I have a confession to make. I’m drunk. I’m totally wasted, puking my guts out hammered and slurring. WITH LOVE! Oh, my effing H. It’s true. I will fully admit that I am punch-drunk heart-swelling in love. And this kind of love? Is TAKING. OVER. MY. LIFE!
Take yesterday, for instance. I literally sat on my couch for hours and just watched Fable blink. Don’t believe me? Here’s a two-minute video I took of Fable staring into space. It would have been longer but the battery on my camera died. And DUDES, there are a hundred more like it I’m not kidding.
The other day Hal reminded me that I’ve been totally breaking my cardinal parenting rule, which is: let the baby adapt to you. There’s an entire chapter about it in my book, how important it is to maintain independence so your children know you have a life outside of being their mother. Right now? As far as Fable’s concerned. I’m an extension of her and as far as I’m concerned? She’s my appendage. She eats with me. Sleeps with me. Washes the dishes with me (in either the Bjorn or the BabyHawk carrier) and we’re both loving it. Fable goes days without crying like some kind of miracle baby which makes her a joy and a pleasure to be around.
She’s five weeks today and I kid you not, sleeping through the night
about 50/50 right now. And when she does wake up? She doesn’t cry. She
just makes sucking sounds and I fetch her either the bottle or the teet
and then she passes out again. She’s totally smiling and lighting up my
life in he craziest of ways.
I do realize that this isn’t perhaps the best thing. I mean, she’s a baby, yes but this could become a habit I can’t break and I don’t exactly want to coddle… except you know what? I just lied. I totally want Fable to be tiny and perfect and wonderful forever and ever. And I want her to sleep next to me and be my snuggly little baby goose.
Fable as Avril Lavigne on Halloween. Other Halloween photos, here.
The thing is? Because I’m so BABY BABY BABY, I’m unable to do anything well right now. Writing? Ha! Even my blogging has been full of dumb typos and errors. I spelled Joe the Plumber Joe the Plummer the other day. I mean…. COME ON, BEC! You’re better than that.
It kind of makes me feel for Sarah Palin. Never mind that I despise her as much as humanly possible, SHE’S A NEW MOM! No wonder she’s so brain-dead, talking about Russia rearing its neighborly head and thinking Sarkozy wants to be her BFF. It takes a woman AT LEAST six months before she can spell her own name let alone talk about foreign policy. (Unless of course you’re Campbell Brown who IS A GENIUS and a rock star and my make-believe girlfriend.)
But I digress. Mommy Brain is REAL, folks. And I? Have mommy brain to the MAX. I’m forgetting everything these days, taking two trips to Archer’s school regularly because I forgot a lunch or show-and-tell or the permission slip for the field trip to the pumpkin patch. Etc. Etc. Babies impair our judgment for sure and the longer we’re on the road, the more likely we’re gonna crash.
And yes, I just typed this entire post with one hand and there are probably typos and I wouldn’t be surprised if it made no sense what-so-ever. Remember, though, I have five more months before you can hold it against me and in the meantime I won’t run for political office.
I won’t do much of anything, really. Besides stare at this all day:
Could you seriously blame me? I mean…