1:08 p.m.||||2001-11-16
...I've been sulking around this morning, kicking myself for being so flippant all the time in my writing...reprimanding myself for having such a potty mouth. I keep thinking...this doesn't reflect who I am, really. Look at me, how much I've grown in the past year, how tender I am with my son, how unaffected I can feel now by things/issues/situations which would have driven me nuts in my previous incarnation. And in this internal debate, there, like a pair of shoes I trip over, is this diaryland, creating conflict, doubt. I enjoy it...but it feels like a burden, a distraction, something only someone younger than me should spend time doing.
And yet, many of my favorites are mama diaries, replete with nice language, thoughtfully crafted insights into life and parenthood, and they represent a vast and diverse group of mothers, ranging from ten years younger to ten years older. So, what I'm saying about myself really, when I worry about being too old to do this, is that I am disillusioned with person I keep finding here - she should grow up. The person I am in real life is not nearly so..so...so..whatever it is I am being when I litter an otherwise decent vocabulary with profanity for its own sake and continue to focus on what my life used to be like.
Of course, that is part of what I try to get a handle on by writing here...that burden, that bundle of regret I call my previous life. Which I can't really get into because someone, somewhere, disapproves. I'm an approval whore, oops, excuse me. (Father: "you need to worry less about whether others like you"; To Myself, "I just don't want to be picked on today.") I suspect I might have a low E.Q.
To justify this time, I propose that I do the following: Write the birth story. It's important. Write about my experience with breast feeding. (I will have links to other places so that if this isn't your bag you won't be forced to go).
About postpartum deression and psychosis and Oprah. (If you aren't already there she'll drive ya! Ha, ha, just kidding. It was a show last week I watched and was happy I did. Yes, I belong to the cult of Oprah. I just take crib notes)
About anxiety and how it shapes me. (Anyone who wants to tell me about paxil, just go ahead and bring me up to date)(I posted at hipmama about this one and came out sounding like a lunatic. If they would just remove my gall bladder I'm sure so much of this will be seen to have been a mistake)(I could totally do the NaNoWriMo thing...I am in love with long sentences)
I have some pictures I could post but I simply have lost all interest. For now, anyway.
I should put up a new story from the Suzanne Jacobs book, although none-a-ya read those and I can prove it.Evil stats tracker. I needed that like a kick in the nose. And when I started I didn't even know what it was.
Baby update. J ate 3 tablespoons of rice cereal twice this week, swallowing most of it, dribbling only a little. He previously enjoyed collecting several spoonfuls together and then squeezing like a little tube of toothpaste his cheeks. (That's like German, huh, when you put the noun at the end? Or...German that's like, when at the end put you the noun? HA HAH HA)
That is sincerely too much humor coming from a girl who has to fly out of Detroit to Las Vegas in a week. Less. I'm not feeling the anxiety yet. But I will. I saw on primetime (my generic term for all news shows far and wide...) a story about flying anxiety and they filmed a woman on a plane sitting in a seat near the back. As they hit turbulence she thrashed a little in her seat, buried her head and muttered "why are they doing that? I said to D, "ha, ha, that's me, that's the price we pay for putting me on this plane". I typically mutter "why'd I get on this plane...this was a mistake...this was a mistake" I reserve the same mantra for roller coasters.
We are taking the baby. And all of his attendant stuff. I think we have to take his carseat on board. I don't know. All I know is...bottle upon descent. If anyone shoots me a look for my crying baby I'll just kick 'em in the nuts. Oops. C'mon, do not doubt my authoritah!
The tone of this entry would suggest I'm in a good mood. Yeah. My friend sent my a warm e-mail this morning...she said she loves me. I love her too. She's so beautiful but doesn't know it fully yet and she's having a hard time and I get tears in my eyes when I think of it.
The baby is behind me in his swing squawking. He has realized he has volume control. He loves to turn it up and up and up.
All right. I have things I need to do and although I was reticent when I first signed in, I can now plainly see that this could go on and on...so I conclude to take my repose.