So, we have a baby now. Before that I was pregnant. That’s the order these things usually go in, so I’d say we’re off to a good start. When I was pregnant I was really excited to have Logan and write about my experience as a mom every night after he went to bed. So he’s 9 months old now and this is my first post since he was born. Well, a lot has happened. There’s been a lot of laughter and tears (from all of us), a lot of puke and poop (also from all of us), some amazing times and some times that I’m not even sure happened because I was so tired. Everyone is sleeping better now and I feel like myself again. For a long time I wondered if I would. Having a baby is hard! Even when everything is going great and we’re all happy it is hard work. But it is work that I love and Ro loves it too and for that I know we are very lucky. I have managed to jot a few things down when and where I can- my phone, an empty Desitin box, a Target receipt. It’s mostly stuff like “Logan puked in my water bottle today and I didn’t realize it until after I drank from it. Several times.” Or “Logan has 3 teeth- 2 bottoms and a fang up top. The waitress at IHOP called it a can opener.” Or “Logan smacked himself in the chest with a remote today and stared me dead in the eye without flinching like a thug on a prison yard trying to intimidate me. It worked.” The usual stuff I guess. Then there’s a lot of “Logan is so beautiful I realized I was holding my breath while staring at him today.” And “Logan smells so good it makes me dizzy.” And “Ok today for sure I really can’t possibly ever love him more than I do right now.” I write that one a lot.
Me and Angie always kick it after school, but she’s not my girlfriend. She keeps bean dip and Cheetos snacks in her backpack for the days that she’s forgotten. I don’t care what anyone says. She’s not crazy, but she does bite. Angie chews on straws and counts my freckles and pops the pimples on my face. Sometimes when I talk to her I can tell she’s not really listening. She’s just looking for more pimples to pop. She loves it. It hurts, but I kind of like it. I only got to go to Angie’s house one time. We put some flowers in her dad’s gun rack for peace reasons, but it got me sent home and Angie had to hide. Sometimes peace makes people mad. Angie says her dad can’t see the beauty anymore and I know she’s gonna run. Angie’s spot on the schoolyard is next to me and I’m not looking forward to the empty. But I get it. When you’re in a rotten pot of dumplings, you gotta climb out. It just bugs me when the wrong people have to leave. Angie says, “When you got gum on the bottom of your shoe, you peel it off and keep walking, but families are different.” Angie writes poetry. She says if it makes sense, you’re listening to it wrong.
She wrote this one for me:
If you walk too fast you’ll miss the Bible cave, so slow your roll, Jimbo.
It’s on the left side-boob of the mountain by the tilty tree.
Why do I need therapy? Because of how much I love tornados?
You need a passion, Jimbo.
Or else you’ll end up like a zombie rockin’ fruit flies to work.
I run from some pretty nasty shadows.
I know you look out for me, but you can’t pick all the corn yourself.
Life’s important Jimbo, but hair grows back.
See why I’m gonna miss her?