Life keeps getting better. I drink more than ever before. Not 100% sure if those two statements are directly reliant on one another and, in fact, it may just be a coincidence that they ended up next to each other. I don’t know that it matters one way or another, the point is; life is exciting and my default mood is, and has been for some time, happy.
Being a mother gets better as the kid gathers age. That statement is in regards to my parenting relationship not yours; yours might suck as your kid gets older and that’s irrelevant because this is about me. Sure, I miss all of his words being said out of order and generally mispronounced. I miss the soft, adorable fat rolls on his wrists and ankles and inner thighs and I really miss the days when he couldn’t write his name on everything that will soak up ink or for-the-love-of-god, sound out words. What I don’t miss: everything else about ages 0 – 4. Right now and for the past year or so, mothering is at an all time high and my parenting relationship keeps me in a constant state of awe and happiness. Those things are yet to be matched by the only other personal relationship I’ve held over the same 5 years since my son was born; that would be with my dog, Santos. Santos is the same asshole he always has been and it’s entirely possible he’s going to live for at least another 6-10 years so I’m not holding my breath on that one. I did have 12 of his teeth removed earlier in 2011, but the biggest change there is that his breath doesn’t smell bad. Not that I was smelling it all that frequently.
I suppose it’s worth mentioning that one of the main reasons I prefer older to younger when it comes to spawn is because I have to dig a lot less of my son’s shit, literally poop, out from under my fingernails. This doesn’t mean he wipes his own butt, necessarily, but it more means that if he wants to take an elephant sized dump and not wipe his butt, that’s a decision I feel I can apply the you make your bed, you lie in it logic to and let him do the worrying. Now, I’m a devoted fingernail painter but no amount of Lincoln Park After Dark covers up the smell of yesterdays diaper under your nails.
Romantic relationships? Oh, they’re all the same, except when they aren’t. I’ve only been in a few and I’m happier out of those than I was in them, especially that one. No, not that one, that one. That being said, I’m in one now (shocking) and it’s going better than that one and that one, so, I’m cautiously optimistic.
I live in a pretty average (at best) apartment but it’s in a wonderful, tiny, community with wonderful, tiny schools. For now, the community and the schools hold more of the focus than the uneven floors and the lack of quarter rounds on the baseboards. Living here, in this apartment, feels transient even though it’s really not, until it is. I keep trying to commit to a paint color or a sofa table but so far, no dice. Anyhow, it’s my place and my space and the value that holds for me, particularly, is indispensable.
2011 was a transitional year; moved back to Ohio, new job, new apartment, establishing for the first time a real difference between friends and acquaintances. Not to mention the shift from social drinker to avid drinker. I could go on, but these sum up the year and I don’t want to bore you.
2012 will bring a significant addition to the kid’s life; kindergarten. That just is what it is, I’m somewhat indifferent on this subject, although, I’m sure I won’t be by the time November rolls around. Otherwise, 2012 is a big fat mystery with only a few predictions of what might remain constant. Well, actually, only one prediction; the drinking. I have no intention of altering that aspect of my life.