I was email chatting with a friend, who told me that one of our mutual friends from college, the girl who was Friends With Literally Everyone, has put herself on the college contact list as a “Do Not Contact.”

This is beyond strange because she was one of those people who, as I said, was friends with everyone, was nice to everyone, had time for everyone - you get where I’m going with this.

Since she got married, she’s pulled back from just about everyone, and now that she’s apparently cut herself off entirely from people who I thought were important to her (I know she’s kept in touch, or tried to, until recently) I am a bit suspicious.

Mostly I’m sad because she sent me a whole assortment of maternity clothing, and I can’t return it to her because I don’t know where to send it all. That, and being told in a blanket, “I don’t want to talk to y’all” kind of way that she’s done with everyone from back then makes me confused.

It’s not like her. And as my friend said in email, “Are we gonna hear about her on Dateline?”

So do I respect her request that no one contact her, even if I think I know better and am suspicious as to why she’s cutting herself off? Or do I email her and say, “What’s up?”

Probably the former. If she wants to be left alone, it’s not like I can’t identify with that statement. I feel like that much of the time, even if I don’t announce my misanthropic tendencies by telling a whole mess of people, “Don’t call me. Hear?”

Starshine gave me a nice smile when I read her entry today. She’s right - innocent enthusiasm and happiness are too easily missed and too important to skip. 

Un dur speegur, inch ke duf kedu!
Ve nur be sfeegur dur en BORK BORK BORK!

En dees veen dur Aprille du es du seventy-five degrees!
Ver day du errdeth, pur dude du toddler en du voooods.

Walk walk walk!

Ver toddler dude dur svee der say, “TREE! STICK! HI DOGGIE!”
Ver parent gee dur heavy dude dur carry much.

Walk walk walk!

Und den dur toddler dude der sveegen sleepy tie tie.
En dur timen fur dur nappen.

SLEEP SLEEP SLEEP!

Ur dur dee vun freeey guuuuuud.

Our day started at 7:30 am, when Freebird woke up. We gave him a bottle, then took him to get his hair cut. He wasn’t too crazy about the clippers or having his head held still, but he did well for the most part. Hubby says he’s seen kids in the barber shop that scream the whole time.

Of course, I had to give Freebird my Blackberry to keep him amused, but whatever keeps the peace.

We went to the local family diner for breakfast, which I LOVE because there aren’t any dishes to do when we’re done, but I get to eat a hot breakfast. Freebird ate half a cantaloupe, plus a pancake and some Cheerios. I had pancakes and coffee - lots of coffee.

Then we went up to Ikea to get a chair for the Freebird. I found one online this week that was about $34, and I knew the Ikea would be the least crowded when it opened. So we went in, checked out the kid’s furniture, which was meh, and found the chair. Now, online it looked great but in real life it was a very cute slipcover on a chair made of stiff styrofoam. For $34?! Hubby figured we’d come out to the Ikea and we did want to get a small dude-friendly chair, so he put it in the cart and we headed out. Then it rang up for $17, and I was very, very pleased. For $17 I’m perfectly happy to slipcover some styrofoam.

Freebird then took an unbelievable nap for 3 hours, and Hubby and I rearranged the living room a bit to make it less cluttered - this was only a partial success because like everyone else, we have Too Much Stuff. But the living room looks better now that we took out a side table and moved the Pack n’ play into a hall.

After the Bird woke up, we went to the zoo, which was awesome safe for 2 things. 1, it was 75 degrees, and 2, Hubby and I were dressed as if it were 60. I was wearing a rugby and cropped khakis, and poor Hubby was in jeans. It was warm - and the zoo was out of drinks in the vending machines so there wasn’t a beverage to be found. I was seriously considering drinking the penguin pond water.

Freebird loved the monkeys, the penguins, and the ducks - and the bears and wolves came right up to the viewing window so he got a great look at them.

I was about ready to call it a day, but a toddler? PAH! We went to the playground after a snack, and slid down the big kid’s slide, which gave Mommy a mild heart attack. Now it’s Wiggle Time and then Dinner Time, and then Bedtime.

Hubby and I are going to sleep WELL tonight. We hope he does too. Hint hint, Freebird. 

Dear Old Navy:

I have purchased from you an anorak for Freebird, since it’s only April and he will certainly need a rain jacket that fits. The anorak was reasonably priced, and, not the least bit ironically, navy.

I have received said anorak, and I want to ask: why in the name of potpourri do you think that an anorak should be made of non-waterproofed not-even-waxed cotton that is so thin I can see through it? According to this article, an anorak, or parka, is “[s]trictly speaking, an anorak is a waterproof jacket with a hood and drawstrings at the waist and cuffs.”

Waterproof? My ASS this is waterproof. Who are you kidding? One good sneeze and this thing will be sopping.

I’ve half a mind to return it since Freebird has plenty of jackets, but I await Hubby’s judgment on that one.

Either way, anorak my ass.

Sarah

Seems my new abode is too new to attract weird searches for Clitorious, but I poop from there, and various requests for people in bikinis waxing things. So alas, there will be no Friday referrals.

So in its stead, I offer random Friday Quotes:

And he went on, and there was yellow light, and fire within;
and the evening meal was ready, and he was expected.
And Rose drew him in, and set him in his chair, and put
little Elanor upon his lap.
He drew a deep breath.  ‘Well, I’m back,’ he said
—J.R.R. Tolkien, “The Return of The King”

+++

A trainstation is where a train stops.
A bus station is where a bus stops.
I have a workstation in the office.

+++

The government of the United States is not, in any sense, founded on the Christian religion.
—G. Washington, 1796

+++

A person who is nice to you, but rude to the waiter, is not a nice person.
—Dave Barry, “25 Things I Have Learned in 50 Years”

+++

There’s so much comedy on television.  Does that cause comedy in the streets?
—Dick Cavett

A la Tink: Random 5 minutes of thought.

There’s a bright ball of warm light in the sky, which I am told is called “the sun.” It’s been so long since I’ve seen it, I’m not sure what it is, or what to do with it so I mostly stand on the corner and bask in it.

Last Friday I went to lunch with my cousin and the sun came out for a moment while we were eating. I don’t even remember what he was saying but I totally leaned into the warmth coming in the window and enjoyed it until the sun went back behind a cloud. I don’t think I’ve seen the sun since then except for yesterday afternoon when the clouds from the Bastard Nameless Nor’Easter cleared out. It’s nicer when a storm has a name because then you can curse at it by name. This is just “that Storm.” “That storm” done messed up Jersey, for sure. The freaking MALLS are closed due to floods. That’s like a natural disaster of horribly epic proportions for Jersey. What will people do on the weekend?!

In other news, I keep feeling little tumbles and nudges from Baba O’Riley, who seems to really enjoy it when I eat. Which is fine with me because I also enjoy eating. But unlike when I was pregnant with Freebird, I’m so busy with my life that I don’t sit around and get all mooney over being pregnant like I did the first time. I’m BUSY. But then I get a little bubble or a kick in the back and I think, “Oh. Hello, there How you doin?” It’s so weird to think that I just sit here, tapping away, and I grow a person. Whereas I thought about that a lot more frequently (and spent a LOT of time on Babycenter, OMG-a-lot, as a result) with Freebird, this time, I know what’s happening and I’m used to it. But the bubbly little nudge reminders are very comforting. Sometimes I imagine conversations with Bbo’R, where I ask how things are and what’s going on, and usually I get a very happy little vibe of, “Things are good! I’m growing some stuff today!”

Next week we have my favorite ultrasound, the 20 week full body measurement, where the technician, who we like a LOT, measures all the parts and we get, like, a two hour visit with Baba O’Riley. I’m so looking forward to it.

Hubby pointed out wisely that I’ve been having some trouble with hip pain, and perhaps it might be caused by the fact that, with Freebird, I was taking prenatal yoga once a week, and this time I am not. He suggested I start taking prenatal yoga again, and it is a wise suggestion - except for the part that by the time I got to the end of my pregnancy with Freebird, I was about ready to kill the yoga instructor. For one thing, she kept turning off the air conditioner, and it was freaking September and hot as all get out. For another, she didn’t believe in deoderant, so if you add that plus no a/c to a room full of pregnant, olfactorily-sensitive women, and you have one unhappy pregnant lady.

But the thing that bothered me the most was the fact that the instructor was also a doula, and she had a definite agenda as to how our births should be. For a lot of first time mothers who were fearful of labor, having this comforting voice telling us that she had a plan for us that would help us have a meaningful birth experience sounded very reassuring and other students latched onto her like I latch on to chocolate candy at 3pm.

But for me, I found the subtle reinforcement of her agenda offensive and ignorant, and disrespectful of my choices to have the birth I wanted, not the birth she thought I should have. When I pointed out that I didn’t have a birth plan because I couldn’t possibly predict what would happen, she said I was surrendering my rights and giving all the power to the health care professionals. That was, I said, why I chose a midwife, so that while I was working on birthing a baby, someone I trusted (e.g. NOT THAT SMELLY YOGA LADY) would be taking care of me. When the idea of having a birth someplace other than a hospital came up, I had to open my big mouth and say that I had a lethal medical allergy, and didn’t want to give birth anywhere BUT a hospital where there was plenty of epinephrine all over the place.

But what really drove me to refrain from attending class again was her anti-epidural stance, that we could breathe through the contractions and stand the pain. I did manage to keep my mouth shut at that point, but my position was slightly different: I had six root canals in my 8th month of pregnancy. Three sessions on two teeth. And you can bet your sweet smelly ass that I had anaesthesia when I had that dental work - though it was a weaker drug that wore off quicker, as I couldn’t have the stronger stuff since it might amp up baby’s and my heartrate beyond a safe rhythm. So imagine my approach to epidurals in light of that experience. Tiny little drill in my molar vs. EIGHT POUND BABY IN THE VALLEY OF MY LOTUS BLOSSOM? Novocaine vs. breathing through it? Breathing my ass. Pass the drugs.