It's only just started but I've been pretty busy. I've done a ton of sewing in the past few days. From finishing another 2 burp cloths (so exciting I know), to making my first ever fitted sheet (which is surprisingly easy), to sewing elastic for the first time (you have to pull it while sewing but the trick is knowing how much to pull... apparently much more than I had thought), to starting on my 2nd (and final) version of my baby wearing wrap (which I had to stop because I was starting to get upset with my sewing machine at this point).
One of the things that is super important to me when it comes to Bean, is trying to minimize our carbon footprint by making sustainable, non toxic options. With this in mind, most (98%) of what we've purchased clothing wise has all come from 2nd hand stores. This past weekend, I dragged Paul with me to finish getting enough bare minimum clothing basics to cover us for the newborn/0-3 month stage. Of course, ironies of all ironies, while we were there Paul spotted this Habs onesie. Go figure. I guess it's a sign that I'm about to be outnumbered and no matter how much I might want to thwart gender norms and roles, the universe is about to teach me some hard lessons about accepting that boys are want to be boys, regardless of what I might have to say about it. (That and I need to let Paul have his baby Daddy moments of joy).
Hormonally I've been all over the place this week. I think Bean is growing like crazy, which means that my sleep has been less than stellar and my moods... well let's just leave it at not so great. I think Paul might have been frightened by the amount of times I cursed both my sewing machine and my laptop this weekend.
In fact, he turned to me at one point and asked: "Would you swear out loud as much if I wasn't here in the next room?" The answer of course is yes. My cussing at inanimate objects is purely independent of his listening in or a need for sympathy. I literally have had to accept, both Saturday and Sunday, that I needed to step away from whatever I was working on because I was getting too upset.
On one hand, I think that my rage was merited because both laptop and sewing machine were being pains in the ass, but.... hormones might have taken my rage to a whole new level. Shhh, don't tell Paul I admitted that!
When I wasn't busy getting irate at machines, I was busy laughing at Paul's antics.
Between explaining the rather complex but flawed logic behind the art of asking the Magic 8 Ball for great life advice (or using it to win a pseudo battle of the sexes) and ironing washcloths because they curl and don't fold right...
Paul continues to amuse me.
Some days though, I do feel a bit guilty about the fact that I document these stories for posterity's sake, but then again, given that he chooses not to participate in said documentation, I really shouldn't feel guilty about it. If it really bothered him, he could add his own stories into the mix. Now the question is, will he continue to let me maintain my innocent, foible free persona in the family history or will he rise to the [hint, hint] challenge? Either way, I see it as a win for me!