Parenting While Brain Dead
While in NYC, I talked with my hosts about weird house guests. New Yorkers always have the “weird house guest” story, because they have so MANY guests.
One odd guest of theirs placed an eye pack over his eyes to nap in the middle of the day in their living room and crossed his arms crossed over his chest like a vampire, would only eat foods according the Blood Type Diet, and did extensive breathing exercises.
After that, it seemed like a good time to tell them I had to pump breast milk.
On Friday, I went to the Brooklyn Museum to catch the Ron Mueck and Annie Leibovitz exhibits. Google Ron Mueck if you don’t know him.
When I got back to our town, hubby and baby were there to meet me. Baby was up way past her bedtime, so that she could be brought in the car to the train station. She appeared stunned.
When we returned to the house, I nursed the baby. She conked back out. We all got to sleep.
I woke to the sound of a jet engine crashing into the house. Immediately, I turned to wake hubby and let him know about the jet engine.
He was not there.
Then, I heard the jet engine again. My husband vomited violently into the toilet. I’m half out of my mind due to grogginess and worry and — darnit — admiration at the force of his vomit. When I vomit, it’s all gentle and dainty. But his vomit was, like, manly.
The baby woke up due to the aforementioned noise. I got her back to sleep and brought husband some water. Then, I lay in bed awake until the baby woke up for the day and wondered if husband washed his teeth since those acids are bad for them.
Needless to say, we were both wrecks the whole next day. Of course, O didn’t nap that day either. She went to sleep, woke herself up by pooping, and then was cranky from lack of sleep and, probably, lack of exercise due to two brain-dead parents. My main goal this past Saturday was surviving long enough to make it to baby’s bed time, so that I could go to sleep myself.