‎"...a little 'trouty', but quite good" ~ Eve Kendall, North By Northwest

Friday, April 25, 2008

in which I experiment with run on sentences

It's been awfully quiet around here. My new great-niece and her parents are still whooping it up in their posh hospital recovery room. Two of the best days of my life were spent in hospital rooms, so thinking of them there makes me all giddy and extra dorky with happiness. Incidentally, those days were the births of Child A and Child B, not the day I spent in the ER after being run over by a bicycle courier who turned out to be the son of a big time music promoter and who I was sure would turn out to be my best best friend and get me into all the best shows forever and always. It did not turn out that way and so I had to marry myself a sound engineer.

Which reminds me how quiet it's been around here.

Chris was working a show this evening, which meant that the three of us (plus the chickens) were the only ones here for the first time in a really long time. So when Chris called asking if a few musicians could stop by and use the space for rehearsing or recording or playing video games or whatever they do in there I threw myself on the floor and wept "yes! oh yes please! send them over!"

I always think I'm the reserved, introverted type until I'm suddenly in the position of actually being the hermit I thought I wanted to be and then all bets are off. It's that multiple personality thing in action.

I haven't gone to visit the new baby because she's far-ish away and I'm guessing they'd maybe like some peace and quiet before they return to the undying cacophony that is our home. This is a hard call because when I was in my own recovery room I couldn't wait for visitors to start pouring in (with treats and flowers and fuzzy floppy frogs). I could have spent the week there, receiving guests like royalty. I may not be even remotely introverted, come to think of it.

I am telling you all this so I don't have to tell her all this. Because the first thing one does when someone else has a baby is to tell her all about how one's own birth went, as if she* really wouldn't rather be sleeping. It's nobody's fault, really. It's just hard not to get on a roll when the subject comes up. Heather will spend a few days cooing at her new baby and I will make good use of that time telling anyone who will sit still (hello invisible internet friends!) all about my first experiences as a mom.

Hours before I was released from the hospital with Lucy I dripped salad dressing into her eye. I was sure they'd never let me alone with her, ever. As it turned out, there was no surveillance footage of the drip and they went ahead and released me.

Now that I think about it, I had been spilling food on her for 9 months and had the stained maternity shirts to prove it. Old habits are hard to break.

Heather might come home and ask me for helpful hints on things like bathing a new baby. And I will be all Great Auntish and say "yeah, good luck with that." Because how DO you bathe a slippery, squirmy new baby? I used a Swiffer.

*please observe that I replaced "them" and "they" with "her" and "she" because when you are talking about pregnancy there is no need to be all politically correct and refer to those who are expecting as if they are not, as a general rule, always women. Whenever I hear myself refer to Pregnant People I think it sounds like maybe I missed that day in health class - you know, when we found out that men don't give birth.

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