Ok, I know, right? I had five days off school. I had SO much time to sit on here and blather about what I was doing. But I haven't been doing anything. I mean, I've been reading (check out ye olde book blog for proof), and I've been writing papers, but literally two whole days went by when I didn't stir my ass from my big red chair, except to go to the kitchen and to go to sleep.
P.S. - How awful is it trying to go to sleep when you've only burned, like 60 calories all damn day? And then you get into bed and try to turn off your brain, but your body is lying there all 'How is this different from what I've been FOR THE LAST 12 HOURS?'
H'anyvays, yesterday I did stuff. I went to look after my friends' kid, Jared, who totally thinks I'm the best non-relative adult-person he's ever had (which means that he likes everyone he's related to, everyone baby, and everyone non-person, i.e. our landlords' dog, Keisha, better than me. But I'm next). And I'm thinking that this'll cure my baby-craving, but Jared is awesome. He's sitting there laughing his little baby ass off because I'm making noises, and then he reaches up and pats my cheek softly the way that just-about-toddlers do, because they've just realized that you're a separate person from them. And then we chatter over his butternut squash, and it doesn't matter that I speak only English while he speaks only Martian, because we think we're so funny, and I'm thinking to myself, I've got to get me one of these.
And then I come home, and I'm reading We Need to Talk About Kevin (editorial aside: just about the worst book ever) and this woman has this child and it's this little monster, and it squalls and mewls and pukes and shrieks, and refuses to be comforted, and then when her husband comes home the baby's all snuggly and lets itself be soothed, but over his shoulder it's looking at her all, 'That's right, bitch. Who's he going to believe? Crabby, milk-leaking, unshowered you? Or helpless, soft, bitty me.' And it's horrifying. It's actually the reason I might keep reading this awful, pretentious book, because I'm so terrified and outraged by the way this infant is intentionally coming between this woman and her husband. It's chilling. And I feel like I've read a book like this before, where the innocent little child would be all hell-spawny except when other people were around, and everyone thought this lady was crazy. Anyone? Help me out?
So, I guess I don't need to be smooching fat little almost-toddler babies to get my fix. I just need to re-read this last chapter, over and over. Because shit, what if that happens to me?