Mouse bad, keyboard good
This is a shortie. I just want to tell you a couple of things pretty quickly.
1. One microgram is one millionth of a gram.
2. One microgram of certain stuff may make an enormous fucking difference in your brain.
3. Happiness is chemistry.
4. As is unhappiness.
6. These are some stats.
7. That’s all for now. I’m good. Thanks for asking. I hope you’re doing alright as well.
Mathilde took her first independent steps at home in the living room less than a week ago, and today was the first day with nice enough weather to warrant a trip to the park in order to give her newfound freedom of locomotion a whirl.
While I anticipated she would be thrilled to be allowed and able to run around on her own, the sense of joy she expressed was positively overwhelming. She was running around and screaming and laughing constantly for as long as her energy would allow.
It is my pride and joy to hereby promote my offspring to the rank of Toddler. Ding! Grats!
That is all.
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And just for the sake of upholding tradition;
I was twittering the other day about how the noughties have been a pretty eventful decade for me on a personal level, building up to a crescendo and culminating in a pretty spectacular oh-nine.
I feel it’s worth writing a post about. Whether it’s worth reading a post about it I leave to the discretion of the reader.
Just realized that I haven’t posted this pic yet this year. Throughout my blogging career misfortunes I’ve posted this photo every year about spring time. It just makes me happy. It’s a bit late this year, but here goes.
There’s been radio silence here for a while now, interestingly not because I haven’t had anything to share with you from my regular rambling repertoire of reprehensibly reckless recommendations. In fact I have quite a few posts I’ll be happy to perpetrate quite shortly.
No the cause of my negligence is that I’ve acquired a new affliction. Symptoms are pretty serious and include terrible insomnia, severe anxiety, sudden bursts of emotions and reoccurring nausea.
It’s a chronic condition, and only rarely does anyone get rid of it in their lifetime, and in those cases it’s always resulting in terrible depression (well… except in cases of people that are already severely suffering from disturbing mental issues).
I’ve already spent a fortune on different necessities to treat the condition in the proper manner and I can clearly see I’m not going to get rich in this lifetime.
The name of this curious syndrome? Let me present: Mathilde Trømborg Jacobsen.
That’s right. I’ve been fatherized, daddyfied and papa’ed and holy crap has my life ever changed. Firstly I’ve never been so much in love, and secondly I’ve never been quite so fucking tired before. (This from a man with chronic periodical insomnia. Not the kind you brag about. The kind that hurts.)
It’s been said countless times before, and it will be repeated to the end of time; Having a child is a crazy, lovely, terrifying, messed up experience. That part about it being a treasured and beautiful experience for the father to attend the birth? Bullshit! We will be there; but do not be fooled, prospective mothers, we are there for your sake. There isn’t one of us that doesn’t secretly yearn for the days when the mans role during child birth was to nervously smoke a lot of cigarettes in the waiting room.
Mathilde, being a daughter of mine, entered the world explosively and wreaking havoc and mayhem to all that beheld her. And, well… A hundred years ago I would be a single parent. Then again; A hundred years ago I’d be wearing my trousers pulled up to my nipples, probably worrying about the potato harvest and speaking in a weird staccato. The point is; It was dramatic. Very dramatic. 1 But both lovely mother and lovely daughter are now doing well.
So we’ve established that I do love my sweet little imp, but boy does she ever scare the crap out of me some times. On the subway this morning after spending about 4 the last 48 hours asleep I had to distract myself and get an outlet, so these tweets what was I came up with:
- I’m sure I’m losing followers Like I’m spending money with all this spam, but so be it. The torture of parents by infants needs a voice.
- FACT: an infants screams are designed by evolution to drive (grown-up) people completely bonkers. Much like the stench of corpses.
- FACT: Depriving someone of sleep is a well known form or torture (or “enhanced interrogation” for you yanks).
- FACT: The result of the two latter excrutiating experiences combined is far, far greater than the sum of their parts.
- FACT: Infants have no wish to cause you harm. It is simply in their nature. Much like that frog-riding scorpion. This does not help.
- FACT: Much like a camel can retain impressive amounts of water an infant can save up to three times its own weight in poop in its body.
- FACT: Infants live by and enforce Murphys extended law. This is why they will strike exactly when you are about to enter REM sleep.
- But she really loves me. I shouldn’t have made her so mad. It’s all my fault really.
Well. It says it all I guess. Still:
She is my sweet little princess (think Leia, not Cinderella), and I vow to spend my life protecting and supporting her, and make sure she has somewhere she can feel safe, no matter how crappy of a human she may turn out to become. “It’s bullshit to say that my life now has meaning”. It already seemed very meaningful to me, but it’s very much true that my life now has a slightly different focus, and yes, another meaning entirely. That, my friends, is all.