Once upon a bulletin point...

I had some sort of plan mapped out for this blog post, but got sidetracked when A and I started playing "Baby Balooga" and singing along in hopes that it would bring Punky out of her animalistic rage (thanks Shaken Mama for reintroducing the phrase to me). Here's me and A, two people who a year ago were going to punk rock shows, where mass quantities of alcohol were the most innocent of our imbibings, and now we're dancing around the house with a baby -- one that The State actually let us keep -- and singing children's songs.

What the hell, man?

Anyway, surreality of my life aside, on with the bulletin points!

• I still have a scab from my epidural on my back. Yeah, it's been 14 weeks and it's still there. This is actually a pretty big deal considering the fact that I'm OCD about picking things on my body and the bodies of others (baby acne, hello?). I'm terrified of it, though. I won't even let A touch it. I have this irrational and unfounded fear that if the scab is picked, then my spine, or spinal fluid, or lots of blood, or something -- will come out. And that, quite frankly, scares the bejeezus out of me. No thank you. Plus, if it's a flesh wound that creates a scab that sticks around for over three months, do you really WANT to see what would happen if you picked it? Really?

• It genuinely pains me to say this knowing the trouble my kindred blogger is going through, but the Punky is sleeping pretty close to entirely through the night except a feeding around 4 am, after which she goes right back to sleep. Sounds great, BUT... she's still sleeping with me and A at night. The child has not spent a night away from my bosom since her first night out of the womb. I really need to start transitioning her into a crib. I know I need to. I haven't had sex in who knows how long, since we concluded having sex with the baby in the bed is weird. Plus, can I tell you how much I L-O-V-E love sharing a full-size bed with a grown man and an infant? Personal space -- I can haz none.

• The battle with Kidney Boy and his girlfriend has been won. The Girlfriend now parks in front of their house, or in their driveway. Victory is mine! Hahaha, heehee, haha, HEEEEEEE!!!
  

• I've been dabbling in the job search. I have two second-round interviews next week, both for PR positions with nonprofits, which is what I always wanted to do, but then as soon as I start seriously considering a career, I think about Punky in daycare or with a babysitter and then I get panic attacks. The Grandparents are too far away, so we're forced to consider complete strangers to care for our child. It scares the hell out of me. One minute I think I can be a modern supermom, then about three minutes later I'm clutching my adorable, beautiful daughter and blubbering that I can't do it. Whenever I thought about the consequences of unplanned pregnancy, I always thought life would be hindered because having a baby sucks. Instead, things I once thought I wanted are now hindered because I'm so incredibly in love with my child. I'm holding myself back, not her.
  
  I guess if nothing else, going on job interviews gives me the opportunity to change out of my sweatpants and clean the puke out of my hair for a couple hours.
  

• A and I decided this evening was too beautiful to sit inside so we went to the back yard with Punky and Bodhi. Kidney Boy (or his mom, or his grandma, or someone) then let their dogs out, and they came out and started barking at us. The Girlfriend came outside to bring the dogs in, and, feeling a little guilty about my passive-aggressive battle with her and her parking abilities, A and I went inside. (After smiling politely at her.) Then we peered ominously out the window at them. Our antisocial tendencies could only have been more obvious if we'd hissed at her and then scurried into the house.