Something odd and powerfully nostalgic happened to me the other night. Stella and I were drowsing on the couch. During these sessions, the TV (muted) becomes the ultimate nightlight. When I glanced at the screen, I saw that it was an infomercial. Duh. It was 4 AM. Luckily, I remembered that on Cartoon Network at 4 AM, King of the Hill was on (followed by episodes of American Dad and Family Guy). It’s not that I was or am a big fan of any of these, but infomercials are odious. It was at that point that I realized that I did, in fact, know what the late-late night TV schedule was – something I haven’t known since college, when I could tell you EXACTLY when Space Ghost Coast to Coast, Thundercats, and Voltron came on. Hell, I haven’t even seen 4 AM (other than a couple of very odd instances where I had to be at work very early for some field work or to depart on an early flight) in about 6 years.
I think it’s some kind of temporary (I hope) regression, induced by these tiny creatures we bring into the world. Further evidence? The constant fixation and involvement with bodily functions of all kinds (insert Beavis and Butthead giggling). My child farts and burps like a 65 year old male bean salesman, and I’m always delighted when she does (that often means no trapped gas, which often means no extended periods of screaming….. 2 days of which we’re currently trying to recover from). She often poos as if her tiny butt is a fleshy little gatling gun, expelling tiny bullets of mustard-colored runny baby stools. About once a week, she hoses someone or something with pee during a diaper change, although I am happy to say she hasn’t “angry pigeoned” anyone in over a week (although one of her receiving blankets wasn’t so lucky a few days ago). Will thinks she is starting to smell funny, since we can’t yet bathe her due to the continuing presence of her umbilical stump (I disagree, although I’m ready for that damn thing to fall off). Then there’s my own skill of shooting her eye out (not really) with jets of milk (or otherwise dribbling down myself). I also continue to have bleeding. Really? Why couldn’t they have vacuumed my uterus out while they had it opened up during the c-section? Yesterday, poor Will had to go to the pharmacy for maxi pads AND boob pads. He didn’t even bat an eye.