Pig-pickin' time

I am here, safe and sound, with no hurricane in sight. Imagine that!

T's family is very sweet, and completely enamored of Peanut. There are presents for her from her grandmama's neighbor and even her grandmama's Realtor, and she's being charming to everyone she meets. She was an angel on the trip down -- I was far whinier than she. My mother-in-law bought us a barbecue dinner last night. I know I probably gained 10 pounds, but they're a delicious 10 pounds. If you've never had Eastern Carolina barbecue, you are missing something wonderful.

The perfect girlfriend is not here. She decided at the last minute to go to a friend's wedding instead. I would like to think it is because she found the idea of meeting me too intimidating. I do not deserve this reprieve, of course, and to be honest, I did actually want to meet her and thank her for the lovely baby clothes she sent for which I have yet to send a thank-you note.

I have, however, been receiving some predictable assvice regarding the raising of my child (To be fair, this rant involves comments that have been made not just here, but other places too). Can we all get something clear here, if it wasn't already? I am lazy. I will absolutely do the easiest thing I can get away with, as long as the outcome is the similar to the hard way. So maybe, just maybe, there is a reason that I don't just "flip on the light and let her deal with it" when I need light to change the baby in the middle of the night and instead do elaborate things with a flashlight (I have headlamps that I can't find but refuse to buy another because I do have them somewhere, dammit) and a nightlight. Instead of jumping out of bed and running to her crib in another room when she needs to eat or have her pacifier replaced (you know what? I don't give a rat's ass if she's one of those four year-olds with a pacifier in her mouth as long as I get some sleep now), I think it might be a better idea to just reach over into the bassinet by the bed and take care of it. I'm pretty sure by the time she's twelve she'll want her own room, and if the only way/place you can think of to have sex with your significant other is in your bed at night then I feel sorry for you because obviously didn't get any when you were in high school or living in your college dorm. And before anyone even starts on the nursing thing, her formula costs twenty-five bucks a can, so unless you are planning on donating towards the fund I think I will continue to nurse her for a while, thanks. And even when she doesn't need formula as an alternative anymore, I might keep nursing her anyway, just because I want to, and she's my kid so I can do it if I feel like it, so there.

I don't pretend to have all the answers. I know that the fact that she is perfectly willing to sleep in her crib as well as in my bedroom has nothing to do with any divine parenting skills I have. She's going to do what she's going to do, and right now I feel like my job is to just roll with it, and make it as easy on us both as it can possibly be. I have no interest in micromanaging my child's life, imposing rules on her for the sake of the rules. I know that I will want my bedroom back someday, and that day may come before she wants to leave it. But I'm not doing what I'm doing and blithely ignoring the future ramifications of my actions. Perhaps, in my home, it is worth it to me to have her here, listening to her breathing, peeking over at her with my dying flashlight, while I can. My kid, my house, my rules, okay?