I went to the hospital to see the new critter, and was geared up for a profound experience, which never really got off the ground. I have, like, blue-balls of the heart. It didn't help that Miss Cookie's big, loud, bossy she-cow neighbor came in and hogged the baby and turned this intimate family scene into a coffee-klatch where she droned on and on about her great knowledge of babies. I mean, this was my first historic meeting with my new nephew, and she wouldn't even let me hold him...or talk to my sister without being interrupted. I really can't stand people like that, who suck the air out of everyone's lungs and feel entitled to because no one has the heart to say, "Please just shut up and let someone else talk."
Anyway, CookieBoy is adorable. Really, really cute. Looks, today at least, very much like his father.
I witnessed his father changing his diaper for the first time--a dicey operation, but handled with good humor.
It freaks me out how fragile babies are. And yet how loud they can cry. This little guy actually says, "Wah" when he cries--it made my heart melt.
Hearing the story of the labor and delivery was a little deflating, too. I mean, I wanted all the details so I could empathize with my sister, but with every gruesome revelation, my uterus groaned, "No....never!!"
As much as I tried not to let my spirits sink, by the time we were back in Brooklyn I was in tears. I am so sick of looking for work, sick of all the rejection, of not having any skills, of being broke and in debt. How many fucking resumes can I send out with no response at all, and how many interviews can I go on, only to be turned down, before I run amok? I know I'm not the only one, but that is not particularly helpful knowledge.
And, of course, tomorrow's the six month anniversary.
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