I’m Still Alive

Is something wrong she said? I have to whiz. Your bladder’s full she said? Do I deserve to pee? Is that the question?…

Yes. Yes I know it’s been well over a month since I last posted. I know. This hasn’t escaped me. I have the best of intentions to write. To craft. To photograph. To write about crafting. To write about photographing the crafting. Alas, most if not all of my time lately is spent with a ten pound human attached to my boob, on the couch watching really crappy TV because I’ve already read everything TMZ has to give, my iPhone is dying, and there is little else I can do with one hand while held captive on a couch that is slowly developing a dent the size of my ass. That’s a large dent. My daughter could probably disappear in that dent. The Grand Couch Canyon.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my daughter, and I don’t mean to complain. I just sometimes would at the very least like to take a piss without feeling guilty because she’s screaming like she watched me kill her puppy. Don’t judge me for my high levels of selfishness.

Anyway, with Mr. Jennysold taking three more weeks of his paternity leave (thanks, Large Internet Company Employer!) during December, that will jump start my getting back to it crazy-style. And allow me to pee with the door shut. That’s the plan, or at least the hope. :)

Until then, I will be at the Haverford High School Holiday Bazaar. Come visit!

Event Information:
Haverford High School Holiday Bazaar
November 17, 2012
10:00AM – 3:00PM
200 Mill Road
Havertown, PA

The Fog of War, or Rather, We Had a Baby!

From Wikipedia:
“The fog of war is the uncertainty in situational awareness experienced by participants in military operations. The term seeks to capture the uncertainty regarding own capability, adversary capability, and adversary intent during an engagement, operation, or campaign.”

If that hasn’t been our life since September 14th, 2012, I’m not sure what has. What was the 14th you ask? Well, the most intense day of my life thus far: I finally met my little Baby S. Her name is Anne (for her Nana) Elektra (for my Nuna). She is both insanely adorable and insanely hungry. Which, well, is of course a good thing for her growth, my confidence in my ability to actually nurse her, my calorie burning, my wallet, etc. But not so much for that whole sleep thing. They tell you that you’ll never sleep again – they being people who must secretly want you to be as worn out as they were – and they’re right.

Holy shitballs, man.

I have never been so excited to see my bed at the end of the day, but take note that the end of the day is now 2am, and my respite is short before Annie starts all over again, usually at 5am. It’s like my boobs turn on the ugly lights at last call, and Annie stumbles to a friend’s dorm room, passing out for a few hours before waking up to rally bright and early before the big homecoming game. Every day. You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here.

I can’t tell you how my brain has basically melted in the past two weeks. Let’s leave out for minute (or for a few posts, maybe someday, maybe not) the actual “birth story” and all the physical effects of the whole shebang and stick with what I like to call “baby-onset Alzheimer’s”. BOA has led me to put the butter in the pantry, try to recycle a poopy diaper, spend too much time talking about a poopy diaper, and to think “Here Comes Honey Boo Boo” is a good idea, amongst other transgressions.

But then, you look at that little face and you can’t not “awwwwwwww” in endless pride. Especially when she poops all over her daddy. Way to go, champ!

 

Annie at one week old

 

Annie at two weeks old, at Linvilla Orchards. I’m stoked she was born at the height of Pumpkinland time :). Clearly she was enamored….