The Chronicles Of Jessica

Fret not, loyal readers: I yet live. I'm not even going to check to see when my last blog post was dated because I know it was in my second trimester, and I now have a 2 month old baby. I'm pretty lousy at math but even I know that that time span = damn long time. What can I say? I've had a few things happening.

Toby.

It's been so long, in fact, since I wrote a blog entry that I didn't even really remember how to use the software just now, but I think I have it all worked out. I don't know how many people reading my blog have babies (I like to flatter myself that there are more than one) or remember what it's like to have small babies but egads, these suckers are a lot of work. I have not eaten a hot meal with both hands since my son emerged on the scene. You could braid the hair growing on my legs and there's a 2 inch layer of dust on the dental floss container. But I love having a baby (which is good because the return policy on them is realllly strict). Most importantly, I love having a baby with Paul. With due respect to my father figures, Paul is pretty much the greatest father I've ever seen. He will probably retain this title until it's time to teach Toby to drive or to have the sex talk, and then he may slip a bit in the ratings.

So the kid is 2 months old today. I think if he were of an age to be able to fill out a comment card, he would give us decent marks. We have not dropped him, left him in a coffee shop or dressed him in girl clothes. We have also not objected to being peed on, pooped on, scratched, punched in the face or having our eardrums blown out with screaming, though those things were not laid out in the user agreement.

Right now we're in the process of looking for someone to take care of him during the day when I go back to work. This is a tricky thing, as you cannot come straight out and ask whether someone is a psychopath or axe murderer, but rather must draw your own conclusions based on empirical evidence and observation. I think we've found a pretty good situation with another family who shares a nanny, but they haven't yet let us know if they've picked us or another couple they're talking to. I don't know how we distinguish ourselves to get selected over these other people. Should we send flowers? A gift basket? Ply them with wine? It's not unlike dating; I'm really anxious to be picked and don't know how to ensure that I will be. Well, with dating I did have certain techniques but I'm pretty sure that flaunting my cleavage won't work in this situation.

Eh, what the hell. I'll try it anyway.

We're taking the baby to Maine to meet his family next month and I'm already worried about the flight. When I was a baby I flew from London to Maine when I was four weeks old and according to my mother I was a perfect angel and didn't even cry. But my mother tends to block out anything that was bad about my childhood. To hear her talk you'd think that right out of the starting gate I was a super genius prodigy with poop that smelled like rasberry jam. But I'm afraid of being those people on the plane with a crying baby. I've been on planes with those people, when I was childless. I know what childless people are thinking.

"Can't they control their child?"

"Dear God will that baby NEVER shut UP!?"

"I can't believe TSA confiscated my gun."

Stuff like that. Of course if he doesn't cry and is a sweetie the whole time, we'll ascribe all sorts of things to him that are really pretty arbitrary. "He was such a good boy!" Well, he probably won't be a good boy on purpose. He has no purpose, he's two months old. Can we really give him credit for that? (Dubious look.)

People tend to make the same types of remarks about babies; because they haven't really accomplished much yet you only have so much you can go with. "He's so cute!" "He's so big!" "Look at him hold up his head!" Really? Credit for holding up one's head? That's like giving credit for turning oxygen into carbon dioxide - it's a little generous, I feel.

Still, I can hear him upstairs in his crib now, and when I go to get him in a minute he will give me a smile that will make me feel like Sophia Loren, when all I really am is a tired momma with oily hair and samsonite-sized bags under the eyes. And that makes me the happiest lady around.