Crazy Primaries and a Bipolar Baby

First, let's tackle the New Hampshire Primary. If you're like me, you've already heard plenty about it . . . Hillary surprised 'em all . . . McCain's back from the dead . . . Romney's in serious trouble . . . Obama actually DOESN'T have it in the bag. Um. Duh. TWO STATES. Let me repeat . . . two states does not an election make. I am no political pundit, but good grief, even I can figure out that it ain't over until it's over! The culprit in all this--the MEDIA!

The media can make a villain or a hero out of you--they are that powerful. However, what seems to have been proven in New Hampshire is that people catch on quickly and make up their own minds. Or do they? I'd like to believe they do, but there is a lot more that can account for the "upsets" we saw yesterday.

First, Hillary cried. Yeah, it was all over the news. I saw that clip at least a dozen times. The first time I saw it I was thinking--wow, this woman has feelings. The song "Feelings" played in my head for at least a few hours. I hate when that happens. The All-knowing, All-powerful media had her pegged and weak, falling apart, losing it . . . nope, didn't happen that way, did it? Was it a calculated move on her part? Who knows. Whatever it was, it sure seems like people may have very well responded when they headed for the voting booth.

Next, Romney is still just a little too slick and McCain is a survivor. A couple of the news channels played these candidate montages that showcased where the candidates came from, what hardships they endured, how they survived it all, and what it was that had gotten them to this point. McCain's, by far, was the most compelling. Who cares about his position on the issues, this man survived a war camp for five years! He even chose to remain even when he had the opportunity to leave because he would NOT leave his fellow soldiers. WOW. Cue patriotic music! Romney was in a really bad car crash. Um. Hmmm. Nice juxtaposition. OK, they didn't exactly put them together that way, but it is hard to ignore the such a disparity in survivorship.
I won't bother mentioning the others. Not because I count them out of the race (though the media did and is now holding back a bit considering their crummy record in making predictions thus far), but because I'm sure there will be more surprises in store (I can't lie, I hope there are--this is getting fun!) and I don't want to waste all my words here. PLUS, I'm betting that some of you can't stand talking about politics. So, I make a pledge to you . . . If I talk about politics (which I am sure to do here and there), I'll include a "No Politics" post--Lord knows I have plenty to talk about.

In the spirit of the above promise, I bring you . . . BIPOLAR BABY!

OK. He really isn't bipolar, I don't think anyway. However, he is sure exhibiting some of the signs/symptoms I saw in a "If you think you or someone you love is bipolar" commercial.

J went from one extreme to another all day today. Boy, does he keep life exciting. We are waiting (and at this time we still are) for a call from my little brother about the birth of his first baby. It could be any minute now! Anyway, J was all smiles this morning. He's was cooing and very, very alert. I hesitate to put him on the play mat for long because he rolls over one way. Hasn't quite gotten the roll from belly to back yet. He's not a fan of being on his belly, but it getting better and better everyday. After being on his belly for a bit he gets frustrated and buries his head in the blanket or mat and then starts to cry, and I mean CRY. I try to let him work it out for a minute or two, but seeing his little face buries in a pile of drool makes me worried he may drowned--yes, it is that much drool. Anyway, two seconds later--laughing as if nothing happened.

J plays in his jumper and has a good time, but I try not to keep him in it that long. Wait, that makes me sound like actually have a plan when I put him in. The simple truth is that I hope he'll stay in long enough so that I can brush my teeth or maybe grab a bite to eat. Unfortunately, after a few rounds of the most grating music ever, he's ready to come out. After avoiding a near meltdown, he plays on my knees--it is Super Baby time! He has fun with that, but mommy sort of wears out (and has to go to the bathroom). Next, we try the bouncy seat. He loves to watch the "waterfall" and animals peer about. He grabs at the hanging rings and has a bunch of fun. That lasts just about long enough for me to realize he's in desperate need of a diaper change. Scream. Cry. Poop. Laugh. Giggle. Cry . . .

Next, we sit in the high chair. He looks so, so small it it. I think he realizes he's small, but he likes being "tall." That works for a bit. But, I find myself dancing like a miserable reject from "So You Think You Can Dance" in order to keep him entertained. Again, let's be honest, I spend most of the day making a complete fool of myself in order to keep him entertained. Curses! (Yes, I said "curses") Will J expect this of me for the rest of my life? Will I me making a fool of myself for his sake here on out? Nah . . . I have hope I'll figure it all out in the long run.

As the day progresses, J's mood diminishes. I call it the "witching hour"--actually, I read it in one of my numerous baby books. He goes from this happy baby, all smiles and a giggle here and there to a neglected (which he is not), starving (he was just fed), screaming (my ears still hurt) infant that you would swear was having his limbs cut off (we were so NOT doing that) in a matter of what seems like seconds. When he did this at first I would strip him down and look for whatever it was that must be scratching, stabbing, slicing, biting, pinching, possessing (devil possession did cross my mind on occasion--thankfully there were not 6s carved in his scalp--I checked) him. I mean, it had to be something.

It is clearly bed time, so husband T and I soldiered on. We did the bath. We did the final feeding. We did the singing (which is a hoot when neither of you can even think enough to remember the words to songs). We did the reading. Bed time. Nope. Not to be. It was Happy Baby time! Smiles, giggles. Back in the jumper he went. Us. We crashed on the sofa and stared in disbelief.

Bipolar? Probably not. Baby. Definitely. And on to month five . . .

Want a giggle (and and example of my bipolar baby)? Check out this cutie (not mine, but very well could be!): Bipolar Baby

Have a happy day!