Jonah was four months old on December 4th but at the same time he became the four month old that looks like a twelve month old. He’s a big kid. Not just his head, people. All of him is growing like he’s in a rush to become a full grown adult by spring and if I don’t start force feeding him coffee pronto, he will get there. I don’t care if that whole coffee-makes-you-shorter thing is a myth. I’m giving it a go. I’ve also called Alice and asked if she has any of those tiny cakes lying around that Jonah could use. One magic bite and it’s shrinksville for you, baby … back where you’re supposed to be, you gigantic Christmas turkey.image[3]

You know I’ve had so much to blog about and I’m telling you I’ve written some beautiful entries in my head but getting them down these days has been an impossible task. And, I don’t even have a job! I’m a stay at home (fabulous) mom and mommy blogger and I’ve committed a terrible crime. I have fallen so in love with my little meatloaf, he has overtaken my love of creating witty, beautifully emotional and groundbreaking literature! Oh dear god, no! But it’s true! I am disgusted with myself…

Here is the problem. Every time something of note happens and I get the “white lightening” of inspiration to write, Jonah looks back at me, smiles and I cry. No, seriously. I’ve noticed recently I am one of those moms. My kid giggles and I cry with joy. My little pancake rolls over and I sob. He half smiles – I’m on the floor. He poops and I hose down my t-shirt. He makes sucking motions in his sleep and I drop to my knees wailing, “I love you so, I love you so, I love you so!” People, it is a sick sick sick display and I can hardly live with myself. My point? All of these dramatics are a fool proof distraction from the bloody soliloquies I keep jotting down in my mental journal. (A place where good writing goes to die because it and I know it will never get written into reality.)

I am not the happy girl, ok? I have spent a lifetime perfecting the lonely, sullen girl routine that I stole from Fiona Apple

Thankfully it is not all nasty baby angel baby’s fault. No, he is an innocent. Who is really to blame? Damn bloody Hubby, that’s who. You know what he did to me last night – last night, right about the time when I said “Self? You are writing a blog entry tonight. Do it or I’ll make you weigh yourself on that scale you know does not lie. You write, damn you. You write till your fingers bleed, bitch!” – He comes home and of course Jo is awake at one am because he’s learned that’s when daddy appears. So J picks him up out of his bassinet and like it isn’t enough that Jonah is squealing with delight, Hubby whirls him around and around and says “It’s time to fly, Jo!” He lifts Jo over his head and begins to zoom around our apartment humming the Superman theme song while Jonah’s mouth is wide with a massive smile. Jonah has perfected straightening out and holding firm his posture so with his arms stretched forward he really does look like he’s flying. I watched the two of them buzz around and suddenly my eyes got that all too familiar warm sensation. Jonah is cackling with jubilant glee and I just sat there and cried the happiest tears of my life. It was grotesque. I hated them for making me so happy. I am not the happy girl, ok? I have spent a lifetime perfecting the lonely, sullen girl routine that I stole from Fiona Apple and these whores are just ruining my life’s work. If I had known this was where my life was to lead I would have made my marriage a sexless one long ago! Damn you hindsight! Damn you sperm! Damn all the sperm! (Hubby chimes in with a rousing rendition of ‘Every Sperm is Sacred’. Charming.)image[1]

Anyway, in a neat and concise manner, here is what you’ve missed while I’ve blatantly ignored you, you my dedicated reading public. Jonah has rolled over, mastered giggling, started holding his own bottle and has several times managed to remove and replace his soother; which by the way he is not obsessed with and is using less and less every day. In short this past week has been brimming with new and exciting moments that have me reciting in my head, “This is as happy as I have ever been,” And, since I turned frigging twenty-seven this week, that is saying something.image[2]

Finally, this also happened this week and my Hubby was smart enough to capture it … I’d like to say it was posed as to escape any of you oohing and awing, but alas this is just my luck.image