We've come a long way, baby

Wow. Here we are, at the end of my maternity leave. It honestly feels like I've somehow fallen through some blip in the space-time continuum, like some cheezy B-rate sci-fi movie plot. My role would probably be played by some B list celeb-- for some reason Sandra Bullock comes to mind. I could just picture it now. Her carrying around a wallet size picture of my newborn Alex, madly throwing it in peoples faces, pleading with them to help her find him, then ripping the picture into shreds as she falls dramatically to her knees, the torn peices falling over her head likes so much rain, where she pummels the earth and beseeches God "My baby!! What have you done with my Baby!!"
Good God. I should be writing movie scripts!! What am I doing wasting my time on this juvenile blog??
Anyways. Is Sandra Bullock considered B list or A list?? Or is she so off the list by now that she's neither?? I'm not sure. I don't keep up with these things. Personally, I'm not a fan.

OK. Where was I?? A blip in the Time Space Continuum. Right. Honestly, I was at the lake last week, sitting outside on the deck basking in the midmorning sun, drinking a cup of Joe and reading my latest paperback. My baby sat contentedly beside me, awestruck by his surroundings, 'oohing' and 'aahing' at the slightest thing- a breeze in the trees, a sparrow landing on a branch. And I just felt, just for one minute, like there had been no time at all intervening from the first time that I sat on that deck with him. He was three weeks old. I remember sitting out on the deck, a similar morning with a similar book, with him in his portable swing. I had to move the swing several times to find shade. I put a mosquito net over top of it to try to protect him from mosquitoes-- but then the net was dragging and the swing wasn't swinging properly. I had to adjust the net several times. He was slouched in it with his neck tilted at an awkward angle. I tried to place blankets around him to keep him in a good position. Finally, when I had everything just so, he started crying and it was time for a feeding. He was so fragile then, so vulnerable. And now. An active and joyous little boy. And I think to myself, we've come a long way, baby. It hasn't always been easy, and it hasn't always been fun (I remember the week he was sick with a cold, when he refused to sleep unless I was standing up with him-- I took the first shift, from midnight til four, and Geoff took the second shift, from four til eight.) But now, here we are.
Our baby is developing his own personality. His own likes and dislikes. His own vocabulary ("kitty", "mama", "dada", "Gage", "puppy", "hi", "go-go-go", which he yells out at ball games).
It goes so fast. It's cliche, of course, but I can't help but think that.



Anyways, onto other issues. First of all, my writing may seem sporadic these days, which OK, it is, but-- and not to deflect the blame from my self or anything-- but truly, my computer is not working well at all these days. It is very frustrating, any simple thing takes all bloody day. But I sent an error report to Microsoft, so I am sure that things will be straightened out soon. I expect that someone will contact me soon and maybe even do a house call and fix things.

Anyways. Speaking of the lake. I was there last week and happened to catch an episode of Oprah. She was talking about how to find pants that fit all body types, so I listened, thinking this could really help me out with my post partum abdominal issues (how long can I really call myself postpartum?? I wonder what the statute of limitations is on that??). The bottom line?? You could either a)spend $800 for a pair of pants that I'm pretty sure that Wal Mart doesn't carry or, if you don't want to go that route then b) hire a tailor to alter all your clothes to fit you better. I mean, of all the god damn useless advice. Really. If I had the money to spend 800 dollars on a pair of pants, or to hire a personal tailor, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be in this predicament in the first place. I'd just get liposuction and be done with it. Frick. Like, really, elitist much, Oprah?? Eight hundred dollars, in my house, is a mortgage payment, not a pair of pants, I don't care how nice my ass might or might not look in it. So then they start talking about underwear and how to avoid VPL (visible panty lines, for those of you not familiar with panty line lingo) and they're like the best would be to wear a thong, although they admit that they do 'ride up a bit'. "Ride Up??" They make it seem like a pleasant little jaunt on a Shetland. Nice euphemism. If you want to call being sodomized by a piece of fabric 'riding up' then maybe you should just call being punched in the face, 'pushing in a little'. Like really. Let's just call things what they are.

Speaking of underwear, I bought some control top underwear-- absolutely hideous things, I will say-- and I must confess that I was disappointed in the result. It didn't do much to slim me down. And further, I realized only too late that every time I bent down you could see my horrible tan Lycra panties that went pretty much all the way to my armpits. So I guess I'm back to plan A- eating healthier shit, which obviously I'm not overly excited about. It sucks, but I guess there are no easy answers with these things. Unless you're Oprah.
Well, but then again... maybe not.
Enough said on that topic. I won't go there.

I still haven't heard anything from those jerks at Readers Digest. And so, in the spirit of not giving up, I'm going to submit another story. Eventually, they'll publish me just to silence me. Payton was asking me about jail for some reason, what it looked like inside. So I told her, you should ask your grandpa, he used to work in a jail. She seemed impressed by this. She asked if he still worked there, and I said no, he's retired. She wanted to know what that meant so I told her that it meant he didn't have to go to work anymore, ever. She found this concept deeply intriguing. So she goes, runs into the other room and tells Geoff, "Guess what dad? Mom said that Grampa's retarded now"
I don't know if they'll publish that-- the whole politically correct thing. I don't know.
Well, will write again tomorrow regarding the whole work thing.
Ready as I'll ever be.