Narcolepsy

OK, question: will this linea negra ever go away? This woman from my prenatal group said she scrubbed hers off in the shower. But 1. I never shower anymore and 2. No, sometimes I do, but my line hasn’t come off. Perhaps her husband drew hers on while she was sleeping? Linea eyelinera, anyone?

Speaking of that woman, she is totally not my friend. She and another woman from prenatal group invited me to be their New Mummy Friend and Trombone and I took two buses and a skytrain to meet their Kitsilano asses for coffee two weeks ago. And then she never called me. They were going to meet up every Tuesday. Two Tuesdays have passed. I have been officially declared Not Cool Enough to be a Kitsilano Mummy Friend.

No, I can’t call them.

Because! I hate calling people!

And plus we had nothing in common. For example, I shared a story about how I had fed Trombone at the bus stop on my way to meet them for coffee. I believe I used the phrase “whip out the boob” and described with delight how the bus stop faced the train tracks (at the new VCC-Clark Skytrain Station, for you Vancouverites) and I got to use my leopard print bra to welcome the VIA Rail passengers to Vancouver. Shortly after, the conversation moved to stylish, discreet public breastfeeding, complete with a viewing of the one woman’s hooter hider.

And. They are never coming to New Westminster and I cannot bear the thought of going to Kitsilano with any sort of regularity. Unless it were to see a friend. I do know people in Kitsilano who are nice.

Anyway. Yesterday I went downtown and had lunch with a cool woman with whom I have more things in common than the hooter hiders. Now, I probably won’t see much of her either (though I hope I do) but that’s because she is just finishing up her year of maternity leave while I am starting mine.

Two weeks ago, when I last took transit, Trombone appeared to really enjoy it and by enjoy I mean “fell asleep so his mother could stare out the window in peace and occasionally swat at the hands of strangers who were reaching in his stroller to stroke his sleeping cheek.” But yesterday? 2 weeks wiser? No ma’am. He napped for a bit on our way downtown, then woke up on the skytrain (approximately 1 pm) and stayed awake until, um, let’s see: 7:30 pm (and no, he was not at his most endearing for those 6.5 hours holy crap can the kid scream when he’s tired and is it ever a long walk uphill [both ways! really! it’s New Westminster!] home from the skytrain station) when we put him in the swing and then we took him out of the swing at 9:30 and took him upstairs and put him in his bed and he slept until 5:20 am.

He has continued to sleep all morning, with a couple of awake hours here and there. And now I have this song in my head, even though the lyrics are not strictly applicable.

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Dear Arwen,
Thank you for lending us the Swing Of Magical Powers. May the peace you have facilitated return to you one-million-fold and may you someday have laundry facilities that are not a block away because holy crap, woman, 10 loads of laundry?

ps: I promise to stop saying “Holy Crap” so much.

The End.