cranky pixels

I always imagined that once I had kids I’d morph smoothly into some sort of calm, Earth Mother-y type. You know the type, right? The sort of mom who always has a story or a song and knows just the right thing to say, both to little ones and their parents. (In retrospect, this should have sent up a warning flag, because since when do I know the right thing to say to anyone?)

I was well on my way pre-baby, actually. I’ve always wanted kids, so I jumped at any opportunity to hang out with my friends with little ones. I was always volunteering to babysit, hanging out with the toddler set at parties, what have you. Back then, it was the easiest thing in the world for me to gauge a toddler’s emotional state and figure out what they needed to be happy.

And then I had my kid. I get my kid. I get his moods, his needs, his sleepy face and his fake cry. I know how long he needs to sit with me when we go to a new place before he’s ready to run in and play with the other kids. I can tell when he’s refusing food because he’s not hungry and when it’s just out of frustration with something else.

But other people’s kids? Forget about it. I feel like I’ve suddenly become one of those people who think kids (while cute and charming) are baffling, inscrutable creatures. You there! Why are you crying? What’s the – oh. Right. That’s just how you react to loud noises. Fine then, maybe you want – no? Okay. Tell you what, I’ll just be in the other room.

It’s like having a kid of my own ruined me for other people’s children. It’s sad, really.

You know, I was going to post something substantive and clever, but then I realized that I left the diapers at home. The office is now somewhat…odoriferous. Thusly, I leave you with these three things:

1. I posted a new video rant – scroll down if you’re on my site, or go see it on Viddler, or look for it in your rss feed or whatever. Or ignore it completely. So many options! (Note: it looks like Viddler’s having some issues, so hang tight if you can’t see the video & try again later.)(Seems to be back up now…)

2. Is Russel T. Davies the UK’s answer to Joss Whedon? Discuss.

3. I have 61,300 words on my book. Who wants to make guesses on how many words I’ll cut in this round of edits? Winner gets to be a background character.

Off I go to decontaminate the toddler. Here’s hoping we have the elevator to ourselves!

Not So is at SXSWi. I? Am not. He promises to get swag for me, though. Swag makes everything okay, even seven straight days of solo parenting.

Which is not as bad as all that, actually – Not So has been gone since Thursday morning, and today was kind of okay, as far as days go. (Note that I am skipping merrily over Thursday and Friday. This is not unintentional.) The kid and I went for a walk, did a little shopping…and before you get all eye-roll, keep in mind that my kid? LOVES to shop. Seriously. If we walk by the mall and don’t go in, he will throw himself toward the door with all his strength, wailing like we’re killing him. He is a weird kid. But yes, so, we shopped, and then we came home and he actually ate food, and then he took a marathon nap. Good day!

I had this ridiculous idea that I’d be able to get some writing done while Not So was away, but either all my writing talent has dried up or I just don’t have the wherewithal to concentrate when I am On Call. Which is…lame, right? How many single moms can produce an amazing array of matching words while toddler-wrangling? Anne Lamott comes to mind, but that’s just because of Operating Instructions; other moms do it all the time. Other moms, but not me. I feel so scattered and kind of brain-dead, and everything I’ve written in the past couple of days has been flat as week-old soda. (I do not say “pop.” This is because my parents raised me right.)(Shush, you can recognize hyperbole when you see it.)

The house, though, is quite clean, and I’ve taken two (two!) baths today, so all is not doom and gloom at chez Cranky. I miss Not So, and Ellison’s having a hard time sleeping, but we’re good. It’s taking a lot of energy for me to make progress on the projects we’ve got deadlining for work, but part of that is just that we got a new desk at the house – and, while I love it unreasonably and it totally serves its purpose (namely, to make the damned computer less of a focal point so I don’t spend my every waking moment on it), it’s not exactly conducive to marathon work sessions. Then again, neither is the toddler. Good thing we have an office!

Next year, I am totally going to SXSW, though. Even if the kid has to come with us.

So I’m doing the February Crafty Mamas Bazaar at Milagros. I haven’t done one in a looooong time, so it should be really fun. ‘Course, it means I need to make more toys, which (in turn) means I need more felt. Lots more felt. More felt, and more batting. Hello, shopping list!

I’d update with something substantive, but I’ve had this same damned headache for more than a week, and I’ve got to tell you, it’s lost much of its charm. And so have I! Plus, my kid just scribbled all over our new couch with a pen, and the atmosphere in my house is now somewhat strained. Bah. This is what we get for having a sand-colored couch and a toddler, all at the same time.

Maybe I will crochet today.

I need to slow down.

Maybe it’s the Wellbutrin, maybe it’s the whole “death in the family” thing, maybe it’s just that I’m constantly doing twelve different things at once, but I can’t seem to muster up an acceptable amount of enthusiasm about, well, anything. Even things that are fun (like reading, or drawing, or playing with the kid) feel like chores. Ugh, you mean I have to have a good time now? Can’t I just work, instead?

I’m noticing this because I need to buy Christmas presents (yes, we celebrate Christmas; no, I have not yet drowned in the deep, deep lagoon of my hypocrisy). Usually, Christmas shopping is something I plan months in advance. Granted, I always leave it for the last minute and then scramble to get all my gifts overnighted so that I seem reasonably competent, but I have a party making lists and figuring out what the perfect gifts for friends and family would be. Same with cards; I collect cards, so on holidays and birthdays I will have the absolute best cards ever, and I love sending them out and dorkily picturing people’s faces when they see a card in the mail.

Except this year. This year, I think about sending out cards and it just makes me sigh. Cards. Meh. I’ve bought a couple of gifts for the kid (who has a birthday in three days and then Christmas) and one for Not So, but my usual gift-giving fever is not there. Not So was all “I don’t want to get the kid a whole bunch of gifts for Christmas, just a few things he’ll really like” and I was all “Sure, whatever.” Even the Santa photos (see: hypocrisy, above), which I have theoretically been looking forward to all year, are just another thing I’m probably not going to do because, meh. All the getting ready and going out and being enthusiastic and having a good time sounds exhausting. I could be working. I have plenty of things I need to do.

Which is just lame. Hello, priorities, where are you hiding? Maybe it’ll be better once I’m done with school (which will be, er, Saturday, and my thoughts on that are a totally different rant for a different day) and can ramp down my work schedule a bit. Because sometimes I look at my kid and I think I am going to blink and he will be grown, moved out, gone and it just devastates me.

Today I got the newest email from the in-laws, looking for a Christmas list for Happy Fun Baby. Christmas. Isn’t it way too early to think about Christmas? Except that clearly isn’t true, since it’s only a little over a month away.

The thing is, I haven’t even really started thinking about the kid’s birthday, which is December 13th and will require a celebration of some sort, obviously. A party, one might say, except that we can’t have a party at our apartment because we like our friends and do not want to have to conduct some sort of Party Lottery to determine the lucky three people who will be able to fit in our living room. (Did I mention our apartment is small?) So I need to find a venue.

Here’s the problem with that: it has to be someplace toddler-friendly but also low-key and somewhat inexpensive, which sort of invalidates my favorite idea (party room at the Children’s Museum). “Why not something like Chuck E. Cheese?” says Not So, whose other suggestion was glow-in-the-dark miniature golf (for a bunch of two year olds, which – the mind, it BOGGLES). I responded by saying that if we did Chuck E. Cheese I might as well just wear a shirt that says “THAT Mom” across the chest, because – two year olds. All a two year old requires to have a good time at a party is cake and some toys. They do not need video games and giant animatronic singing mice. Rats. Is Chuck E. a mouse or a rat? I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it before. Weird.

Also not the point, because whatever arrangements I was going to make should have been made weeks ago, as I am almost certain that every other December birthday-having kid’s mom did. Because there’s only one day we can do the party. Because I like to live on the edge.

And don’t even ask me what we’re going to get him for his birthday. My brain only holds so much.

The kid, he naps. Or I guess I should say, “The kid, he doesn’t nap,” because that’s been the issue for much of the afternoon. I’m trying to work, and he’s trying to surgically attach himself to my lap. Conflict? Why, yes. YOU try typing code while someone does his best to pick up items on your desk with his little monkey toes.

But he is asleep now, hallelujah and hooray and all that. Happy Fun Baby gets short-tempered when he’s tired, and my afternoon has been punctuated by the sound of a toddler flinging himself to the ground and wailing in misery at the slightest provocation. Provocation like the fact that the sky is blue, or that his cup was out of water. After he drank it.

I had this great moment today, though, despite the tantrums and the screaming and the back arching (oh, how I despise the back arching). I was snuggling with the kid on the couch and I looked down at him and  thought “This is how I want it to be.” I have always pictured myself as a mother, but since becoming a mother I haven’t felt…right. I’m depressed, I’m anxious, I’m impatient, blah blah blah, but more than that, I’m doing this square peg thing, and it just isn’t cool. Because this is what I’ve wanted all my life, so now that I have it, I should appreciate every second. Right?

But today, things were just good. I love my kid, and I love hanging out with my kid, and maybe I’m not doing such a bad job after all.

Or maybe the meds are finally kicking in. You know, one or the other.