8.17.2006

Itinerary in the Life of a Procrastinator

I have had a scintillating morning developing a design concept for one of those projects where the clients want some kind of system where users can take online tours, become better people, "build meaningful online communities," as well as do their laundry, take a dump, and fly to the fucking moon.

This has led me, as a form of elaborate digression, to take various "tours" of my own. Blogland tours. And on the agenda today is the erratic itinerary that is motherhood.

First, Her Bad Mother has me digging deep into my soul over how one articulates that deep, primal and physical affection we feel for our children. How do we find the language that works without venturing into "pervdom"? As someone who's got a bit of a thing about language and aesthetics (shut up. i mean reading it, not writing it...) her post appealed to the deeply repressed poet in me, and suddenly I was revelling in the inexpressible joys of snuggling my son in the morning when we are slugglish with sleep, and how there is a physical pleasure in that which is not easily transmitted in words (note use of term "snuggling"--I rest my case over the "not writing it" part.)

Catching up with Sweetney, I read her "stalkery" interview with Ayun Halliday, whose book I have not read, and whose site I have not seen, and I am asking myself "how the hellian did I miss this woman whose schitzophrenia so resembles my own???"

On weekends, we tend to loll around our tiny shotgun apartment much longer than we should, littering the floor with newspaper and toys, enjoying being in our pajamas, until this invisible switch gets thrown, the bitch switch, I guess it's called. Suddenly, (at around 10:55am), I am flooded with evil feelings, because our apartment is such a wreck and the breakfast dishes are covering a counter that should be filled with lunch preparations and none of us pajama-clad dullards have the gumption to get motivated, let alone dressed.


Meanwhile, move over, because Kristen and I are spreading. Like Kristen, the legs, the upper arms, the cheeks (both kinds) are softly inflating--remember that look of panic on Violet Beauregarde's face as she chewed that gum and took on the proportions of a dirigible? I empathize with that bitch. And today I am thinking the choice of a hot-pink maternity dress--which looked sassy and bold in a "I am big-ass woman, get over it and hear me roar" in the mirror this morning--now might now only add to the sense that all we need is some oompa-loompas to roll me right out of this joint.

Now entering the third trimester, my weight gain is gathering momentum, and when I look down at my already taught and itchy stomach I am alarmed that I still have three motherfucking months to go! [Case in point--just met with "fly-me-to-the-moon" client, and she commented "But Joy, you're already so HUUUUUGE!"] And yes, I know any empowered feminist diva worth her salt should revel in the expansiveness, in the unstoppable force that is her body, that is WOMAN, but right now I just feel a bit fat. And constipated. So, the thighs are getting reaquainted with one another, the term "back fat" returned to my vocabulary, and I am currently busting out of some of those hipper maternity clothes, and stepping to the billowing tents, the enormously gussetted capris, the shapeless t's---anything without SEAMS, please gaaawd.

Jozet? Well Jozet is sleep deprived. We all heard the glorious news that she popped out her baby boy on July 31st. Since then her personal blog has been relatively quiet...(what gives, Jozet? Sheesh!). Except that right now she has given us a post that returns us roundly to aesthetics, and poetry... the pleasure of the stream of consciousness that is borne of no sleep... Here I give you a mere taste of a post that at once had me tittering even while I was gripped with sheer terror over the eye-clawing tiredness to come:

Oh…hello…

I am…awake?

I think…

yawnZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…

Wha…?

Baby?

wiping drool from corner of mouth

FISHSTICKS!

I’m sorry…

okay…

I am sitting up…

sitting up typing…

typing…

typing for my bog…

Bog?

15 comments:

doow said...

I was once mistaken for an oompa-loompa, so if you need rolling anywhere - perhaps into a pile of cushions in front of the TV -, I'd be happy to help.

Kristen said...

So much for slow weight gain. I went from 174 to 182. Damn.

Fuck it. I'm eating like a pig. No sense in worrying about it now.

LOL.

Mommy off the Record said...

Thank you for the tour. I had been over to Jozet and MU but hadn't stopped by HBM. Her post sounds interesting. I'll check it out.

P.S. How'd I miss the fact that you are 6 months preggers?? Congrats!

deb said...

yeah. dude. I read your words and I think about how inspiring you are, and how I'm going to hunt down these very posts when it's my turn to bequeath another kidlet to the world.

I appreciate your 'splaining it to us, more than you know.

and Jozet - oh, god. she's in the weeds, as the restaurant lingo goes.

sweetney said...

dude, send me your mailing address (again) -- i'll send you the free copy of mamalamadingdong (aka the big rumpus) i got...

jon deal said...

OK, I'm a boy-type so I have no experience except by proxy with my lovely spouse but...

don't most women get "bigger" more quickly with the second, third... eighteenth child? And by bigger, I don't mean weight gain, I mean in terms of "showing" sooner.

But again... man child over here.... no frame of reference.

Mom101 said...

That photo alone just cracked my shit up. THe big purple one. Perfect metaphor!

mothergoosemouse said...

Let me guess. That client also wants to pay next to nothing for that fly-to-the-fucking-moon system.

sunshine scribe said...

Good tour. I got me some readin to do!

And I am with Mom 101 the purple photo cracked me up!

neva said...

and i'm glad you used the *newer* picture of violet-pumped-up-like-a-blueberry-on-steroids rather than the version seen in the Gene Wilder-as-Willy-Wonka, because it illustrates much more dynamically how fat one feels so much earlier in a second pregnancy. seriously? i think i blew up something like 20 pounds within 3 days after the sperm hit its mark the 2nd time around.

i feel for ya, girlfriend, i really do. but i'm sure you looked not only sassy and/or bold in that hot pink outfit, but imposing. much like a giant pink bubble-gum bubble blown large beyond the chewer's ability to suck it back in without dire results.

as usual, i loveloveloved this post! oh, and in case you're keeping track, i'm almost through reading your long-assed post from last week, too! almost. xoxox

Stefanie said...

You know, the backfat is the last to go too. That's the worst part. Backfat that won't let you get back in your old shirts or pants. Sorry, didn't mean to be depressing, just reminiscing (I think I spelled that incorrectly). Good post.

Jenny said...

Online software to help better people take a dump? I'm in!

Hee.

sweatpantsmom said...

I've been away for awhile, and am not sure if I congratulated you on your pregnancy. CONGRATULATIONS! There.

And I'm sure you're not fat, just filled with the joy of impending motherhood. How's that for spin?

Nancy said...

Holy cow. That little morning vignette by Ayun Halliday could have described my house (except I've been one with the laptop rather than the newspaper this morning). I will have to check her out as well.

And hmmm, I am spreading too, except without the excuse of a pregnancy... ;-)

Anonymous said...

This is very interesting site... Proactiv warszawa miedziana free credit report vicodin online Sales management retail training job Ativan medical description Best baseball fights ever