Much Lost and Galactica stuff below the break. Some baby and angsty stuff too. I’m just giving you a chance to punch your ejection seat now in case all of that bores you. :-p Because trust me, it will.
This is turning into “I called it a long time ago” week – I had a feeling, at the beginning of the season, that Lee would wind up as the president of the colonies on Galactica, and I had a feeling about a year ago that the guy in the coffin was John Locke on Lost. Despite all of the crap that’s happened to those folks on the island, Locke was the only one struck me as being unhinged enough that making it back home would be a road that would still lead him to take his own life. (I also pegged way ahead of time how Michael would be making his exit. That, I’ll admit, left me kinda empty – no real comeuppance feeling there.)
Is there anything I didn’t guess ahead of time with Lost? Yeah – I’ll admit that I thought Desmond was going to bite it, which I was kinda okay with, since that would’ve meant Henry Ian Cusick would now be open to be the next Doctor Who**, which is something I’d really like to see him in. But I was caught flat-footed there – he not only survived, but seems to get something of a happy ending. Temporarily. I don’t think anyone’s gonna get out of this show unscathed. There’s just too much left to do with Desmond and his unique ability.
Galactica: you know, before they pulled the trigger on it, I jokingly made the comment at first that Lampkin was dreaming the cat like Baltar does with Six, and then later I predicted that the cat was, as they say, in the bag. Though that time I thought I was joking. Ick.
Moving on along that unfortunate subject, Othello is losing weight again and is due to go back to the vet on Monday. I’m bracing myself for really bad news at this point – he spends a lot of his day sleeping somewhere where I can’t find him, and he doesn’t do much. I pick him up and cuddle him, but he tires of it pretty quickly- he wants to be left alone. (I’ve seen him give the same reaction to Olivia and Oberon when they gang up on him and start grooming him, which is a bit of a role reversal – Othello’s normally the first one to try to wash them up. I guess he’s a metrosexual cat.) Strangely, for all of this time spent alone, one place where you can count on finding him, awake or asleep, is near Evan. It’s like he likes watching over the kid, though I guess Othello’s nerves are worn pretty thin, because at the first hint of crying, that black cat is so outta there.
And the black cat has been outta there a lot lately, because Evan’s had a string of super fussy days (and nights); he’s getting to where he dislikes daytime naps. Greatly. His daytime napping, by the time he needs to go down for the night, amounts to all of about an hour (and keep in mind, his nap time is about the only time that I have an opportunity to do things like shower, excrete solid waste, take my own nap…). He simply refuses to sleep. He’d rather crawl around in his crib. Then he gets frustrated with the extremely limited area available then and either starts trying to climb out of it (which finally made lowering the height of the spring/mattress an absolute must) or starts screaming. He has a playpen with more crawling space. He hates that too. He likes being held by me for about 5-10 minutes at a time, or sitting on my knee, or what have you. And then he hates that. I’m running kinda low on backup too. I haven’t been able to put him down long enough to mow the yard, front or back, since the recent rains, so we have two-foot tall grass all around the house. And in any case, even if I could hand him off the mom, I’m completely effing exhausted by the time she gets home. His lack of sleep is directly tied in to mine, and we’ve both got dark circles under our eyes. I’m worried about him wearing out his body and getting sick at this rate. My nerves have been shot lately because of this, and I’m not sure what to do. I used to be the stay-at-home dad who kinda had it together, and then suddenly the ground rules have changed, and I’m not exactly sure how or why. In my more exhausted helpless moment, I find myself feeling like this kid would be better off with anyone other than me as his father, because I just feel utterly clueless. I’ve been a little short-tempered because of this lately, so as a result I’ve been biting my tongue and keeping my mouth shut on message boards and whatnot.
Part of my frustration is that my own ground rules are changing too. I haven’t blogged about this before now, but I’m on a diet, and I’m actually doing well with it, though I’m not sure if it’s for a good reason that anyone should be congratulating me for. It’s mainly because dealing with the fussy moody boy leaves me little time to do anything like prepare a meal, and I wind up walking around carrying him, so that’s kind of like a surrogate for actual exercise. I’m losing weight not because I’m eating well and working out. I’m losing weight because I’m eating very little and hauling a 20 pound baby around. I mean, I’m not ingrateful for the end result, but they’re more of a symptom of a problem I’m having than a cause for celebration.
I really hate feeling this way about my daddy duty because I love staying home with Evan, and getting to see him grow every day. I love him clinging to me and saying “BAH BAH BAH BAH BAH!” I love him holding a long piece of string while I have him in the high chair – he moves the string around while he’s eating, and Olivia or Obi or both of them will play with whatever end(s) are dangling in the floor. 😆 I love all this stuff, and I love my son, and yet here lately I’ve been getting so frustrated with him, and I feel an incredible amount of guilt because of that. And worry, because this is of course just the tip of the iceberg compared to the ways he’ll be trying my patiences as he grows older. Part of my frustration is summed up by a goof that I made while responding to an e-mail about the DVD this week. I meant to type “stay at home dad” but somehow it came out “single dad” and I didn’t catch it before I hit the send button. I’m not a single dad, but obviously there’s something going on subconsciously there that needs some dealing with. (Of course, depending on who reads this blog, I might end up being a single dad after admitting that. 😆 ) Between the guilt and the frustration and the exhaustion, I’m recognizing that I’ve become really, really depressed, which isn’t something I was really expecting to be running into out of nowhere eight months into this gig.
I know that a lot of this probably just boils down to me needing to man up and get over it, but sometimes that’s easier to say than to do.
One last note completely unconnected to anything I’ve ranted about here: anyone who actually comments on the blog at theLogBook instead of at Myspace can rejoice: the captcha is now history! Well, kinda. It might reappear if the system checks your comment and finds that it tastes of spam and elderberries*** but I don’t think that’ll happen too often. I’ve left an insanely large list of drug names and a few other choice words in the “instant delete” filter to help take some of the load off of the anti-spam plugin I’m now using. I still hope to upgrade Scribblings to a newer version of WP soon, but it’s just a matter of finding the time and being able to concentrate on getting the upgrade to “take” this time. The captcha simply wasn’t slowing down the spam, and when I went in tonight – admittedly after not having logged into the blog for 3 days or so – I was greeted with a few thousand comments being held for moderation. I just don’t have the time or patience to deal with that.
* to paraphrase former U of A football coach Houston Nutt.
** because I’m gonna predict that around this time next year we’ll be talking about the next Doctor Who.
*** or just spam.
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