Okay, so I'm moving in a week, blah, blah, blah. Stress, stress, stress. I'm barely packed, other than my books, still haven't curbed or sold everything that needs to get its useless self outta my house, and we get the keys to the new place a week later than we thought we would. Still have to clean, patch walls, paint, pack, and basically haul our sorry asses all over God's countryside to get everything done. We won't have a couch for a few days and apparently it's nearly impossible to move one in to the new place. Can't wait to see if my new designated work area will actually be big enough. Excited to see if the closet space will be adequate and if there really is room in the bathroom for the litter box.
But I'm cool. Chill, even. And I hate that word "chill." Like when people say, "I like him, he's chill." I feel like giving that person a small slap on the cheek. But anyway, moving sucks. Everyone knows that.
What doesn't suck are blogs. I'm devotedly attached to STFU blogs. STFU Marrieds, STFU Parents, STFU Believers. I love them. Love, love, love. I can't start my day without reading their updates. Fill me with the bullshit of people who I don't have to know personally. Yes, please! And for good measure, top me up with some Lamebook.
I've learned a lot from STFU Parents, in particular. And from new parents on my friend list on Facebook, who are now updating their status more frequently. Or at all. Prior to parenthood, I suppose they didn't feel they had much they wanted to say.
Anyhoo, one of the things STFU Parents (and the young New Parents I know) is that babies explode poop. I did not know this. It seems to happen on some kind of regular basis. I never would have imagined that small little critter people (babies) expel more than their weight in excrement at various intervals. I will never hold someone's baby again. Imagine, all this time when I accepted offers to hold someone's infant, I was actually craddling a ticking poop bomb. And wasn't warned! WTF?
Another one of the things I've learned is that parents are fascinated by said poop: it's smell, texture, frequency, inconvenient places it happens... That and vomit. Many of the updates I've read in my own newsfeed are about disgusting bodily fluids, only presented as though these things are funny, and not making people like me question yet again whether having children is a good idea.
Frankly, right now the jury's still out. My uterus is really weighing its options right now, as the more gross parenthood sounds, the less I want to do it. And my womb can be pretty prissy, boy howdy.
In any case, I've signed a two-year lease for a one-bedroom apartment. Ain't no chance I'll be creating any new life for a wee while. I don't want one of those dresser drawer babies. My dresser's full.
I kid... I kid... But no really, I'd need a bigger dresser.