OK, I think I am hopping on the bandwagon. It’s time for me to just accept that Hillary pisses me off for reasons I can’t entirely figure out, and that even though I like John Edwards, he’s not going to get the nomination. Not to mention that in an interview on NPR the morning after the Iowa caucuses he made some unnecessarily rude remark about Hillary that I didn’t think showed him in his best light. So, even though I think Barack Obama sometimes has the air of a petulant teenager about him, and even though his constant lambasting of the old guard personified by the Clintons to my mind overemphasizes their perceived irrelevance to a new world, nonetheless I, too, like the idea of something completely new in Washington. Now, I think it’s a little false to pretend that one person and his administration could waltz into Washington and shake things up so thoroughly; somehow do things so differently, that the lumbering, bureaucratic machine of Washington would defy nature and pop up, pixie-like, on the tips of its sprightly little toes, and embrace that change. However, it’s mighty intoxicating to imagine that it could happen, and Obama is the one candidate who I think represents at least that dreamy possibility.
Pundits, even Republican ones, are describing Obama as having the potential to be a Robert Kennedy-like figure. One article I read today described a “leading Republican strategist” as saying that Obama has the power to appeal even to a substantial number of Republicans. I wonder!? That’s heady stuff.
Anyway. Did I mention that having a baby is on occasion, usually in the middle of the night, an unpleasant state of affairs? Take last night, for example. Our lovely, four month old son, Eeyore, had some kind of bug up his butt that woke him up for a 90-minute crying jag at 10:30, then again at 3:15. What fun it is trying to decipher what could be wrong with a baby who shouldn’t be hungry, has a clean diaper, has no fever, has no stuffed up nose, and generally doesn’t appear to have anything wrong with him whatsoever! How delightful to stand over his crib for the sixth time in 10 minutes, feeling less sympathetic and more crazed with each pulling-back of the covers of my warm bed. How did he know to time his cries just to the moment I drifted back into sleep?
As R. and I stared at him, shell-shocked, he stared straight back at us and continued his dentist drill of waa-waa-waas. I imagined the thoughts circulating in his less-than-developed little brain:
Eeyore: “I hate you, mommy.”
Kate: “I can see that, dear.”
Eeyore: “It’s kind of funny how I can just lie here and scream and you have to figure out what to do about it.”
Kate: “It’s not at all funny, fruitcake; we worry about you. Are you sick? Does your tummy hurt? Isn’t there anything we can do to make you feel better?
Eeyore: “Wouldn’t you like to know?!”
Kate: “Yes, please! OK, let me pick you up and snuggle your little ear next to mine and maybe that will help.”
Eeyore: “Waa! Waa! Waa! Why can’t you figure it out!? You can’t do anything right! You’re a lousy mommy.”
Kate: “Jesus! Fine. Get back in your crib. Here’s your pacifier; I’m going back to bed.”
Eeyore: “Waa! Waa! Waa! Waa! Waa! WAAAAAAAAA!”
Eeyore’s Dad: “Why did we have this baby? Come here, Eeyore, let me hold you.”
Eeyore: “Coo… snuggle, snuggle, snuggle….snore.”