The Holiday of My People

Halloween is my favorite holiday. And even though I have once again failed to make the giant snake to wrap around the tree in our front yard that I keep talking about, I did succeed in making Bun Bun's costume. Mr. Bunny has wanted her to be a pumpkin since long before she was even a gleam in our RE's eye. So a pumpkin she is, and a mighty sweet one, if I do say so myself.

Mama, I'm a PUMPKIN!

Mr. Bunny chose the buttons.

Please don't make me into a pie, Daddy.

Mr. Bunny says the costume has surpassed his wildest dreams.

We also toured our first daycare today, in preparation for January. I am feeling extra thankful to have this time with my little pumpkin today. And in light of Jennifer's shitty news, and thinking of Misfit's scan tomorrow, and thinking of all of you, I'm feeling so insanely EXTRA grateful that Bun Bun is here with me. So grateful that I need to gorge myself on tiny candy bars and cry.

Never having sex again

The last time we had the old Intimate Relations, I opted to forgo orgasm. As I've been perfectly willing to discuss before, I don't have an orgasm from intercourse alone. This time, I thought it might be nice to have one. Well, friends, I pissed myself. Yes, just as I was thinking, Hurrah, my first orgasm in almost six months! I perceived an odd wetness. A spreading wetness. A substantial spreading wetness.

WHAT THE FUCK. How come nobody told me this was a THING?!?! Those of you who have had postpartum sex are seriously to blame here.

Or is it just me? It can't just be me!

In case you're curious, I don't think I actually got there, if you know what I mean. I was too surprised. My response was to say, Something...has...happened. I think I'll have to change the sheets.

AND SO: pregnant, parenting, lost all hope of ever being either, I don't care. If you're not doing Kegels RIGHT NOW, you should be.

Robot harnesses

As you know, I am a baby, and have limited mobility. Consequently, I am forced to use a giant robot to get around. You know, like Ripley.

I'll fuck you up, Aliens.

I have two robots. One is a bit softer and smells milky, and the other one is easier to control--I can get it to go for super long walks instead of just the stupid laundry room. But when you get right down to it, robots are pretty much all the same. I HAVE found that there are large differences in the comfort of the harness used to attach me to the robot, though, and I wanted to share my findings with other babies.

I started with the Moby, back when I was a newborn. At first I thought my robot was just inept, but as time went on, I determined that it's just NOT the harness for me. It's squashy. I like to look around, and my robot kept trying to tuck my head in, and I'd pull it out, and then it would flop around on my neck, and then my robot would have to hold me in, and it was just...absurd. And when I started talking to other babies, some of them agreed. While it's funny to watch the robot struggle with the harness like it's wrestling a boa constrictor, ultimately...not worth the trouble.

I tried the Baby Björn next. But I found that both robots would take me off waaaaay before I was ready. It was almost as though the harness caused them some kind of PAIN. I know, I have a foolish tendency to anthropomorphize...but the robots kept making these weird groaning noises that made them seem almost human. So that one's out.

Then I found two that work great, the Mei Tai and the Beco Gemini. The Mei Tai works well with my milky robot and I loved it when I couldn't really control my head. The Gemini works with BOTH my robots, AND I can face forward or backward. (I know--there has been some discussion among babies about whether it's good for us to face forward, but my physical therapist assures me that any harness where my adorable pudgy knees are level-ish with my plump, delicious little rump is okay when used in moderation.) And later I can go on my robot's hip or back! Both these harnesses are comfy and taste great, too. The Gemini even has these little dangly things that I can chew on. Mmmmm. Since I got these good harnesses, I've been having a lot more fun. I take my robots to the grocery store, and all around the house, and the library and...everywhere!

OH, and I DID try out that rolling cart thing. You know, where the robot pushes you? I hate it. I can't see shit and when I want to sleep, there's no warm robot chest to snuggle into. So these are my recommendations, for what they're worth. Gotta get back to work--I'm trying to program my robot to give me a beer but all I get is a piece of banana.

Secret people

A few people I read have recently gone private or written about their fears of being found by people who know them In Real Life, as the kids say.

I also started using the new blogger interface, which does not permit you to hide from certain facts about visitors, whereas before my policy has always been to cover my eyes and ears and say la la la about anything to do with page views, reader's locations, etc. (On the principle that if I respect your privacy you'll respect mine.)

And I allow anonymous comments because mainly I get nice anonymous people (I love you, Anonymous!), but now and again I get one that's genuinely mean (what the fuck, Anonymous?). Usually because I've been offensive about something or other, as is my way. And I have no plans to water down my opinions...any more that I do already, because for me there's no point in writing if I can't be at least a little honest.

Anyhow, these things in combination have made me wonder whether I am the world's largest moron to be putting my intimate details out there with only the thinnest veil of anonymity to protect me. I mean, I'm basically relying on the kindness of my fellow woman, and on being too boring to attract a lot of readers. It makes me wonder how people get found out. I've been in charge of websites and tracking traffic and such before, so I know the obvious stuff, but people getting found out seems to rely on people trying to find people, and I just wonder, who does that? Or maybe it's just that I don't read a whole lot of stuff on the internet so I don't ever accidentally bump into someone who seems eerily familiar...

What do you guys think? Am I going to end up fired (because I call my colleagues assholes), shamed (because my STUDENTS could read about my SEX LIFE), divorced (because my husband could read about my marital frustrations)?

Jennifer

Many of you know Jennifer, as she's one of those amazing people who keeps reading your blog even after you get pregnant and she doesn't. Well, she's pregnant now, after multiple miscarriages, surgeries, and an unsuccessful IVF. But all is not perfect in the land of her uterus, and I would be so grateful if you'd go show her some love, particularly if you know of cases where a low FHR did not result in miscarriage. She so SO deserves for this miracle spark of life to be her baby...as does everyone in this place.

(And if you have a large readership, unlike ME, maybe post a request as well to help get the word out?)

But, alas, you have a point

So why did the terrible book actually have some merit? Well, primarily because it made me feel so smug about how awesome Mr. Bunny and I are relative to the couples described in the book. Mr. Bunny is a pretty good model of egalitarian parenting, whereas apparently there are men who pride themselves on never lending a hand. And yeah, I'm a horrible nagging bitch like the women in the book, but at least I periodically apologize for it.

So that was awesome. But there were a few additional things I took from it aside from a sense of superiority.

The book also made me realize that I'm having some knee-jerk reactions that are pathetically typical.

SIGH. For example, when Mr. Bunny says I'd like to watch a soccer match this morning, and I'll take Bun Bun this afternoon, instead of hearing I need time alone, just as you need time alone, so here's how I propose we arrange that, I hear I hate my boring baby and wife and want to chase the doe-eyed gazelle* of sitting on my ass. So yeah, I seem to be just like all the women in the book who are afraid their partners will abandon them with a young child (because, you know, On the Veldt), and see all kinds of things through that filter.

Plus which, I also have a stupid tendency to give him the time alone and then not take MY time alone, or use it to clean or make dinner. BOO. (I know, I said I enjoy cleaning, but not as much as I enjoy sitting on my ass watching trashy TV. I AM an AMERICAN, you know!) Then I get to feel resentful, which is THE BEST.

And I guess even though I've been making a real effort since day one not to undermine my husband's parenting by nit-picking or criticizing (because what the fuck do I know about child-rearing), I think I need to extend that general approach, and stop being so fucking uptight. I genuinely do believe that one of the benefits of having multiple caregivers is having multiple care-giving styles. And while I'm okay about letting Mr. Bunny do whatever the hell he wants in terms of naps and feedings and whatnot when he's in charge, I get all tense when I see him do certain things. Like check his fantasy baseball scores when he's hanging out with Bun Bun. I feel like she deserves his full attention. But the truth is, she doesn't need two parents like me. Nobody does.

Anyways, I hope you appreciate my sharing the wisdom so you don't have to slog through all the offensive shit to get to it on your own. I look forward to you all having perfect relationships thanks to me.


*Thanks for the imagery, Bionic.

I HATE YOU, BOOK!

A couple of women to whom I vented about the Post-Baby Marriage mentioned a book* dealing with the subject. I finally got around to checking it out of the library, and OH, HOW I HATE IT!

Tragically though, it makes some good points. We'll deal with those next time. This time, let's discuss the reasons I hate it.

First, the authors use concepts from evolutionary psychology to explain our behavior. Mr. Bunny calls these On the Veldt arguments, as in on the veldt, our ancestors had to flee from predators, that's why men like sports. Okay, that was a mean parody, but in books like this, the argument always takes the form men do x because...and women do y because... While I think evolutionary psychology has a lot of explanatory power, in the hands of the authors of this book the presentation is so simplistic as to be insulting, and the message is you can't fight against your biological inheritance.** So basically, any time the phrase hardwired is used, I get my back up, because somehow hardwired always means men don't have to do the dishes.

Second, perhaps because of the above reasons, the picture painted of both men and women is extremely unflattering. Women are irrational shrews, men are selfish louts. Men want only sex and to play golf, women want only to talk about their feelings and to suffocate and control men.

Third, there's a whole chapter on sex, which is not surprising, but the presumption is that women won't put out because they're just too tired, because men won't do the dishes. And maybe I'm an extreme case, but I know I'm not alone, because you told me so, but I was blown away by the strength of my anti-libido. I was repulsed and horrified by the idea of sex. People told me I wouldn't be interested, but they didn't tell me just HOW un-interested I'd be. And my husband even does the dishes. I think glossing over the power of hormones in this domain does everyone a real disservice.

Fourth, the book assumes all women stay at home and formula feed. Now, I know better than to pass judgment on any woman who formula feeds or stays at home. Seriously, I really do. But the presumption that all women do those things alienated me and also made me feel the book was out of step with the times. Breastfeeding is mentioned once that I noticed, and all that is said is it hurts.

Fifth, the book assumes all parents subscribe to something I am only now learning has a name, extreme parenting, where parents attempt to schedule every moment of a child's life with activities that will give him or her a competitive edge. This is a whole other topic, so for the moment the point is that the book assumes your entire existence is nothing but ferrying your children to and from activities. Not everyone lives that way, man.

In short, the book paints a very bleak picture of men, women, children, Life, the Universe and Everything.

And I wish I could just leave it there. But sadly, I find myself feeling less grumpy towards my husband since reading it. So I guess I have a moral obligation to talk about that, too. SIGH.



*I'm not giving the title in case it's someone's favorite book in the whole world.
**Despite the fact that a) we can only speculate about what our biological inheritance is, and b) we have culture, which is why I personally ascribe to Dual Inheritance Theory.

Standards

My mother in law visited recently. Here's all I really remember about the visit. During dinner, a bit of something fell on the floor. Mr. Bunny did a half-assed job of wiping it up, and I said good enough.

Mother in Law: I HAVE noticed your standards slipping a bit.

To be fair, she and I both know her standards are far lower than mine, so I don't think she meant it in a you're filthy and I'm appalled way, I think she meant it in a thank heavens you're finally sinking to my level way. But I sure did want to punch her in the face. Particularly since we would have cleaned the house that very weekend, but for her visit. Turns out it's hard to find time to clean when there's an endless stream of visiting relatives wanting to be entertained.

I will eventually let this comment go, but it made me think about standards, and what to do about mine.

People like to tell you that when you have a baby you just have to let things go. Can I let things go? Hmmm...

I'm not anal, I swear. There are whole areas of the house that I don't give a shit about. Like that spot between the fridge and cabinets where stuff falls and can't be retrieved, or, you know, other things that make me sound genuinely not anal. And I have relaxed my standards a fair bit, for Mr. Bunny's sake. But I grew up in chaos, and keeping things orderly makes me feel safe and in control. Plus I find cleaning therapeutic. Like, I actually have a duster and vacuum in my office, and when I'm struggling with some project, I clean. This does not mean I always feel like being elbow-deep in dirty dishwater or shitty diapers, but by and large, cleaning is not something I detest. So I don't want to let things go, and I don't want to do the other obvious thing, which is hire a cleaner, for the above reason, and others.

The solution is clear, of course. Refuse to allow anyone to visit, particularly my WHORE of a mother in law.

Like a virgin

Dear Diary,
OMG it finally happened! Last night MB and I DID IT. I guess I'm a woman now. It was totally not like in the movies. It hurt, like, a LOT, at first. After that it was okay. I don't really get what everyone's so excited about, though. Maybe I'm just not very good at it yet? Anyways, I guess now I have to do it again. 

He said he loves me. I hope he really does. But he hasn't called or texted me...

Probably because we live in the same house. So yeah. The long (exactly five months!) hiatus is over. Mr. Bunny was clear that now we're back in the game, he's not going to be so patient in the future. Fuck. I should have held out for a few more months.

Okay, I'm not entirely serious. It wasn't awful or anything, and I do believe the physical connection is important and blah blah blah marriage good blah blah, but I hope at some point it doesn't feel like a fucking obligation.

Get it? A FUCKING OBLIGATION?