jaysaint Getting it all down on paper…

Every once in a while I have a moment when I wonder if I am — literally — the only person on earth doing what I’m doing at that moment.

Today I had one as I was pumping breast milk in the lactation room at work while reading an essay in The Objectivist Standard about how to judge art in accordance with the principles of Ayn Rand.

And yes, I am aware that I just made myself sound like the person you would least like to meet for happy hour.

Damon and I were discussing an acquaintance and his dealings with the INS in regards to his green card. I said, “Affiliation with Oprah gives a person incredible credibility.” And then my brain turned inside out.

I gave up. I surrendered. I joined Facebook.

I have managed to avoid all manner of social networking. I have never sent a text message, and studiously ignore any that I get. Don’t even get me started on Twitter.

All that may sound odd from someone who internets for a living (On a side note: I’m amusing myself this week by turning nouns into verbs whenever I can. So annoying! Anyone want to party?) but I just feel like I have to draw the line somewhere.

I just hate being instantly available to any fool who can surface my screen name or peck out my phone number. The first person who “pokes” me is going to get punched in the face.

I was steadfast. But my boss started asking me a bunch of questions about Facebook and then the writing was on the wall.

Now that I’ve finished griping, I will admit to you that parts of it are kind of fun. Anyone want to play Scramble?

I’ve been gone for so long. I’m trying to loop back and pick up on all the Friendly threads I love so much. I’m sure I’ve missed a ton of stories I would have loved to read, and that’s my loss for sure.

Nothing outrageous happened to take me away. Our insurance funding for our temporary housing ran out and we decamped to Florida to stay with my folks for a while. Good times were had by all. Actually, beautiful times were had by all. Then back to New York, and shortly after back to work. All along I’ve been telling stories in my head that just never made it to the computer. Now I’m back and promising myself — despite the mobius strip of a to-do list — that I’m going to continue here.

Now back at home I think this is our new normal. Our apartment still isn’t repaired, but it’s on its way. I’m working. I think the outrageous wash of post-natal hormones has stabilized. I’m still feeling swoops of big baby love, but I’m less likely to lose a block of six hours or so because I’m staring — mesmerized.

Alden continues to unfold his personality for us. He’s mostly a little Buddha, fat, smiley and content. I swear he will never crawl or even push up because when we roll him over for “tummy time” he just happily sucks on his fist. There is not a shred of ambition in this baby. When I deeply examine my own desires and expectations I discover that… I don’t really care. He’ll do things when he does. I know I’ll miss the bitty baby when he’s gone, so he can stick around as long as he likes. He’s also flashing around my DNA by sometimes fussing until we just put him down and leave him alone. And then he’s happy. Babies need alone time too, I guess. He’s got an ongoing conversation with the pattern on his crib linens. It must be novel to him, as he spends almost no time there. He’s still sleeping with us, sometimes in his co-sleeper and sometimes just plunked right in the bed. Because he is dedicated to his meals, I have even twice awoken to find him nursing. He just shimmied on over and latched on. So I guess there is one shred of ambition. That’s why he weighs almost 14 pounds now.

There will be lots more. For now, I offer you what makes me want to stare for six hours at a time:

Alden is currently sleeping in what we call “the baby jail.” It’s really just a portable play yard (Is that what they’re called?) to contain baby in lieu of a crib. Until tonight, he’s slept with us in the bed. For whatever reason, mostly because it’s sitting here in our room, we decided to give it a try tonight. Perhaps because he got up for the day at 3am today. Or maybe because we can’t resist trying something new, which is how we wound up becoming parents in the first place.

Baby fell asleep after a hearty nursing at around 9:30, so Damon popped him in. He woke up instantly, but went on to freak my shit out by simply laying there staring at the mesh for 45 minutes until he drifted off to sleep. That is perhaps some parents’ wildest dream, but it made me wonder if he’d be attending special school some day. My mom pointed out that we don’t care if he goes to special school, because he’s still the Best Baby Ever. I take her point.

So now there is a gaping maw, a chasm, of four feet between me and my sleeping son. I think now is the time I’m supposed to be sleeping, but instead I’m hovering nearby to make sure he continues to breathe and thrive through the force of my presence. And I will admit that I kind of hope he cries soon so I can justify swooping him out without looking like a puss.

Edited to add: I’m tired enough, apparently, that Damon just had to point out to me that I’d spelled Alden’s name wrong at the top of this post.