Now, quite a number of individuals -- generally those who considered themselves to be fully mature grown-ups -- have told me I have shitty priorities.
My ninth grade math teacher, for example, Mrs. Kakusian. She told me my priorities needing some shaping up. She said I'd never get into college if I didn't do my math homework. And that I needed to give up this writing bullshit, because, what the fuck, it wasn't going to get me anywhere.
My dad was also a big proponent of setting better priorities. For example, doing the dishes came before all else. It should be mentioned here that I don't think particularly highly of his priorities, and the dishes can fuck off.
An hour or two ago, I was lying on the couch with Bean lying on my chest (alternately wailing and sleeping, sometimes both at the same time), trying to figure out my priorities at present... As near as I can tell, they're something like this...
1.) Ensure, at all costs, that Bean stays alive. (This generally includes feeding her, burping her, changing her diaper, and checking her breathing every ten seconds to make sure she hasn't faded away somehow...)
2.) Ensuring, at almost any cost, that Neil stays alive. This is mostly because I love Neil dearly and would be absolutely devastated if he faded away somehow, and basically can't imagine my life without him. Furthermore, Neil has this habit of forgetting to eat unless he's prompted to do so, which certainly ups the risk of his fading away. I also have a somewhat more selfish reason for wanting Neil to stay alive. That is: if Neil is alive, he gets to have a turn at making sure Bean is alive, which means that I get to sleep.
3.) Eating. If I don't eat, Bean doesn't get as much food. And if Bean doesn't get as much food -- or food of a relatively high quality -- then Bean wails.
4.) Ensuring that Bean doesn't wail. Well, no, that's not entirely accurate. Bean can wail all she freaking wants to, but it sort of sucks when she wakes everybody else up. So, ensuring that Bean doesn't piss off the rest of the household. Fortunately, Bean's household tolerates her wailing extremely well -- a whole hell of a lot better than I would, I think -- and there have been very few instances where anybody seemed genuinely irritated. But I'd like to keep it that way.
5.) SLEEPING. Glorious, glorious sleeping.
6.) Taking care of personal hygiene. Alas, this has taken a backseat to most other things. As recently as a half hour ago, I found myself peeling off a skirt I've been wearing for three days straight. As recently as forty minutes ago, I hadn't worn an actual shirt in two and a half days, because taking care of priorities 1 through 5 precluded me being able to locate and wear anything more than a sports bra. Also, it's been a LONG while since I've stunk quite that badly. I am presently wearing a mostly-clean dress and have showered. It feels sort of weird. You know when you're skating or something, and eventually you take the skates off and still feel like you're skating? I still feel like I'm coated in crust.
7.) Taking the freaking garbage out. It stinks. It stinks bad. Maybe tied with this one is grocery shopping. I don't mind grocery shopping, but somehow it just seems like so damned much work.
8.) Entertaining myself. Sort of. I'm reading "1984" at the moment. I read about three pages at a time. And then I usually fall asleep.
9.) And, fuck it... the dishes.
Somewhere in there, a little bit below making sure everybody's alive, is snuggling with Neil. I have discovered that this purported business of couples spontaneously loathing each other as soon as their child is born is completely untrue. If anything, I adore Neil more than I ever have. An honest inventory of my priorities truly reveals that I would rather have an intimate moment with Neil than sleep, assuming that the two options were mutually exclusive. I cannot imagine what the hell all these parenting magazines are talking about when they list dozens of ways to "revitalize" one's marriage, or put a "spark" back into one's relationship, or whatever. Far from giving me a sense of revulsion, boredom, or distance, the sight of Neil peeling off a spit-up-stained shirt sort of gives me a little tingle.
Bean is a prodigy.
I swear on my life, even though the books, the doctors, the experts, and the neighborhood mothers say that babies don't smile when they're as young as Bean, she's been grinning since the day after she came home from the hospital. She especially enjoys smiling directly following a series of hideous noises from the region of her diaper. Also -- and I still swear on my life this is true -- she laughs. I was skeptical when Neil insisted she'd laughed at him one evening, but I've heard it for myself. My kid laughs. Three weeks old, and she's got a grand sense of humor.
Furthermore, she can roll onto her side without assistance, pull her blanket over her eyes to block out the light from the kitchen, wriggle out of her pajama suit if it's pissing her off, remove Neil's nose ring, and watch the computer's screen-saver intently. Baby books say that children Bean's age should just be discovering how to focus on objects eight to twelve inches from their faces without going cross-eyed. Bean doesn't give a damn about objects within twelve inches if she happens to catch a glimpse of the screen-saver. I'm also pretty sure she can read. But I'm not a hundred percent certain.
So we're raising a child genius.
We're also raising one hell of a weird kid.
Bean likes to lick things. She apparently thinks it's funny. She licks my neck when I hold her. She licks Neil's fingers. She licks blankets and towels and the paw of her big fluffy teddy bear. She also does some of the weirdest things with her tongue that I have ever seen a person do. Not only can she roll her tongue, but she has independent control of each side of the muscles in her tongue, and can flip it entirely upside down.
There is almost nothing quite so adorable as a small child with an upside-down tongue and crossed eyes. Unless it's a small child with an upside-down tongue and eyes that have drifted all the way out to the sides of her head.
She's still working on the focusing thing.
Did I mention she likes coffee? She discovered that one day when she was licking Neil's thumb. Apparently she grinned and tried sucking on his thumb to see if she could get any more coffee out of it. Alas, sweet Bean, coffee is not good for babies, despite the fact that Neil's coffee is mostly sugar and my coffee is mostly milk.
She's sleeping right now with her teddy bear pulled on top of her. The teddy bear is bigger than she is, but she'll have it no other way. She's got a teddy bear and two of those weird blankets with animal heads sticking out the top of them. She loves this little menagerie. She talks to all three of the stuffed heads. She also talks to the Christmas lights, a jar of beans in the kitchen, and occasionally to what seems like nothing at all.
I'm constantly astounded by this bizarre little creature. I have no idea what to make of her.
Oh yeah, and also, I'm pretty sure she's telekinetic.
I have this vague recollection of going to the hospital, experiencing a great deal of discomfort, and being handed this very tiny -- yet somehow enormous -- person by one of the nurses. Before that, I recall being fifty pounds heavier than my usual weight, and feeling a person kick my ribs at regular intervals. If it were not for these memories, I would seriously question where the hell this child came from. I couldn't have possibly had anything to do with the production of such a strange and lovely little creature.
I can wear pants again.
It sort of feels wrong.
I used to feel like I was in drag when I'd wear high heels. It felt pretty unnatural to me.
That's kind of how I feel about pants at the moment. They seem unnatural.
I've "bounced back" pretty quickly. I'm almost the same size as I used to be, with a few alterations. I actually have a use for bras now (dammit), and my hips are shaped funny. The hip thing isn't noticeable, I don't think, but I have trouble walking more than a block or two without noticing that I feel different...
Enh, whatever. I can hug Neil again without either of us contorting into weird positions to avoid smooshing the baby. And that's just fine by me.
Have been hearing the universe speak to me lately. It's been sending me signals. The sound of spring peepers in the middle of the night. A Jones Soda with a picture of a carousel on it. An ice storm a week ago and the feeling of skating just to get down the street. Bean grinning merrily when I explained the logo of Neil's favorite hat.
These things mean something to me. They seem to be giving me a direction.
I'd like to be awake enough to figure out how to follow in that direction...
I'm so tired.
~Helena*