andrew (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} heiligekuh) wrote,@ 2007-11-13 21:50:00 |
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More baby reflections
Yeah, it's not pretty. But it's the best photot for what's in my head now.
She's been here seven weeks. Only a little bit more and we graduate up to high school romance and can measure in months. But. . . what is it now.
She's here, all the time. No one ccame and took her away. More importantly, no one snuck through the house and replaced J or I with idealized versions of ourselves. we're here, on the couch, in the kitchen, in bed - - we're here as the same people and the same set of habits we've always been. But our hands are full .
Well, right now J's asleep in bed and annika is out on the couch. . .but still. hands are full a lot of the time.
Our house is still messy - more so, since we often can't pick up that blanket/shoe/pacifier we just dropped instead of being lazy. J's lost that beautiful post-birth gift of being able to sleep instantly, anytime (also known as Andrew-sleep). I'm stumbling through days at school not because of my all-night baby schedule, but just becuase I'm distracted and careless. I'm reading, playing games, cooking. . .hell, we've been to Santa Cruz *and* Costco with her. . .everything that was on the schedule pre-baby is back in some form or another.
I just . . . feel a little thin, a bit off kilter. Part of this is the Novembers. November is always when I realize that I'm shit for teaching, have been coasting through on bravado and low standards for the last 6 years and am doomed to wake up in this classroom 12 years from now bitter and miserable as fuck. The Novembers pass, but not always with the calendar. This is rough becuase my "1 years from now" dystopian future has her as an adolescent yelling at me because we're controlling her life and can't possibly understand her.
There's a lot of magic. Everyday has new faces, new motions. And it all gets compressed down to pictures and stories, letting the weight and tension of these weeks evaporate like the fine detail of so many other weeks and months.
Bah. I don't know where I was going with this. And I think the typing sound is starting to disturb her.
Anyway, I promised you man-boobs. Here you go:
Yeah, it's not pretty. But it's the best photot for what's in my head now.
She's been here seven weeks. Only a little bit more and we graduate up to high school romance and can measure in months. But. . . what is it now.
She's here, all the time. No one ccame and took her away. More importantly, no one snuck through the house and replaced J or I with idealized versions of ourselves. we're here, on the couch, in the kitchen, in bed - - we're here as the same people and the same set of habits we've always been. But our hands are full .
Well, right now J's asleep in bed and annika is out on the couch. . .but still. hands are full a lot of the time.
Our house is still messy - more so, since we often can't pick up that blanket/shoe/pacifier we just dropped instead of being lazy. J's lost that beautiful post-birth gift of being able to sleep instantly, anytime (also known as Andrew-sleep). I'm stumbling through days at school not because of my all-night baby schedule, but just becuase I'm distracted and careless. I'm reading, playing games, cooking. . .hell, we've been to Santa Cruz *and* Costco with her. . .everything that was on the schedule pre-baby is back in some form or another.
I just . . . feel a little thin, a bit off kilter. Part of this is the Novembers. November is always when I realize that I'm shit for teaching, have been coasting through on bravado and low standards for the last 6 years and am doomed to wake up in this classroom 12 years from now bitter and miserable as fuck. The Novembers pass, but not always with the calendar. This is rough becuase my "1 years from now" dystopian future has her as an adolescent yelling at me because we're controlling her life and can't possibly understand her.
There's a lot of magic. Everyday has new faces, new motions. And it all gets compressed down to pictures and stories, letting the weight and tension of these weeks evaporate like the fine detail of so many other weeks and months.
Bah. I don't know where I was going with this. And I think the typing sound is starting to disturb her.
Anyway, I promised you man-boobs. Here you go:
