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Life with JJ -- the first months (cont'd)

Tuesday

Tired and bored. Strange how "sexless" I feel, absolutely no hormonal activity whatsoever. I'm so glad I'm not in a relationship. Since JJ's been born, I've only even masturbated once, and that was really only to see if everything still works.

It does.

I look out my window to the Park, which starts filling up with people around 6pm every evening, and think "normal people leading normal lives," and have to suppress a wistful sigh. Not that I want to be "normal" as in middle-class-suburbia- forever-amen, but I'm starting to feel like a hermit. And I know it's my own fault, that I need to get out more, but I'm so continually tired and lethargic that I can't seem to make the effort.

And so I sit, resigned to another evening of telly: Eastenders, The Bill, Brookside...it's scary really, how quickly I've taken to watching English soaps. I just hope it's not terminal.

Wednesday morning

A rough night last night -- he was straining and uncomfortable for hours before finally passing a motion and tons of wind around 6:30am. I wish I knew what to do about this.

Funny, really: I used to write about feelings of love and lust, interesting places, foreign lovers, philosophical meanderings; now I write about whether or not my son has "passed a motion," and how long it took him.

I feel horrible, my back is killing me, I'm exhausted, and Connor and I have degenerated to glaring at each other from across the room again. I know he's windy, and it's probably painful, and he's tired too, but I just can't make it better. So I leave all the little jobs I started half-done, and sit on the couch alternating between the Beatles and the vacuum cleaner (he seems to give them both equal attention -- in fact I think he likes the vacuum more, but it gets to me after a couple of minutes) and try to console him when it gets too bad. He is definitely glaring back, which is disconcerting.

Thursday

Connor and I went to a baby massage class today, it wasn't bad, about 6 women with their babies and Sean, who lead the class. I think I'm going to continue to attend, there was no one there that I felt like I "must get to know better," but it's a chance to get out.

I felt really self-conscious about the way I talk to him -- everyone was cooing at their babies and saying "Oooh, you like that, don't you," in sweet mommy voices, as I mumbled "This is nice, child, try to enjoy it" at mine.

Friday

Connor has been sleeping loads today, not quite sure what to make of it. We need to go to the shops and the post office, but the weather is bad, cold and windy, so we stay in. God knows how we are going to cope once winter starts and it's raining all the time. We'll become hermits.

Saturday, August 20th

Connor is starting to sort of hold onto my shoulder when I carry him or try to burp him. It's sweet, makes me feel like he has faith in me.

He stays quiet as long as I rock the car seat with my foot, but when I stop he starts moaning again within a couple of minutes. My leg is killing me, although I suppose it could be considered exercise. I fit into most of my clothes again, mainly due to the fact that I keep forgetting to eat.

Tuesday night

I watched something called "Out" on Channel 4 tonight, and I looked at JJ and caught myself thinking "You aren't going to end up gay, are you?" I'm shocked at myself for thinking that, and the undercurrent of prejudice in that thought.

It's hard to analyse, I think a part of me wants Connor to fall within society's standard of "normal," I want him to meet a nice girl, get married, have children and a nice house. This is probably reactive: I want him to have what I don't, the lifestyle which I have chosen not to pursue. Assumably once I stop watching couples jealously I will stop wishing middle class suburbia on my son. Hopefully.

The funny thing is, a lot of the time I feel like being single and not having to work on an additional relationship, nor worry about Connor's relationship with a third party, sometimes I think it is the only reason I'm able to cope at all.

Still, I wish Connor had a Dad, to teach him how to sweat, and explain the rules of football, and of course to take him off my hands occasionally without my having to feel guilty about it.

It's all so confusing. I hope I figure out what I want before Connor is old enough to notice.

At the very least, I'm going to have to learn what "offsides" means.