brain is dead

I would like to post, but my brain is dead.
But if I were to post, here's what I would say:
Dyami's doing an exciting project involving a stop-frame animation software program he wrote for his brother. He's going to try to polish it and sell it to animators (anyone who has used it on Jamie's projects has been dying to buy it). I am on board with this project. I want him to finish it! And make billions of dollars for us! I even want to write the manual for it!
But when Dyami gets home from his day job, I hate that he has to go work on it.
I want to complain about it, but I agreed that I would look after Lucy when he got home, even though (sigh) I have to make dinner and everything! And keep her happy, even though I keep her happy all day. And when he gets home, that's just the not-so-pleasant part of the day, where both she and I are tired and cranky.
What is it about those hours from 4:30 to bedtime (hers) that just suck the mop? Why do I want to poke my eye out every time D gets home, plays with Lucy for a few minutes, and then--ahhhh!--shuts himself in with a computer in the other room?
He's been working on this thing for a few days, and has made great progress. I keep asking for progress reports. Cheerily, so it won't seem like I'm breathing down his neck.
How's it going, dear? Made good progress? How much progress? How many more hours do I have to do solo baby care? Hmmmmm????
Waaaaaah!
So, that's my brain-dead post. It wasn't so bad. Was it?

useful

So I think it's official. Lucy is nodding.
Well, she's actually been nodding for a while, but she seems to be nodding yes. Which is not just cute, but useful.
I think this is about the most useful skill in the whole wide world.
Momma Q: Do you want more?
Lucy: Nods, smiles.

Lucy: Unrecognizable hand gesture.
Momma Q: Does that mean "Nurse?"
Lucy: Nods, smiles.

Momma Q: Are you just the cutest, smartest baby ever?
Everyone: Nods, smiles.

meditation on walking

So Lucy is sort of walking. Just little steps, the kind of practicing that will blossom into full-blown walking in a matter of days? Weeks? We'll see, but there's definitely a new movement happening. It's quite exciting. Things I'm noticing:

• She's been practicing like a madwoman. The last week or so, she pushes chairs, tupperware, laundry baskets, or any kind of box all around the house (except for the carpet, where things don't slide as well.
  
• She likes to be near us when she takes a step. Right now she'll stand up in the crook of my legs while I'm sitting on the floor. Then she stands and gets her balance, and I move away quickly so she'll walk to me. But she won't just stand while hanging on to something and walk away from it.
• She still doesn't trust herself. After a step or two, she immediately kneels. But just tonight, she started to kneel, righted herself, and walked another step or two. It's got to be scary moving through the air like that.
• She is extremely, extremely pleased with herself.
  

career

So I went to a gathering for my thesis advisor's students yesterday. She's a lovely woman, a former modern dancer, with thick hair, large eyes, and an apartment right on the ocean in Solana Beach. It was a nice place for a grown-up party--a little alcohol, a cheese spread, and people that have read more poetry than you can shake a stick at.
I came with a diaper bag and Lucy in a sling.
It was a weird feeling to be there with my fellow students, try to talk about what we're all up to, and keep Lucy from eating the dirt in the planter.
It actually went better than I thought when I arrived. I mean, any time I come to a non-baby-friendly space, my stress level goes up. You just can't tell how non-baby-friendly someplace is until you set the baby down and see what happens. Luckily, it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.
The most awkward time for me was the circle, where each writer talked about what we were going to do after the MFA program--and listened to the two graduates who were nice enough to be there.
I was fourth. So for four people, I had to think about the non-career direction my life is going, how I'm really okay with that, thank you very much, it's what I want.
Except it still makes you feel weird or dumb or just out of touch when you have to talk about finding the little bit of time to write between feedings and diaper changes.
I think I want to move to Botswana (site of the Ladies #1 Detective Agency novels). there, people know how to be better, rather than trying to achieve all the time. That would make things easier, right?
I left the gathering early, saying that Lucy was getting ancy, but it was more me: the effort it involves keeping her quiet and occupied in an adult gathering is considerable, and also, I just was tired. Tired of the effort, of the internal monologue in my head, and of the day.
I went home, back to the safe place we've created, and felt much better. I think.

performing

Why is it that children won't perform on command?
Lucy has cool new skills: waving, doing high-five, taking first steps, dancing.
But she won't reliably perform them for naysayers.
People, please tell me: what is the point of having a child if they won't perform on cue? why have I been getting up in the middle of the night?

ages

I was thinking of Hack Mommy and her new baby, and thought about the ages of her current kids--seven, four, nearly two. And I thought, adding the ages together, but how could she have had all those kids--there wasn't time. Then I realized that you don't add children's ages together to figure out how long it's been since you first became a mom. It just feels like you do.

dancing

Whenever Lucy hears music, she stands up, waggles her hips back and forth, and then bobs up and down.
It's very cute.
Today, we just said "dancing" and she started.
My brain sort of fast-forwards through, and thinks--she loves music! She'll be a dancer! She will have preternatural affinity for rhythm! People of color will say, dang! that white girl can groove!
But Lucy's just dancing. She's just dancing how she dances, because it gives her joy.
well, that, and because we laugh at her crazy antics.