Today marks two weeks that the little munchy-cheeked dumpling was handed to me, all swaddled in pastels, and I still have both my eyes scanning the periphery. I’m waiting for that Stork that dropped her off to come and re-claim her. I just cannot fathom why I’ve been entrusted to tend to something so beautiful. I’ve spent my twenties folding cashmere and filling out spreadsheets and deleting the wrong things from the DVR and bungling Mapquest directions. To what do I owe this opportunity? Nine months of gestation and I still can’t believe I get to be someone’s mother.
Anyone watching “The Mormons” on PBS? Pretty well-made series – a lot of candor from the members of the LDS church, with which I am completely fascinated. Ol’ Brigham Young had, like, fifty wives, yo! Don’t you wonder if it was all “Sex and the Desert” with that harem? You had your shoe-hoarders and prissy homemakers and academics and nymphomaniacs, but instead of talking about their respective romantic pursuits, they all dished about the same dude? Well, evidently, they didn’t all live with him, but he financially supported them. Talk about bringing home the bacon. Do Mormons eat bacon?
I think my posts henceforth will probably all fall under the categories of Babies and TV and part of me feels ashamed about this and part of me feels like I have a very special corner of culture to relish over here. We’ll see what other kinds of exploits I can stir up, besides YouTubing “Ready, Set, Don’t Go” and getting teary-eyed for the eleventy-fourth time.