I’m tired and delusional. Mostly delusional. I try to make jokes and complete sentences, but instead what comes out sounds like when you do a lot of shrooms and then explain to the trucker you’ve just hitched a ride with that the clouds on the horizon look soooo much like Mufasa from The Lion King! (Not that I would know! The only shrooms I’ve ever digested were shiitake! I think that’s the street name for them.) There are times when I am in the presence of another adult and I’m mute and I have to remind myself: What would Beyonce do? She would be talking! So I try to pull out little anecdotes, unsolicited bits of babytalk gristle or I prepare beforehand some stock jokes and quips that will impress people, will stun audiences with, “She is so funny! And she *JUST* had a baby!” But instead, my brain goes through some impromptu reformatting, slowing down all of my mental facilities so the only thing I offer is, “I’m great! He sleeps three times a night. Am I leaking? Look! No? No looky-looks at my leaky-leaks?” Now people just shake their heads, move away slowly and warn people not to talk to the crazy woman in the corner, apparently she *just* had a baby.
I’ve also been really hormonal and weepy, too. I think it’s the exhaustion that has turned me into big puddle of estrogen, a broken faucet that leaks at inappropriate times, much like an actual broken faucet or someone who has worn a fluffy polka-dot robe for too long and has become sensitive to any fabric that chafes which apparently is EVERYTHING. I never watched The Notebook, but I am acting how people do when they watch that movie all the way through. Actually, I did watch the end, the very end, the END that everyone cries over, and I didn’t know it was the end until the credits rolled. I can’t relate to that feeling, like the Cialis commercial I watched the other day when the older couple is painting a room and all of a sudden she looks at him IN THAT WAY and he looks back IN THAT WAY and of course they’re prepared to follow through on this horizontal escapade because he’s on boner meds! I understand that couples can be spontaneous, but what about painting makes you ready IN THAT WAY? Is it the fumes? How exactly was she holding that paint roller? Painting and Boning: Is this a THING? I’ve been out of the loop (see: baby, sleep deprivation, sexy gauze panties, no sex in the labor and delivery room [I checked!]).
It’s also exhausting handling my first child, too. He is also full of these NEEDS! It’s strange handling a four year old and a four-week-old. With the baby, I know his needs are pretty simple: he needs to be held, fed, or changed. With Nathan, it’s often a question of, “THE HELL!? I just gave you mac and cheese! Why are you crying?” Or when I ask him to walk over to me and he decides he has no mobility and acts like Lt. Dan in Forest Gump when he falls off of his wheelchair and I have to correct this child with: “You are not LT. DAN! You have legs!”
As trying as he is, I know he’s just adjusting. We all are. He is a growing boy who still needs attention and love and a space next to me on the couch. He still does things that remind me of how sweet a child he is, like the other night when I put him to bed. We talked about trains and his friends. He then reached out and placed his hands on my face. After a minute or so I tried to move them off my face so I could leave and he said, “No, stay here.” And I let him keep his hands there, until he started snoring and dreaming about freaky faced trains and it was okay for me to leave and sleep in my own bed.