Through the Looking Glass

i <3 my little family.

i have come to the realization, however, that i live in a parallel universe to the one i previously inhabited -- everything looks the same but, among other things, i am no longer allowed to call my husband by his first name. he is now "daddy" and the one time i slipped and called him aaron -- the same name i have been calling him for the last 2 1/2 years -- i was scolded for being confusing. hello, i am confused! i haven't used the word daddy in 25 years myself and it certainly wasn't in any sort of context i now want to attach to my husband. nor do i associate my black glittery toenails hidden by hot pink patent leather boat shoes with the word "mommy."

it also has become necessary to speak, at all times, in the third person. look P, mommy is in the kitchen. mommy is smashing up some carrots for P. mommy is pouring the smashed carrots into little bitty cups. all the better in a sing-songy voice, if not a full-fledge song (preferably to the tune of the beattles' yellow submarine). i try not to think too hard about narrating my own, pathetic existence. P thinks its fascinating when i dictate letters about discovery deadlines and settlement offers in song mode at home. i doubt he has a lot of strong feelings one way or the other regarding my other activities.

along the same lines, having a baby invites the most passive-aggressive communication i have ever experienced. first, you can use your baby as your mouthpiece to boss people around. for example, when a crowd gathers uncomfortably close to watch you clean up the worst poop you've ever seen (a record that is broken time and time again), just say: get out of my face grandpa, i need some room to breathe. translate: P could give two shits, literally, who is stuck up his butt, almost literally, but mommy needs some fresh air.

you can also comment on pretty much anything through your baby by telling your baby to "say" something. say "that sweater is ugly, dude." translate: mommy thinks that sweater is ugly, dude. but it's cute when a baby says it, so it's okay.

then there are the rhetorical questions. like when you've asked your husband to empty the diaper genie 47 times but it is still full and the squish of pushing yet another saturated diaper in is making your stomach turn a little bit. you say: hey P, is daddy ever going to take out the diaper genie like he said he would 47 times ago? or is mommy going to have to keep pushing your big stinky squishy diapers in there foreeeeeeever? translate: i am annoyed because you have not done as i have asked. or: for the 48th time, please do what i have asked. also hidden in the translation: i am annoyed at the existence of the diaper genie, which is a $25 plastic bucket that requires $7 proprietary plastic bags and teases you with the unattainable possibility that you might ever stop smelling poo.

also popular: is daddy a big fat poo-poo head? translate: i am accepting apologies. and wouldn't it be nice if __________? translate: do ___________, preferably ASAMFP.

you really have to be careful not to let your guard down when you're using these techniques because it becomes second nature and the baby monitor can turn on you any second as it broadcasts your smart-ass remarks to who knows where. you can follow the white rabbit into the hole but you've gotta be quick if you're going to outlast and outsmart him and avoid becoming a significantly less glamourous pile of mushy mommy with pleated jeans, tangled hair and a family of fanny packs.

Bringing Sexy Back

i have been inspired to resurrect my blog by, of all things, the lameness of others. i am a firm believer in it's-never-too-late. for example, it's never too late to eat a bowl of ice cream. it's never too late to pick up the book you started 6 months ago and put down 5 months ago. it's never too late to file some marginally-applicable authority (and well disguised argument) with the court in a desperate effort to get the last word in. thus, i feel no shame in picking up the pen after many, many months of saying nothing of my glamorous life.

arguably, if you even have time to update the internet on your goings-on, there is a problem. however, i promise i will never recount everything (or anything) i ate in the last 24 hours or blindly list every mannequin featured at madame tussaud's. i'll save those gems for after P checks me in to a nursing home, the posh-ness of which is a direct reflection on his assessment of my parenting. because in all seriousness, until that time i have many, many other things to report on.

the complete failure of humanity comes to mind. i've managed to keep 9 3/4 months of pregnancy (the perils of which will no doubt be the topic of a future episode) and the subsequent 4 1/2 months of motherhood pretty light-hearted -- although i should have anticipated that a baby who made his appearance at 4:55 a.m. would consider that an appropriate time to wake up every morning thereafter. at any rate, a judge ruled today that there is nothing inappropriate, dishonest, or outrageous about baiting an obviously mentally ill homeless man with cigarettes, secretly videotaping an innocent conversation, and spinning his responses to parallel the characteristics of a fugitive on the FBI's most wanted list for decapitating his family and setting his house on fire, and broadcasting these so-called "uncanny similarities "on a statewide newsbroadcast. is this easily-recognizable local homeless man actually a mass murderer? tune in at 10 to find out! . . . to find out that, although they both have blue eyes and attend prayer meetings, the answer is unequivocally NO because local legend, affectionately known as parkaman, is six inches too tall and has a verified identity (even if he's not sure what it is). no matter that he received death threats after the story aired. no matter that he was forced to relocate his "home" from the ditch in front of walmart store no. 1299 to an undisclosed location. again -- makes my stomach turn over, but, as a matter of law, not outrageous.

this is what we in america call free speech. you need not speak the absolute truth, even if you know unequivocally what it is, but only the "substantial" truth skewed in a way to maximize your ratings. you need not respect the space of a homeless man because "there is no right to privacy in a public park." the word "no" actually means "yes" when you lack the wherewithall to recognize when someone is duping you with tobacco. and oh yes, there's nothing wrong with secretly videorecording and publishing a conversation as long as one person -- presumably the person with the camera -- knows it's there. this is the america i must raise my son in and protect him from.

so i get it -- that's the law and it's a balancing act of one person's rights and responsibilities against another. and maybe it works well for the average person. being the outspoken author of a blog, i may myself have to rely on the substantial truth defense some day. but why does the law leave behind the people who need it most? the people who can't stand up for and protect themselves. the unsexy. imagine if someone compared me to a mass murderer on a statewide television broadcast . . . i'd make a career out of making bad publicity for those jerks and good publicity for me. use that as a jumpstart to write some legislation demanding the return of integrity to the news media, spend a few months lobbying in D.C. and finally be interesting enough to appear on the howard stern show. presumably to explain how my proposed legislation gels with my love and respect for howard stern. in fact, aren't there any hard-nosed journalists who would do just about anything to get a story out there that want to fabricate a story about me? i guess i'm not exactly an easy target.

in other news, P has a new trick: what i like to call the NEED IT NOW. this presents itself mostly when P is sitting in my lap while i am trying to get some work done at home. as long as i'm writing, P is happy to sit in my lap, grunting quietly and kick-kick-kick-kicking his little legs (and only every 6th or 7th one will hit my hand, sending my pen skidding across the page). but as soon as i pick something up -- my phone, my dictator, a sandwich -- P comes to life! he immediately perks up and i can hear the unformed thought screaming through his head: "i don't know what that is but i NEED IT IN MY MOUTH ASAMFP!" as he stretches his little arms and pants and groans with effort. (his little trick presents itself at the end of the video, after much wiggling and jiggling and giggling). so far, P is content with just wanting, and not actually having. this will not last long . . . but his excitement and curiosity at the unknown are uplifting.

today i feel the weight of both the bigness and the smallness of the world. and so, i am back.

get your sexy on

go 'head be gone with it.