I’m living in a bubble. It’s not a real plastic bubble like the one 1970’s Welcome Back Kotter John Travolta lived in while filming his riveting made-for-TV movie The Boy in the Plastic Bubble. My bubble isn’t nearly as well crafted, and I certainly don’t look as good as “Danny Zuko” did while inside. Instead of pure oxygen and fabulous ‘70’s hair, my bubble is filled with feeding times and messy ponytails. All I see is baby. I am stuck in a Baby Bubble.
I always wondered why my friends disappeared after they had a baby, and now I know. It’s The Bubble. The Bubble is more powerful than I understood it to be. From my perspective as a Person Without Kids, I couldn’t really see The Bubble. It remained invisible, and all I could see was a good friend that looked a lot like a sleep-deprived new parent. Now that I am a Person With Kid, I can see The Bubble clearly. And with my new Inside Perspective, I know the bubble feels a lot like a sleep-deprived new parent.
I underestimated the power of The Bubble.
This bubble is all baby all the time. The Outside World of Adult Things like conversations lasting at least five minutes, eating out, and actually watching TiVo’d programs has ceased to exist. Like my border collie focused on his frisbee or George Lucas focused on ruining Star Wars, I only have one thought on my brain: BABY.
I need to make my bed…I should change the baby’s sheets.
I need to make lunch…When does baby need to eat?
I need to shower…I wonder what Erik Northman will look like this year on True Blood?
OK, almost my every thought.
It will be nice to someday again have a thought that’s all my own. Perhaps just like 1976’s John Travolta, I too will take a step out of my bubble. Then, I can have a conversation with my husband using words other than “poop” and “pump.” Until then, though, I am stuck in the Baby Bubble … with limited focus on real … trying to focus on finishing … finishing this blog … finishing this … bottle … have to go sterilize the bottles …