Feb 16, 2008

Well, I see no way around it, it must be stated, I am now a housewife.
And let me tell you, for those of you who have never been a housewife
- it's hard. It's not really physically hard (although every now and
then you realize that levering yourself off the couch with only one
leg because one leg is tucked beneath you and the baby is in both arms
and can't be disturbed lest he wake is MUCH more difficult than
traditional lunges that you do at the gym.) It does require a certain
amount of stamina (running errands on 4 and a half hours of
interrupted sleep is an experience akin to still being slightly drunk
the morning after a really great party and having work to do.) Mostly,
though, I find it mentally stressful. Now, I will be the first to
admit, it could be that I only find it stressful because I am a wussy
little girl who needs to get a handle on herself. I don't THINK
that's true, but it could be and I have to acknowledge it. Anyway, I
never realized before how stressful it would be. I find, first of
all, that I worry a lot more than I thought I would. I wish I could
find someone willing to pay me a dollar for every time I've checked on
Elliot to make sure he's still breathing. Sometimes I even get up,
out of bed, at 4 am when I've only just managed to finally get IN bed,
and check on him because I realize I forgot to check on him 2 seconds
ago before I got in bed. And my logical mind tells me to just stay in
bed, and go to sleep, that he is fine, but the part of my brain that
has become wired like a crazy person since I gave birth says "NO, GET
UP, HE MIGHT NEEEEEEEEED YOU."

Anyway, all that is to say, being a housewife is a lot harder than I
thought it would be, and props to all y'all (men included) who have
been or are housewives.

But, I also have to admit, it is totally worth it. I LOVE my baby. I
love him so much that, even after a night where I've been out of bed
every half hour, and I'm ready to cry because I'm so tired, when he
wakes up at 6:30 and is happy to see me I smile and laugh and tell him
I love him. I don't love ANYONE that much. My family can attest, if
I don't get enough sleep I am a grouchy person first thing in the
morning, prone to snapping at people and making charming declarations
like "I hate everyone right now. I even hate myself." But not
anymore. Now I say 'I hate everyone right now. Except for Elliot."
(Side note for members of my family and my husband. I don't REALLY
love the baby more than you. Be comforted. But if any of you kept me
up all night like he does you would NOT get the same response from me
first thing in the morning.)

So, want to hear about Elliot? Well, he's starting talking. Of
course, I do not refer to intelligible fricatives or digraphs that
communicate. Rather, I mean that he no longer only makes sound when
he's fussing. Some of you may be unaware, for the first several weeks
of life babies really only fuss or cry, they don't make any other
happier baby noises. But about a week ago he started smiling (for
real) and now he's started cooing. As of yet he only talks to two
things - his reflection in the playmat mirror, and the Winnie-the-Pooh
mobile that we hang over his bassinet for him to stare at. I'm a
little jealous he won't talk to me yet, but I guess I just have to
pretend he's talking TO me ABOUT the mobile. The noises he makes are
pretty adorable, I wish you could all hear them for yourselves.

He's also growing. We've been dressing him in newborn sized stuff,
because he was swimming in the 0-3 months size, but then a few
mornings ago we went in and found that he'd busted out of the feet of
his pajamas that night. Talk about growing overnight. So, we've
graduated him up to the next size of clothing. It's still a little
big on him, but at least his feet don't push out the bottom. Alas. I
loved the newborn stuff we had, it was wicked cute. I guess I'll just
have to send it on to the next baby boy so I can see it again. (Maggie
and Pete, that's the only warning you're getting about the influx of
baby stuff you might be getting from us).

What else? He's really strong for his age. He can hold his head
steady when he's upright, he can lift it when he's on his stomach, and
he can hold weight on his legs when he's balanced by someone else. I
live in terror that he will decide to be an athlete. I can just
picture myself packing up a hamper with a blanket, hot cocoa, and a
flask of liqour for every football game.


Okay, now you want me to prove I can talk about something other than
Elliot, don't you?

Waxor is doing well. His company may be running on short cash for a
while, some of their investors may have decided to stop investing, but
it looks like they'll be okay in the long run. He's talking about
trying to find some people to fence with in the area, and I hope that
will actually happen. He is also enamoured of our new household
addition, but he doesn't get as much time with him as I do. He and I
have been a little grumpy with each other (both of us being a little
short on sleep) but we've agreed to stop doing that and start trying
to be sensible of the fact that we're both tired. Sounds terribly
adult, doesn't it? We'll see if it actually works out. Truthfully if
one of us falls short it's likely to be me. Maybe I should get him a
cattle prod and tell him to use it when he feels it's necessary.

Aside from being tired, and worrying more than I thought I would, I am
doing well. I'm learning a new routine, and I'm slowly adding back in
important things (like laundry, and dishes, and cleaning the toilet).
I've managed to keep the house from being totally disgusting, and I
think I've only failed to take a shower once. :) Mainly I really want
to make sure I get out of the house on a regular basis, and I'd really
like to find some friends who live within a 15 mile radius. Anyone
know anyone I might hit it off with? Kate, I did check for a book
club at our library, but they don't run one. Anyone got a magnificent
idea? Or a not so magnificent idea? I'm open.

Sigh...

Now for the sad news. Mishka isn't doing very well. We took her to
the vet last week because she had gone off her food and her eyes were
swollen. Turns out she's lost MORE weight and more albumin, and the
vet told us she thought maybe MIshka had weeks to live. So we've
brought her home, and are feeding her whatever we can get her to eat
(the vet says at this point it doesn't really matter anymore) and
giving her all the attention we can. It's hard, because she's still
her sweet, happy self, and from her behavior you'd know she didn't
feel good, but not how really very sick she is. She could always pull
a miracle and gain some weight and stabalize herself, but short of
divine intervention there's not a whole lot we can do. Waxor and I
aren't as completely devistated as we were in December, because then
we weren't expecting her to be so ill, and this time we had a better
idea, still, we're both pretty sad about it. We know that we've given
her the best life we could, and that she would have had kidney disease
no matter who her owners were, and that we've had a great dog for five
years, which is better than not having a great dog. I'm just gonna
miss her so much when she's gone.

And yes, Jake, I'll go get her a ham steak, now that it can't really hurt her.


And that's it for my update right now. Look for part two in the not
too distant future, when Elliot has grown enough to make it worth
another lengthy epistle or when something else of note happens.
Otherwise, feel free to write me back, or not, as the spirit moves
you.