While I can't deny I was a huge fan of Alanis Morisette during my many college years, I have to say that I think she left out an important scenario in her pop hit "Ironic". Ps- I'm also not ashamed to admit I had my share of Sarah McLaughlin, Tori Amos, and the Indigo Girls albums twirling around in my discman during those years. Shutup and call me a "cornflake girl", but I had awesome hippie roomates and we drank lots of coffee at a place where this guy was working back in the day... so I guess I'm the cool one aren't I??
Where was I? Oh. College. Music. Alanis. I'm a little scattered these days what with having twice as many children as I did just three short weeks and one day ago, so you'll forgive me these little quirks and move right along like you know what's going on the same way I do.
Alanis said life is ironic. Like rain and stuff on your wedding day and the man who died right after he won a million dollars and so on. By the way, it wouldn't suck to be that guy's wife. I'm pretty convinced that Alanis would've written a totally different song had she been a parent at the time. Sure ten-thousand spoons when all you need is a knife would suck, unless you know someone with ten-thousand chocolate Snack Packs.
If I was in the nineties right now and knew what I do about growing some kids like I do these days, I'd write a song like Alanis Morisette's Ironic right before hers came out, but I'd include gems about motherhood and parenting.
Like how right after you figure out how your newfangled baby wrap-carrier thingie works and the baby is all snuggled and drooling against your giant, milky bosom nature calls like a wild beast and you suddenly have to take a giant poop like there's no tomorrow. Of course your inital thought is "well, I am pretty hands-free right now", but if you're at all ashamed to admit the thought crossed your mind to just go ahead and go with the baby strapped to your chest...then we have more in common than you're probably willing to admit in a public forum. (Call me.)
In other news, Sam is already eleven pounds. I guess that's what happens when you have a baby that sounds like a pterodactyl and eats every hour and a half. His little string-bean legs are turning into cute pink sausages (in a good way) and his chins and cheeks are chubby and ripe for the squishing.
Also, I'm having a hard time posting right now, so read something old. This one's one of my favorites.
Okay, I'm done. Night.
Rest In Peace, Megs
1 day ago