Tipping the canoe

The eclipse is coming.

I’ve tried to write this post before. There is a baby. He’s under this laptop safely in my belly right now. He just kicked me. (Hi, baby. Did you like those lemon bars I just ate?) Don’t worry, the hot part of the laptop isn’t on his head, it’s on my leg. I think about these things now.

People asked if I was going to write about being pregnant. And I have been. But it’s on my phone and in a journal called Babycakes that also has grocery lists, and in the secret spot on this computer. Some of it seems so, well, private. That’s sort of hilarious for me, because I love being TMI on the internet.

But I also like being TMI all by myself. In those spaces where I get to work through what is real and what is mine and, most importantly, what is actually entertaining enough to share with you. The rest of it my friends just have to listen to at lunch. I'm trying not to terrorize them.

Of course I have some things to say. For instance, if you wait until you’re 33 to have a baby, your friends will likely already have some walking, talking kids and can tell you all the things. I recommend this because if they’re good friends, like mine, they will be supportive (here, register for this nipple cream) and honest (you will probably need nipple cream) without scaring the shit out of you (you don’t need to go to Costco for giant jars of nipple cream, it’s all going to be ok). They will also give you their baby clothes that look pristine because babies wear clothes once, just like Diana Ross.

When you wait until you’re 33 to have a baby, though, there are some long-enjoyed adult luxuries that are about to get jettisoned. My husband calls this tipping the canoe. We are rowing along all smooth and confident on familiar waters and then this tiny baby is going to flip us the eff over. And people will remind you about that. Yes they will. All that sleep and money and time, it’s going to be gone, they say.

Don’t worry, I think while smiling at random people with advice. We talked about it first, we really did. We think we’ll get good at swimming, and eventually hope to climb back into the canoe. It’s going to be full of water and baby poop, but it will be our poopy baby canoe. And we’ll love it, just like you do.

So I’ll try to think of some other things to tell you now. But for today, this. Yes.