Spousal Support

FYI-I apologize in advance for any and all spelling and grammatical errors henceforth.  I am speed-typing to get this all down before my little baby implodes from having to interact with someone other than myself.

I'm always unsure of how to refer to Jonathan.  Although I don't correct others when they casually refer to him as my husband, I don't throw that term around myself.  After all, that would have us commonlaw in a snap and I'm not willing to bear the burden of marriage without a big ring and fancy wedding.  Just because I'm not big into marriage doesn't mean I'm not greedy and vain. 

However, calling Jonathan what he is, my boyfriend, is not ideal either.  Saying "boyfriend" makes me feel sixteen (and not in a good way) and, I feel, trivializes our relationship.  Thus, I'm left with "spouse" or "partner," both of which cause people to immediately peg me as a lesbian.  Whatever, let them wonder.

Anyway, Jonathan has been a great support during the tyrant's reign.  Jonathan brings me water, feeds me, and reminds me to shower every once in a while.  Jonathan even attempts to alleviate me of the tyrant for minimal amounts of time.  That's right, I said TYRANT.  My life is currently being controlled by a tyrant.  A demanding 7 week old tyrant has me under his tiny thumb (which exerts no less proverbial pressure than a full-size one).  Everything is a demand!  He doesn't even have the courtesy to feign polite requests.

                         "Waaaaa!"     Take off your shirt and feed me wench!
                         "Arrghh!"      Change my diaper this instant!
                         "Mnnnn!"      Get back here right now!
                         "Unghh!"       Burp me so I can vomit on you!
 
 King Luke seems to know that Meike is not here; he has demanded 100% of my attention in her absence.  For the past three days, I've basically been confined to bed with my Lord and Master attached to me in some manner.  He will not tolerate me being away from him and will not accept anyone else in my stead.  Well, except for two miraculous occasions:

1. June 26, 2001 13:00-14:30 hours - Luke was content to be passed from woman to woman for this time period.  It was amazing.  I honored this blessing by spending the time jumping in an inflatable castle with a bunch of sweaty preschoolers.  You know how I just love screaming children, but really, who doesn't?  Ah, the joys of children's birthday parties.
2. June 28, 2011 12:00-12:30 hours - This one only sort-of counts as a repreive because, while I was allowed out of the bed, I still had to maintain an acceptable proximity to Luke.  And by acceptable proximity, I mean I tied him to my body and he didn't cry.  I managed to get Luke's name letters sticky-tacked to the wall above his crib.  I got ahead of myself with this one by then updating my status on Facebook with a promise of an imminent post with his room details and pictures.  Luke promptly put me in check by demanding to get out of the wrap and back into the bed.

You might be thinking any number of obvious things to say to me, so let me address those thoughts now:

• Contrary to everything afore mentioned, I do not actually believe that me newborn seeks to control me.  Ironic, I know.  I am not willing to make him "cry it out" to show him who's boss.  His intellectual capacity is pretty much maxed out after staring at the ceiling fan for 8 minutes.  At this point, all he knows is summed up by "Mommy feels nice and no Mommy feels no nice."  He hasn't mastered the English language either yet, much to my chagrin.
• Yes, I know that I've done a wonderful job decorating his room.  Thank you for noticing.  Oh, and yes, those letters are hand painted.  It took several days due to a certain someone incessantly needing me.
• I know that having Luke sleep in my bed will lead to both his eventual death and his remaining there for the next five years.  Even though I somehow managed to avoid both of these eventualities with Meike, I do not fool myself by thinking that it is not a possibility for Luke.  I say it instead of they because I only really acknowledge that he could be in my bed for a while, not that he could die in said bed.  Luke is invincible.  I mean, does that look like a child who'd let mere blankets snuff him out?  Luke punches blankets in the face regularly.

Well, that's all the time I've been allotted, as the King is calling.

Promises, Promises..

I promise, again, that I will keep this blog up-to-date and post regularly from now on.  That's a super-extra extreme promise.  However, I intend to go a different route with the blog here on out.  I don't want to write about boring everyday things that my kids do.  I don't want to bore you, after all.  I'm going to write about the funny stuff, the ironic stuff, the crappy stuff.  And I'm going to focus on New Baby Life (it's a legitimate time period, like Toddler and Middle-Age).  Just a heads-up for anyone not truly familiar with me, I am Sarcastic (yes, the capital is necessary).  So anything that comes across as harsh, cruel, abusive, out-of-line, or insensitive, just chalk (chock?) it up to my witty sarcasm.

Just a brief tidbit for now, since I'm trembling on the edge of sanity listening for any sound of malcontent that little Luke might utter.  Speaking of which, is there anything like a new baby that makes you "hush" at people  maniacly?  Even though this bundle of joy sleeps through Fred Flinstone snoring from Jonathan and stadium-quality sound projection from Meike, I am frantically "Shhh"-ing at sounds like dishes clinking together and toilet flushing.  Yes, my 5-week old's happiness does come before my cats' rights to drink out of a clean toilet, regardless of how they feel about it.

Back to the main story, I realized today that I am much more self consious now than I ever was before.  Aren't you supposed to become more confident with age?  I never used to look at other women and compare myself to them.  But I caught myself doing just that several times today.  We went out for a Father's Day dinner at a new restaurant called "Look at my Boobs."  Just kidding, I forget what it was called (I'll remember later, ramdomly, when it's no longer relevant); it was akin to Hooters, but with a classier decour and awesome food.  I'm not saying Hooters doesn't have good food- everyone talks about the wings, right? 

As I noticed Jonathan's wandering eyes, I began to take notice of the girls walking around.  Then I began to systematically take down each waitress (in my head at least).  Some of the following thoughts ran through my head:

"Yeah she has nice legs, but my boobs are totally bigger than hers." 

"My hair is so much nicer than hers; what a trashy color."

"I've had two kids and I'm not that jiggly."

Regardless of the validity of my comparisons, I felt it necessary to one-up every girl that passed.  I never used to care about guys checking out other chicks.  Studies show that even babies prefer to look at attractive people.  And I've always been very confident.  If I'm going to waste my energy on being jealous, I should be comparing more useful things, like who gets more sleep and who gets thrown up on the least.
Is this just some postpartum craziness?  Will it go away in a few weeks when I feel less squishy (if I ever feel less squishy)?  Do any of you other new moms find yourself succumbing to any random insecurities?