So, I’ve launched a plot, and I’ve been hatching schemes and other Scooby Doo-esque terms for making plans. I have to keep reminding myself, though, that this is something I can do. Not in the sense that it’s something I’m capable of doing, but more like something I’m allowed to do. Okay, and also a little bit reminding myself – or pep talking myself – that I’m capable.
You know the first time you realize you can do something that previously seemed like it was reserved for other people? Older people, or more adulty people, or just some other kind of people. Like when I bought a car on my own for the first time. It kind of blew my mind that I could walk into a dealership, pick a car, arrange the insurance and the financing and all of that, and drive away in a car. I knew that PLENTY of people bought cars, all the time. But it seemed like something other people did, not something I could do. Both in the sense of something I was ABLE to do and something I was ALLOWED to do. Some people let me walk into their place and drive away in a car. BLEW MY MIND.
So I’ve hatched this plot, because there was something I wanted and out of nowhere, it dawned on me that rather than wait around for one of the specifically ALLOWED people to arrange for this thing I wanted, I could just do it myself. And while I’m [pretty] sure I can pull it off, the fact that I can just DO IT is blowing my mind.
You know that feeling? Am I making sense? It’s like an assumption you have subconsciously, that you don’t really think about, that doing certain things is for OTHER PEOPLE.
OH, like taking a vacation. I’ve never taken a vacation that wasn’t with my parents OR wasn’t specifically to visit family. But Phil and I, someday, could decide to pack up our baby and go some place. ANY place. With no other family there, if we wanted. A non-family, non-visiting vacation. We could just DO that. Go to ANY PLACE. That’s ALLOWED.
But you have to know this feeling, right? I think it’s mostly attached to doing things that we probably consider to be “adult” things to do, for whatever reason, and I’m sure everyone has different things that they consider to be “adult” things. But my plot, it’s not even a specifically adulty thing to do. It’s just a thing that, for some reason, I kind of deep-in-my-mindly assumed was for specific, somehow designated people to handle. And I just suddenly realized that those people had the same, “Hey, I want this, I’m DOING IT” moment that I had a couple of days ago.
Aside from the big stuff – buying a house, bringing home a baby from the hospital, getting married – what kinds of things do you kind of subconsciously put in the “other people, not me” category?
So, this happens now, FINALLY:
Honestly, I told Noemi a while ago that while the first weeks of babyhood seriously blow, blow to the point that you eventually start to insist that it absolutely CANNOT BE DONE and a MISTAKE HAS BEEN MADE, everything starts to slowly chug uphill, rollercoaster-style, once you see the first smile. Truly, it’s just steady improvement from that moment on.
So I have to say, I’m expecting NAPS and I’m expecting less VOMIT and I’m expecting less PUNCHING ME AWAKE now that we’ve got laughing on the regular.
Me: So this cat lives at our house.
Phil: No, he’s not our cat.
Me: Yeah, he doesn’t live IN our house – he lives AT our house.
Phil: He doesn’t live here. He lives under your car.
Me: And you feed him.
Phil: Well, yeah. Not expensive food, though. I buy him the cheap stuff.
Me: And you make sure he has water.
Phil: It’s hot out there.
Me: I saw him sitting on the table out there, on the blankets, yesterday.
Phil: Yeah, I put them there for him.
Me: That cat lives at our house.
If ever a moment of my life should have been video taped, it was just a couple of minutes ago. The dogs were all riled up, horsing around with each other, and the more they wrestle, the more wound up they get. Calming them is a huge pain in the butt. Sheldon leaps around like a deer, bounding around the house, and has NEVER had ANY concept of where any part of his body is in space at any given moment.
So a lot of times, I just pull Penny up onto the couch in my arms and let them wrestle around. I have to hold onto her tightly, because our couch is terrible and even with me and Penny on it, their insane self-flinging bumps the couch and sends it scooting across the living room.
Right when I thought they had settled down – they were somewhere behind me, at least, I don’t know where – I put Penny in a seat and leaned back to stretch, because this baby is turning into a LOAD.
I leaned back over the arm of the couch, kind of into a corner between the couch and the love seat where we have a small end table, arms up above my head, arching my back and getting WAY out there – you know, the kind of stretch where if you don’t stop, you KNOW you’re going to cramp up your entire back, but you don’t stop anyway because it’s too good of a stretch?
Anyway, yeah, I was doing that.
WHEN OUT OF NOWHERE – okay, not accurate – WHEN OUT OF FROM BEHIND THE COUCH, Sheldon, who was not as calmed as I assumed, BIT MY BUN.
Not my BUNS. They were and remain to this moment planted on the couch.
My BUN. In my HAIR.
And my NEVER NAPPING BABY had fallen asleep.
So I am trapped in a stretch, arched over the arm of my couch, and SHELDON HAS ME BY THE HAIR.
I started SCREAM-hissing, “Sheldon! Drop! Sheldon! Drop! SHEEE-HEEEELLL-DON! LET ME GO!”
Anyway, spoiler alert, he let me go.