Oh I know, I’ll write about my BABY. But you know, that’s my job now, this baby, and so at the end of the day, that’s the thing I talk about. And you need to know that I have had some WEIRD jobs, one of which required my attendance at a function so sketchy it necessitated that my then 17-year-old brother accompany me and pretend he was an architect named Tim, which is weird because now he’s an architect named Phil. And then I tried to quit that job twice but was ignored both times, so I kept going to work.

10pm - Get tired but avoid going to bed because bed is torture. Watch Parks and Rec and dabble on Pinterest to distract from that heavy belly feeling. Research potty training methods, cognac boots, and stair runners.

12am - Go to bed because staying awake is getting overwhelming and belly is very heavy and tired.

12:15am - Get up and go to the bathroom.

12:45am - Get up and eat 1/2 a banana because whoa whoa hungry.

1:00am - Ugh heartburn stupid banana. Take a Tums. Sing Tums song.

1:15am - Wide awake. Stare into the abyss.

So here’s the thing. When you have a baby you have to deal with all this super gross stuff. Like the baby is really, really cute, but simultaneously the baby is capable of Great Evil. Particularly Great Evil in the diaper area. And as a rule for my life, I prefer not to speak about, think about, or deal with this particular kind of Evil in any capacity. Like weird bathroom humor – not my style. I find it irritating. And yet here I am, thrust into this world where I must analyze and deal with and strategize about the Great Evil on a daily basis. It’s jarring. And sometimes the Evil is so very Great that I am stunned about how to deal with it, and later, at the end of my day, I realize that battling the Great Evil was the most adrenaline-inducing event of my day. That’s a strange idea to get my head wrapped around, although let’s be real, heads do not, by nature, wrap around anything.

Last night our mom and dad took us to Chick-Fil-A, and the drive-thru guy was like THOSE DOGS ARE SO FUNNY YOU CAN’T EVEN SEE THEIR EYES and we said THANKS GIRL then we realized… GIRL WE GOT FLUFFY AGAIN! Wut wut wut wut! And then we were like GIRL GIVE US SOME FRIES and then we were like OOPS YOU’RE NOT A GIRL SO WHY DO WE KEEP SAYING THAT? and he was all “It’s cool,” and Dad was like “stop sniffing my chocolate milkshake,” and Mom was like I WROTE A SONG:

Le de da de de

We are so fluffy

Can’t see anything

Barking at whatever we waaaant

Well outside world, it was lovely knowing you and walking around in your sunshine and driving to your Chick-Fil-As and then eating the Chick-Fil-A and then being sad that the Chick-Fil-A was all gone. But now I must become a hermit and watch Law and Order: SVU marathons for the rest of my sad life because I am being held hostage in my own home. The front door is being swarmed by giant moths that I am certain are plotting to eat my baby. When I open the front door even a smidge, a few zoom in and eventually die underneath the lamp in the front room, but before that they smack their strange little bodies back and forth in the lamp shade to torment me.