Thursday, November 16, 2006

Fun with Sugar Daddy

Last night I told Sugar Daddy about a mother and baby who were at the weaning workshop yesterday. The baby is 14 months old, often awake until 2 in the morning, wakes 7 or 8 times a night, sleeps in until 10 if nothing rings or beeps, and doesn't really nap during the day, except for occasional 20-minute catnaps. So apparently there are worse sleepers than Swee'pea. But the mother is a saint with seemingly endless reserves of patience and hasn't lost her idealism. She also has a very active sex life.

"How do they do that?!?" Sugar Daddy asked with incredulity. To which I responded, "I have no idea."

Then, he asks, "Did she just declare this out of the blue?"

"Well," I said, "it sort of came up I suppose. We were talking about birth control and breastfeeding, and I half jokingly mentioned that, er, birth control seemed to be sorta taking care of itself in our family. Then she said, that it's a big deal to her because she has a VERY active sex life."

"--So yes, she did just declare it out of the blue."

"Well, it was after I declared our lack of a sex life."

"Oh. Great."

* * *

One of the more exhausting tasks for me is getting out the door with Swee'pea. Going for walks isn't so bad because I can get him dressed and plunk him in the stroller while I gather supplies up and get myself dressed for the outdoors. But car outings stress me out. I always try to get everything to the car in one trip, and even with Sugar Daddy's help when we're going out as a family, it still gets me down. My new photographic endeavous haven't helped.

The other day Sugar Daddy took Swee'pea, all dressed, while I gathered things up. My arms were full of crap, a baby mum mum, my purse, the camera, and some other crap (I know, I should try using something called a bag). When I narrowly missed dropping the camera, I had to take a moment and bellow in frustration.

"Sometimes," I said to Sugar Daddy, "Life is just so tiring."

"Yeah, I know. That's why people had slaves."

* * *

Years ago we bought a crappy old second-hand tv from a pawn shop. It's so old it has a knob that you pull out to turn it on and twist to change the volume, and dials to change the channels (except we have a digital cable box so we don't use the dials). For the last year or two, occasionally the picture and sound disappear and we have to slap it upside the head to get them back. Last spring, we finally decided it was time to get a new tv. I figured we'd spend a couple hundred dollars and that would be that. But no.

Even though Sugar Daddy doesn't really watch much tv (although he watches considerably more since I started blogging and he can't get much time on the computer), he decided that he simply must have a top of the line plasma tv, the biggest that would fit into the corner. But I just cannot spend $2000 on a tv. I just can't. It's my biggest guilty pleasure and although I love the shows I watch and enjoy blogging about them, I still feel like watching tv is a brain-sucking waste of time. I just cannot stomach the thought of spending that much on such a worthless pursuit. Usually, we don't have a hard time coming to agreement on purchases; it usually matters more to one of us and the other just capitulates (ok, so usually it's Sugar Daddy who capitulates).

Anyway, here we are, like 10 months later, still with the same old tv, whose crap-outs are becoming more and more frequent, and we're bruising our hands trying to slap the thing back into submission, and several times the slaps haven't even worked. Like this morning and yesterday morning, we had to just turn the beast off, and wait until it was ready to come out again.

We shelved the Great TV Debate over the summer, and the old beast behaved itself for most of the summer. But now it's really becoming a pain in the hand, plus I worry about Swee'pea seeing us hit it so much, so hard and so loudly.

I think, though, we may have finally reached an agreement. I think we're just going to buy another crappy second-hand one until the fancy plasma ones come down to a price I can stomach paying.

* * *

I had an embarrassing encounter with a neighbour on Saturday. I think I scared him.

If you remember, Saturday was the day of my muffin top unveiling. So I was a bit nervous. And the dress rehearsal for my number was scheduled for 3:12 to 3:24 in the afternoon, and we had to be there at least 15 minutes early. I wanted to be there earlier than that to get into my costume and make sure I could stick enough pins in to avoid any catastrophic wardrobe malfunctions.

Around 1:30, Sugar Daddy announced that he wanted to get his hair cut and beard trimmed. So off he went, with my firm instructions to return by 2:45 at the ABSOLUTE LATEST. He decided to take the car, because it would be faster. But after he left, I realized that it didn't leave me with many alternatives if he turned out to be late after all. Oh well, he's absent minded but he's usually pretty good about being on time for things that are important.

Anyways, by 2:45 I was starting to get upset. I put my shoes and coat on, got my stuff together, plunked a toque on Swee'pea and paced back and forth, stepping outside to look down the street for the car. No joy. At 2:47 I called the hairdresser's he said he was going to. But no one was there by his name. Yay! That meant he was coming home, right? Wrong. By 2:53 I was furious.

Enter nice neighbour. He's young, maybe early to mid twenties, and single, I think. He bought the place across the street from us (next to the people with the Matrix) a couple of years ago and immediately painted the siding barn red with blue trim, which I think is cute. He has an old jeep that I see him fixing quite regularly. He actually removes wheels, all by himself, AND puts them back on. He's friendly, although I don't think he realized we had a baby until just a few weeks ago, when he said, "Oh! That's why I don't see you very often... well if you ever need anything, just let me know." I think I must have looked confused about what he meant (he didn't seem like the right person to ask for an egg or baking powder). So he said, "I have lots of tools, if you ever want to borrow anything." I thought this was really sweet, and thanked him.

Anyways back to Saturday. The nice neighbour happened to say hello, when I was in the throes of anxiety and anger that I was going to be late for tech time (I think I've mentioned before that I'm compulsive about punctuality. I hate being late.). He made the mistake of asking me how I was.

"Ok," I said, "But [SD] was supposed to home 20 minutes ago (ok I exaggerated that part a bit) and I was supposed to be somewhere 10 minutes ago."

"Oh, do you need a ride somewhere?" he very kindly offered.

"Well, yeah, but I'd have to take [Swee'pea] and his car seat's in our car. So, basically, I'm FUCKED!" (I yelled the last word across the street.)

He didn't say much to that. And right then, Sugar Daddy drove up. I promptly handed Swee'pea to him, got in the car and drove away. Well, ok, I did take about 30 seconds to reem him out first. I think the nice neighbour was still outside to see my my furious hand gestures. Turns out, Sugar Daddy went to the good barber, instead of the fast one. And when I got the theatre, they were still setting the lighting up so I wasn't even late after all. Sometimes I'm a real knob.

8 comments:

Beck said...

Eh, sometimes I'm a real knob too.
My first baby just WRECKED my sex life for a solid year after her birth - but I must say that things are better than ever. It just takes time for a couple of figure out their post-baby sexuality.

And I have the art of leaving the house with small children down to a solid science - seriously, fill up your diaper bag with everything you're going to want the next day, and put it RIGHT by the front door. So much easier!

Mad Hatter said...

I always wonder about the motivations of people who need to declare just how active their sex life is. I think your situation is likely a much more accurate reflection of new parentdom than the frisky mother's is. And I'm not just saying that b/c I too have a child who insists on sleeping in my bed.

I too share the punctuality anxiety followed closely by the "you're making me late" rage.

cinnamon gurl said...

Yeah, I wonder about her motivations too. But I'm pretty sure her baby sleeps in their bed too. And she's a member of La Leche League and an earth mother type... I'm really quite mystified how they do it.

bubandpie said...

That conversation at the beginning of the post should have a "Do Not Read Within Earshot of Sleeping Children." I'd say LOL but it was more like SIWSL (Shaking Internally With Suppressed Laughter).

jen said...

you are hilarious.

i have the best sex ever. best. constant. all the time. sideways. always.

jesus. please. kidding.

Em said...

I didn't work out my post baby sexuality until I was done having babies... once my body belonged to me once more (for good) something inside me reignited - much to my husband's delight ;)

ewe are here said...

I'll never forget waiting to check out of the hospital - finally! - 8 days after giving birth to MF. The NHS nurse-type person assigned to check you comes in with a huge packet of things they have to go through with you before they let you leave. So, she's flipping through the paperwork, one topic at a time, and up comes 'birth control'. So she asks what my husband and I will be doing out birth control until/if we're ready for the next one. I just laughed. For god's sake, sitting was still awkward - I had some stiches people! - sex was not going to be an issue for a few months! But I humored her and had the discussion.

And bonus points for me: my mom was sitting in the room holding MF, trying very hard to 'not listen'.
;-)

Oh, and I am also the 'packer' for the family. Otherwise, I'm sure we'd leave the house without little person essentials. I'd rather bring a little too much than not have the change of clothes, the extra pullup, etc.

Cheers

cinnamon gurl said...

Hee hee, Em, I've heard about your showers... ;)