Don't Worry...I'm Not Psychotic.

Just wanted to let everyone know that things are much, much better at my house. My devil baby is no longer a devil baby, and life is...well...easier.

I realized that from my last post, it could possibly seem as if I'm suffering from some sort of post-partum psychosis/depression. I'm not. Just sleep deprivation.

Some day I'll write a "real" blog, again. It's just that I can't think of anything to say that doesn't have to do with my baby, and I promised myself I wouldn't turn into one of those people that only talks about their damn baby. Those people are annoying.

I honestly have nothing to say right now. So sad. I don't even really know what's going on in the world except for the fact that my NCAA Basketball bracket is totally effed, and the health care thing passed.

See??? "Old Cari" would not have called it the "health care thing"!!! She would've known exactly the right name, place, time it was passed, who voted for what, what it all meant, etc. Now I just write "health care thing" and expect everyone to remember that I'm not an idiot.

It's as if my brain doesn't function in the manner that it once did, pre-baby. Now everything is breastfeeding, reading "Goodnight Moon," tickling a tummy and kisses.

A squeaky giraffe stands where a canvas used to be.

"Pony Boy" and "Old MacDonald" have replaced long nights of plunking away at the piano or guitar. I can barely remember the girl that sat in recording studios. The girl that sang in smoky bars. Where did she go?

She made a human boy. I love him to death, but he is also completely and totally draining. I sometimes wonder when Beau and I will get to eat at the same time again.

The other day, Beau turned to me and said, "Hey, Cari? Do you want to be 'one and done'? I don't know if I can do this again."

Seeing as Beau described a satin blanket to Grey as "the material that a whore's underwear is made of," and the fact that I say curse words in "baby talk" to him all the time, AND the fact that my made-up lullabies have references to marriage equality...I think Beau is onto something with the "one and done" thing.

We're wonderful parents. Grey is doomed to be a total freak. BUT...he'll be an intuitive, courageous, creative, unique human being. I still write songs. They're just not for me, anymore. Here is one of my most recent creations for bouncing a boy to sleep:

I can be whatever I want,

when I grow up like an elephant.

A football player, a ballet dancer,

an architect or a garbage man,

cuz my Mommy loves me no matter what I am.

Maybe I'll like boys,

maybe I'll like girls,

maybe I'll have straight hair,

maybe curls.

But, it doesn't matter,

I like pancake batter...

almost as much as my dad.

When I walk down the street,

I like to meet,

everyone I can cuz I'm a friendly man,

so if you're mean, please don't come out,

I really don't like to fuss or shout.

My name is Grey, and I'm here to say,

that I like milk in every single way.

I drink it all down and I spit it all up,

and somehow I still get full.

Guess what I like?

The fan! The fan!

I'm the biggest fan,

of the fan! The fan!

I look like The Thinker,

but I'm kind of a stinker,

when I'm staring at the fan.

Five wooden blades,

dark against light,

a pentagon shape,

what a beautiful sight.

There is nothing better,

I think I'll write a letter,

to the maker of the fan.

It'll say, "Dear Mrs. So-and-So,

How does your fan blow and blow?

I think I'd like to go and be with the fan.

I love the brand Hampton Bay,

I think I'd like to go and stay,

but that may be perceived as kind of strange."

Am I making myself clear?

I love the fan! THE FAN!

I'm the biggest fan!

Of the fan! The fan!

I look like The Thinker,

but I'm kind of a stinker,

when I'm staring at the fan.

My mom would really like me to go to sleep,

but when she puts me down,

I still make a peep,

I'm really tired, but I'm kind of wired,

cuz my mom can't give up her coooofffeeeee.

That's all I have right now. I add a new verse every time I bounce him to sleep. By the time he no longer needs to be bounced, I shall have written a masterpiece.

And now I have written yet another blog about my child. Wonderful.