Blog a la Cart

It’s been quiet here at BlogalaCart, so I may now just be writing into the abyss that is the Internet.

Is anybody listening to me?

What is a horse shoe? What does a horse shoe do? Are there horse socks?

<If you understood that reference then NO I WILL NOT MAKE OUT WITH YOU!>

Anyway, I figure I’ll write regardless of whether I still have any readership- as I desperately need an outlet from the intensity that has been my life over the past couple weeks. To those still out there, THANKS FOR STOPPING BY!

There are a variety of things that have caused this hiatus, including:

A. We’ve been inundated with visitors, including a brother from North Carolina, a brother from Ohio and a dear friend from Philly. Yeah, we’re a diverse crowd here chez Cart. Just call us the poster children of geographic diversty… er sumfin. Having visitors in town is a joyous excuse to explore all the touristy bits of LA without looking like a local asshole roaming around Catalina Island or whooping it up at the Diz (yes, as in Disneyland. And on that note, might I say that motherhood has made me one wimpy bitch. I got nauseous on the roller coaster at California Adventure and felt like a total asshat. Because that’s what people who can’t stomach rollercoasters are. AssHats. Yeah, I said it. Moving on.) With limited time spent at the house and an effort to not look like an even bigger asshat writing blogs while my guests sat idly by, the opportunity to post has been at an all time low.

B. It’s MIDTERMS, folks! Which means lots and lots and APPALLING amounts of reading and writing. In fact, I have a paper due Friday that I am supposed to be diligently composing as I type this. I’m viewing this writing opportunity as my “warm up.” Like stretching before a grand athletic performance- I’m sure that my professors will buy that excuse when I explain why my paper has to be turned in late due to hours spent blogging about my boobs instead of theorizing on the implications of culture practice in the public sphere. Tots the same thing.

C. The Bug has learned to roll over, like a lot. As in, all the god damn time. Like say, while she’s sleeping, whether it be a midday nap or in the middle of the night. This means lots of disgruntled screaming when she wakes herself up from literally hurling her body around and into the crib bumpers and very little sleep or down time for me and James. I suggested that we tie her down to her mattress like they do with crazy people in psychiatric wards, but James wasn’t really feeling it. I ask you, what’s so wrong with restraining your baby in the name of slumber? NOTHING!

All of these glorious factors have added up to ZERO opportunity for blogging. But today, while filled with anxiety and stress and a dash of OH MY FUCKING GOD I’M NEVER GOING TO GRADUATE, I decided to take a moment, share a story and then refocus.

If you didn’t realize, this blog is my sanity. In that it grounds me, and let’s me process the shit show that is motherhood. So hey, thanks for listening and being my therapist. You probably could charge me some $500 for reading each post, but I dare you to try and bill me. Cedars Sinai keeps trying- go ahead and ask them how that’s going.

And on that note, I’m out. I have some stories banked that include rock hard boobs, raspberries, a backed up bazooka and hosing in the face (this time with actual water not breast milk. Shocking, I know), so basically the usual. Par for the course. I’ll save those for another day.

Here’s the Bug looking quite joyous in her pool with Ann Mae. That was when it was still warm and glorious just days ago- now it’s like, what, 60 degrees? and I’m bundled in wool slippers, a down jacket and furry earmuffs because that’s what life in Southern California does to you. Turns you soft.

Like I could be a bigger asshat.

So now I’m going to go and work on that midterm due Friday… before my babysitter leaves me with the fully loaded bazooka. Yeah, it’s been 8 days since the last bowel movement. BRACE YOURSELVES LOS ANGELES!