--- Welcome to Plotzworld ---

It's official. Mamie has been outside of my body just as long as she was inside my body. She hit the 9 month mark last week and is now a walloping 19 pounds. I look at her and cannot believe she came out of me, you-know-where. I think I will always feel this way. When she turns 5 and then 13 and then when she is 16 and having sex and smoking pot, I know I will feel that way. We're connected. Even now when I wake in the middle of the night, Mamie wakes up about one second later. It's weird, this connection.

I have fantasies of her being a really cool kid, with lots of interests and a kind heart. I also have fears about her going to school and being teased like I was for being skinny and flat chested and being able to beat boys at pinball. I can worry or I can enjoy her. But I'll probably do some of both depending on what day it is.

Greetings from teething central, otherwise known as the No-Sleep-Zone. Forgive me if my clothes don't match today. I'm tired. I write this during Mamie's nap time, of which she is up chewing on a piece of dried papaya, a frozen peach in a mesh pocket, various teething toys and my finger.

When I ask people when the teething subsides, they don't say much -- except to say that it goes on for years. YEARS. And that's when I ask them when is it safe to feed a baby whiskey? With a motrin chaser? (Just kidding.)

It just seems like a whole lot of sleep loss for one tooth. One adorably cute tiny white speck of a tooth.

So last night was spent trying to calm Mamie and help her not roll off the bed. In between sleep and waking, I began thinking about this space. By this space, I mean Plotzworld. I like writing here and sometimes forget that people read my words. The great thing about the internet is that it is indeed a free space, a place to write or think or sometimes write and not think. The bad thing about the internet is that anyone can surf on in and say stupid shit to you. It's a public forum. It's akin to me standing on a sidewalk and spewing stories. Some people will be interested, some will walk on by and then there's always the one asshole who has nothing better to do than watch and say things that he must think are funny but are just bitter invective.

So what to do? Stop writing? No. This is the way it is. And it's actually good. It means I'm pushing buttons. It also means I am pushing the No Comments button.