to turn it around.
I'm excited about taking my kid to awesome places.
This is a ways off, I realise. But last night, there was an ad for Scitech on TV. Scitech, for those outside of Western Australia, is an interactive science and learning centre over here. They have different exhibitions for different things, and it is widely regarded as awesome and fun. I have to assume both those things, however, because I've never been. I've always wanted to go. But I was 18 when I moved here, and Scitech is the kind of place that families and kids and school classes frequent, and so I've never had the opportunity to go. NOW I WILL. I have a reason to do these things! I'm slightly obsessed with the Zoo as well, and I can go there with my kid WHENEVER I WANT. We can go to the museum and art gallery and get ice creams and hold hands and learn about things, and it'll be awesome because it won't be just me getting off on knowledge and art and wonder, there'll be a tiny person to share it with. That rules quite a bit. In all of the craziness of this pregnancy experience, I've never really thought about the practical elements of what we'll do together. But these are practical things... I can't take her to the moon or to New York City (not yet, anyway), but we can still do amazing things. That's nice 'n positive, right?
I'm excited about eating her hands.
Not literally, calm down. But since I've never been a "baby person" before, I don't have much to go on, in terms of how babies feel. By all accounts though, babies have soft and lovely skin, and they like it when you touch them. That makes one of us, eh? Anyway, whenever I picture me and my parasite horsin' around and having smiles and laughs, I always picture me pretending to bite her hands, and her laughing uncontrollably, and then I giggle, and it's all very storybook and lovely. I'm sure she'll come out and HATE that, but I'm excited to try it. I pretend to eat Ben's face all the time, and he seems to find it amusing (if not a little horrifying), so hey, it's not too much of a stretch to think she'll think it's funny, right?
I'm excited about her looking at me.
This is where I get a bit sentimental and garbage like that, so turn away now if you'd like to avoid that. In fact, if you click here, you can look at a sexy picture of Rooney Mara instead!
I like the idea that she's going to look at me, and I'll look at her, and there'll hopefully be some kind of bond there. That's what they keep telling me, anyway. Eye contact is important for development, apparently, so we'll stare at each other, and I'm excited to... I don't know, really. I guess to feel like she knows who I am? That she gets that I'm her Ma and we're friends? I guess I can't quite explain it. But for all of the bad stuff I'm assuming will happen (and by "bad", I just mean difficult... Screaming and crying, trouble with sleeping, trouble with feeding, etc), I feel like if I can get the eye contact down, we'll be alright. In a related excitement, I'm hoping she'll be the same way with Benjamin, and I'm totally excited to watch that. I think it'll be nice.
And finally, to end on a high note...
I'm excited about using her as an excuse for things.
Seriously. This will extend through her entire life. "Hey NJ, can you help me move this weekend?" - "Sorry, I've got somethin' going on with my daughter!". AND NO ONE CAN DEBATE ME ON IT.
Yes, I'm basically looking forward to using my child to be even more selfish and horrid than I already am. Bless.