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Sometimes the Library of Congress classifications of a book crack me up.

1. Book collecting—Fiction. 2. Investment bankers—Fiction. 3. Manuscripts, Medieval—Fiction. 4. Medievalists—Fiction. 5. Nobility—Fiction.



Heh, just realized I'd not actually synced the last few days up. I'm out of practice fo sho.

Felt like I should preserve this somewhere more "mine" than the Reddit thread I posted it in the other day. A woman was upset about not feeling "over the moon in love" with her baby. Who is negative several months from being born yet. It's a frustrating thing in our culture that there's this expectation that as a mother, you get super obsessed with loving your baby when it's not even a separate entity yet, and that you have this explosion of love the first time you see your child. Not that I doubt people like that exist, but from my own experience, and from those of several women I've talked to, it's nowhere near as common as the general perception would have it. Anyway, what I told her:

Affection for someone you've never met is pretty hard to generate. With my first, I joked-not-joked about him being a parasite right up until he was born. My first, exhausted, words to him, right after he was handed to me fir the first time, were "you asshole!"

The first three months I struggled a lot. I felt an intense duty to this tiny creature, but love? I don't know. I'd really hesitate to call it that. Mostly I focused on keeping him alive and cared for.

But over time, it turns out, I got to know him, as he metamorphosised from a lump into a baby, and affection grew. Love is now a word, two years in, that I smile into my son's face every day. I remember what it was like to not love him yet, and it doesn't mean I cherish him any less now. After all, it took me some time to fall in love with my husband, too, and he wasn't crying and pooping on me while not letting me sleep!

There are some people who get that love feeling a lot earlier than I did. They're just different than me, and perhaps you, emotionally speaking!

Try not to stress about it too much, and concentrate on how awesome you'll strive to be at keeping the munchkin alive until love grows.

(Am currently constantly referring to the baking #2 as a parasite. I might try to not have first words be a sweary insult this time, though. I still haven't lived that down from the husband, who gleefully tells my son about it regularly. And then we both tell him that we love him, because we really, really do.)



I despise automated toilets from the very depths of my soul. I don't know whose workflow they succeed with, but it's definitely not mine. It's nearly always "hey, surprise bidet!" and if not that, then it's "Jesus H Christ, do I have to sacrifice a chicken to make you flush?!"

This is all to preface that my co-worker changed my life a couple months ago when the subject came up (as it sometimes does) at lunch. With a "no big deal" shrug, he causually dropped a total knowledge bomb: "Yeah, they're annoying, which is why I just cover up the sensor with a bit of toilet paper, and brush it into the toilet when I'm done. Keeps it from triggering early, and the motion of the removal is always enough to trigger it when done."

Mind. Blown.



Aight, the official time of keeping-mum has past! First trimester has been cleared, various people have been announced to, and so I can finally admit that the reason I've been so hushed is the ongoing bakery of wee one #2. Little brother is due January 2nd!

Just like last time, one of the unfortunate first trimester symptoms was pretty intense nausea, particularly exacerbated by using my laptop at home. Something about the combination of the brightness of screen, focal length from my eyes to my lap, and angle of use conspire towards a massive whirlwind of horkery. Computer use outside of work became 100% suboptimal for quite a while. Not to mention that many nights out of the last three months I was crashing to bed at like 8:45pm.

Hosting a parasite is serious business hard work.

Thankfully, the nausea this time seems to have subsided right around the end of the first trimester, vs last time when I was barfy until well into the second half of the second trimester. Having a toddler to chase around means I feel a lot more physically run down vs last time around, but being tired is eminently more dealable-with than the constant nausea. Ugh. Let's all knock on wood for good outcomes, because 2 kids has always been the plan, and having to do a 3rd pregnancy to hit that target gives me a definite >_< face.

Anyway, that's the lowdown. Just another sixish months to go. Because yeah, that person who always said they didn't want a Christmas baby is getting her kharmic due for sure. Hoping I can convince kiddo numero dos to be a lot less punctual than his brother was... a birthday at least a week after New Year's would be much appreciated, there, little alien-o-mine.