A Little Bit of Everything

I used to write all the time. I used to write all the time because I had all the time. When I wasn't working, I could do whatever I wanted to do.

Now when I have a little time where I can use both hands to type, I find myself listlessly clicking around on Facebook, occasionally engaging in a productive conversation (the kind I always want to engage in when I'm Facebooking from bed, one-handed, with a toddler attached to one breast or the other), but mostly just wasting time.

And I should be writing. I want to write. I keep promising myself that I'm going to start writing something, even if it's just a few sentences, every day. I'm not going to promise that because the broken promises pile up depressingly. But maybe I will try. I just started taking some actual medication for my anxiety and depression on Monday. I don't know if that has anything to do with my sudden desire to sit here and write, but maybe it does.

Lastly, here is a cute story about Marie. She and I both have mild colds/coughs, so she's not sleeping very well and thus woke up in the middle of the night the other night. We got up and changed her diaper and Nose-Frida'd her and had settled back in to nurse. This was around two-thirty, meaning that the Roomba had been running downstairs since two. Suddenly, we heard a loud "beeeeeeee-oop!" and then a mechanical voice requesting that we "Please move Roomba to another location. Right wheel is stuck."

Marie looked up at me, wide-eyed. "Mama," she asked, "is the Roomba talking to me?"

Sharing

Marie is getting really good at sharing.

A big thunderstorm rolled through and woke us all up at an ungodly early hour today. As we were settling back in and trying to get back to sleep, Marie put both hands on my left breast, turned it gently in my husband's direction, and said "Here Papa, want some milk?"

About an hour later we had abandoned any idea of trying to get her back to sleep and were just hoping that maybe, if we let her run around the bedroom, we could slip into fitful slumber ourselves.

This hope was dashed when Marie found the portable charger/flashlight that we unwisely chose to keep near the bed.

"Flashlight!" she cried, shining it directly into my husband's eyes.

"Ow," he said. "Hey, go show Mama the flashlight."

"Okay!"

Little feet came pattering around to my side of the bed.

"Mama's turn," Marie said, and handed me the flashlight.

"Thanks, buddy." I turned it off immediately, hoping that if I held onto it for a few minutes she would forget about it.

She watched for a moment, waiting for me to make good use of my turn I guess. After about thirty seconds, during which I did not enjoy the flashlight in a manner conforming to her expectations, she put her hand out.

"You can take a turn, then I get it back," she informed me.

Dear Internet: The Poop Diaries

Dear Internet,

One day last week, I allowed my almost-18-month-old to pluck little shreds of toilet paper off the outside of a brand new roll because it kept her occupied while I pooped, and I told myself, "I'm going to write about this."

Three months ago I put my then-15-month-old in her crib, apologizing over the sound of her anguished wails. "I'm really, really sorry," I told her, in the tone I had previously reserved for calling in sick to work, "but I HAVE to poop." And I told myself, "I'll write about this later."

I'm not very good about writing on a regular basis, but I would like to be. So Internet, I don't know if you'll hear from me again soon, but we'll see.

The Beauty of the Zipper Merge

As I sat in rush hour traffic yesterday afternoon, with a (thankfully) sleeping baby in the backseat, I was once again overwhelmed with frustration at our collective inability to utilize the zipper merge.

I mean, I get it. I used to be one of those people, the ones glaring furiously at people trying to execute a zipper merge. I would stay as close as I could to the bumper of the person in front of me. "No way," I would mutter at the (in retrospect, much smarter) folks trying to ease traffic congestion. "You should have merged back when I did, buddy! It's not my fault you went joyriding up to the head of the line like a jerk! I'm not letting you in."

Of course, I realize now that that is exactly how one should merge - wait until the lane that is ending actually ends. Leave enough space between cars so that the two lanes of traffic can slide together seamlessly and beautifully into one shining ribbon of cars. They may still be moving slowly, but they are nonetheless moving, instead of engaging in the tedious stop-and-go that results from people like my past self refusing to budge.

Years ago, a good friend of mine gently educated me one morning when I was complaining about the people who "try to go to the head of the line and force their way in." She looked sadly at me. "But they're doing it right. If everyone stays in that lane until it ends, and the people in the next lane over leave enough space for them to slide over, it works better for everyone. Think about it for a minute." Chastened, I did, and I realized she was right.

Well, since it sounds like we're all going to have to get new driver's licenses anyway, I think we should require everyone to watch a brief informational video on zipper merging before getting their new enhanced IDs.