One of the perks of having a baby (besides the baby smell and the unconditional love stuff) is that when I am out in public, I can talk to myself ALL. DAY. LONG. and no one looks at me like I'm a crazy homeless person.
I'm an only child. One of the fabulous quirks of being an only child is that I have, from an early age, talked to myself. Muttering, cracking myself up, full-on conversations. SOLO. If I forget where I am and start doing this in public, I can definitely make people avert their eyes like, "Don't look at the crazy person. Don't look at the crazy person. Don't look at the crazy person."
So I have learned that perhaps I will spend less time in psych ward if I learn NOT to talk to myself when I am anywhere others might witness it. My car. Fair game. The shower. Fair game. But Starbucks, the grocery store, the mall---all off-limits.
Until I had Ethan. Carting Ethan around, in the bjorn or the stroller gives me an open invitation to prattle away, all under the guise that I am in fact, chattering lovingly to my son. And, don't get me wrong, often I am. I shower him with baby talk and air kisses plenty. But I also ramble on about what type of apple I should buy to make the sausage and apple stuffing for Thanksgiving. At great length. In front of people. It's so liberating.
Of course, my fear is that I will become so accustomed to this license to be a crazy person in public that a.) one day Ethan's going to be old enough to talk back and he's going to be like, "Ma, you're a loon." and b.) one day he's not going to be out in public with me every single time I'm out and what if I start talking to myself then??? I'll be the crazy lady who roams the aisles of Target chattering to herself about cat litter. God. Help. Me.
And, yes, I know I took the weekend off from the whole blogging thing. I have failed at the whole 30 entries in 30 days. I won't beat myself up, though. This month has definitely jumpstarted my blogging and that's good enough for me. A girl's gotta rest sometime, you know.