Y’all, I am not even going to make a stupid Nine and a Half Weeks joke, because then I would have to admit that I haven’t seen that movie, and I don’t even really know what it is about, not that I couldn’t find out, because I know how to google, but indeed, Olivia is, in fact, nine and a half weeks old.

Last night, as I was going to sleep, I came up with an awesome topic for a post, and I even mentally composed the first sentence, and I was giggling to myself because this first sentence was so damn funny, but I didn’t write it down.  I didn’t write it down for two reasons, the first being that I don’t currently have a bedside table, as Olivia’s co-sleeper is attached to my side of the bed, and I’m not keeping a pen and paper in her co-sleeper, because I can almost guarantee that’s looked down upon by the American Pediatric Association, or whoever it is who is in charge of telling us that newborns should sleep in an empty crib.  The second reason is that I think I am so damn smart, that come morning I will OF COURSE be able to remember this awesome topic, even though I know FROM EXPERIENCE that I won’t remember.  And worse, not only did I not remember, I didn’t even remember that I had a topic to forget until NOW, at 3:30 in the afternoon.

We took the baby to the beach, not Burning Man

So, all that to tell you that whatever that awesome post was about, it is forever lost, and so instead I will just have to give you a general state of the union around here.  As I mentioned, Olivia is 9.5 weeks old, and things have taken a turn for the solidly better around here.  Don’t get me wrong, I still spend a lot of time in a breastmilk soaked t-shirt and a pair of XL shorts from Target, and sometimes the best I can do in terms of “leaving the house” is sitting outside on the porch with Olivia on my lap, but in general, I haven’t felt like the end of the world is right around the corner in quite some time.

I joined a mommy group via MeetUp.com, and even though I despise referring to myself as a “mommy” it would appear that I am one, and the other “mommies” that I’ve met through this group are universally nice and pleasant and we walk along the beach path, and none of them look askance at me when I bitch about how awful the first six or eight weeks of Olivia’s life were for me.  Through that group I’ve been invited to join other groups, my current favorite being one for “affluent, Renaissance stay-at-home mothers” – a demographic I suppose I technically belong to.  HOWEVER, I would NEVER, NEVER think to describe myself as such, and I really don’t think I’d be interested in meeting any other women who WOULD describe themselves in such a way, so I chuckled at that email and promptly deleted.

Baby Can Read

Olivia also got her two-month vaccinations, and we decided to get them all done at once, just to get the damn thing over with.  The nurse was SUPER AWESOME, and Olivia didn’t even start screaming until the second shot was half over.  And that day she pretty much slept the whole time, and I thought FOR SURE I had dodged the crabby-baby bullet.  I bet you can see where this is going (GOD MY LIFE HAS SOME SORT OF THEME, BUT I CAN’T QUITE PUT MY FINGER ON IT) – Olivia spent the next two days fussy and clingy, screaming at the boob but obviously hungry, and clearly suffering from whatever baby malaise one suffers from when recovering from five shots to the tender thigh flesh.  She seems to be back to her regular self today – knock on any and all available surfaces, so I decided to keep her.

Things continue to improve around here with the addition of cooing and exclamations and other sounds that are pleasant, and not horrifying screams that I cannot determine how to stop, not even by yelling “WHAT IS IT I WILL DO ANYTHING TO FIX IT JUST TELL ME”.  I can’t decided WHEN, exactly things changed, since I mostly just woke up today and realized that I actually REALLY LIKE my own damn baby, but the smiling and the “talking”  are really fucking charming even if she mostly tells her tales to the black and white paper penguins that hang as part of a mobile above her changing table. I mean, SHIT, how can you not love this face:

 

GOOFBALL

 

And in a final personal development, my pre-pregnancy jeans fit, even if not comfortably.  Y’all, things are looking up over here.

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