Monday, August 28, 2006
Can't think. Wiggles ate my brain.
Someone should totally buy this.
Don't think I haven't blogged because I'm all productive and responsibly staying away from the internet. I've just been exploring other avenues of time-wasting on the net.
And all this time away and I can't think of what fun topic to explore, except for the alarming, fucked-up desire I've been having to possibly contemplate maybe thinking about having a third child. I know! The idiocy. I used to inwardly scoff at women who would talk about how they couldn't wait to have another while they held practically newborn babies. They're not cats, for crying out loud, I thought. The first one still needs you for like, another 18 years! How old-fashioned. How Focus on the Family. I really prided myself on my small-family plan. And here I am.
And I lose it a few times a day, in between climbing out from under all the dishes and laundry (so stay-at-home-mommy cliche). But I guess I think I don't deserve to be sane, because there goes my brain again, pitching it's little 3rd baby presentations to me. It's just that I'm pushing 34 and all of a sudden Carl is so big he's practically ready to go off to college (well, almost. He is one already). And so I think there's some sort of finality thing going on that is making me have wistful thoughts that do not contain any logic.
And then every time I think it's stupid and stop configuring how we'd all fit in the same house, we'll go to the park or the children's museum or some other child-infested area and I'll see young moms casually arriving with seriously high numbers of young children in tow. Today at the Exploratorium there were two young moms with five and then six kids. I didn't quite think it would be appropriate to ask if they were all theirs and what sort of reasons they had for having six, or what drugs they did to hold it all together, but after careful study of ages and interactions, I'm pretty sure that they indeed were all theirs. And yet there she was, casually lounging and keeping an eye on all of them, as if having six kids under eight really was no big deal, if you think about it. And here I think it's hard if I can't change Carl's diaper and keep up a conversation about excavators with Casimir at the same time. Silly me.
Don't think I haven't blogged because I'm all productive and responsibly staying away from the internet. I've just been exploring other avenues of time-wasting on the net.
And all this time away and I can't think of what fun topic to explore, except for the alarming, fucked-up desire I've been having to possibly contemplate maybe thinking about having a third child. I know! The idiocy. I used to inwardly scoff at women who would talk about how they couldn't wait to have another while they held practically newborn babies. They're not cats, for crying out loud, I thought. The first one still needs you for like, another 18 years! How old-fashioned. How Focus on the Family. I really prided myself on my small-family plan. And here I am.
And I lose it a few times a day, in between climbing out from under all the dishes and laundry (so stay-at-home-mommy cliche). But I guess I think I don't deserve to be sane, because there goes my brain again, pitching it's little 3rd baby presentations to me. It's just that I'm pushing 34 and all of a sudden Carl is so big he's practically ready to go off to college (well, almost. He is one already). And so I think there's some sort of finality thing going on that is making me have wistful thoughts that do not contain any logic.
And then every time I think it's stupid and stop configuring how we'd all fit in the same house, we'll go to the park or the children's museum or some other child-infested area and I'll see young moms casually arriving with seriously high numbers of young children in tow. Today at the Exploratorium there were two young moms with five and then six kids. I didn't quite think it would be appropriate to ask if they were all theirs and what sort of reasons they had for having six, or what drugs they did to hold it all together, but after careful study of ages and interactions, I'm pretty sure that they indeed were all theirs. And yet there she was, casually lounging and keeping an eye on all of them, as if having six kids under eight really was no big deal, if you think about it. And here I think it's hard if I can't change Carl's diaper and keep up a conversation about excavators with Casimir at the same time. Silly me.
