Act natural

( Thursday, Jan. 30, 2003 11:29 pm )

>This entry is more Cosmo than Bronte

So here is me, alone again with my thoughts, and my cute hair, and Emily and/or Charlotte Bronte, and soon Anne too (today: Wuthering Heights. Next: The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. Great gift ideas for me from The Tenant: a dog and a book. Holy shit. Holy shit.).

Tomorrow Landlady Ellie is going on a faux-date with her young man, leaving Baby Boy in my sole custody for an undetermined amount of time. Actually, I'm a bit worried because I have to pick him up at daycare (not quite clear on where this daycare is located either) and then bundle him up into one of those front-loader baby-backpack dealies with the Swedishy name and bear him home on the trolley. I fall over standing still, never mind while my center of gravity is thrown off with the addition of a living child, in a moving vehicle crowded with people, while fishing for dollar bills in my purse because I've run out of tokens. Plus I've thus far avoided taking the kid out in public in case I'm not able to quiet him, or in case I'm not convincing enough in the role of caregiver and have that look of alarm in my eyes that causes good samaritans to intervene. I'm really much better with older children, like around the time they can boss me around and I can break their crayons by coloring too hard. Plus I used to be really really great at playing along with their imaginary games when I used to babysit. It was some high quality pretendin', I tell you what, like Second City/Groundlings Jr. Where was I going with this? Oh yeah, Ellie spent more time discussing her Mrs. Robinson-esque leanings than, like, when and what I should feed the kid, etc., so I'm just going to "wing it."

Over Christmas my mother took pictures of me holding my cousin's baby, Ewan. I'd really like to see those, to see if I look convincingly maternal. My guess is not. I can't imagine having children, but I really want to get a dog.

Not to be Call-centric and ridiculous as usual, but it happens to be his birfday this week, according to a mass email received by Juney and the other science geeks. Unfortunately I will not be toasting the nice boy, not actually having been invited to the highly sciency festivities, however Juney kindly mentioned me in her birfday-greetings email back to him, and I would have wanted to wrangle over the exact wording of the "Almostreally wishes you a good one too" portion of it, but the screen froze, so I just had to accept it as written. It's never a good idea to start Deconstructing emails anyway.

Juney's sick today, so I bought her a CosmoGirl magazine (leaving me mourning for the youth of today and the Jane Pratt-era Sassy of yesteryear), and anyway, according to that, I should just tell Call I like him already so that I can move on from my crush.

And I think I will, if I ever see him again. (secretly cherished hope: that he will email June inviting me me me to something) However, inappropriate crushes (ie Schmitty) will be allowed to pollute my mind for years to come with fantasies of our attractive, tall, literary children (or dogs). Did I tell you he bakes?? Maybe he's gay, I don't even care. I like desserts.

P.S. on the baby tip: today I received my birth certificate in the mail (had my moms mail it to me in lieu of my passport). So now I know for sure, I was 7 pounds 6 ounces at birth and definitely have no secret twin or triplet out there (darn it all).

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