At noon. Baby shat twice today. Pooped, my mother-in-law says. Correcting me. Twice the baby had bowel movements, I announce, again. A phone is playing Christmas music. I ask Kate if she can play Christmas Eve/Sarajevo by Transiberian Orchestra. She says it’s not spotify, it’s just a playlist. I say oh. Okay. I eat chips and guacamole. And then an egg burrito leftover from breakfast. 

My skin is dry from chlorine so I take my shirt off and spread white goop moisturizer everywhere I can reach. Kate has a kink in her neck. Is holding this vibrating thing over her shoulder, eyes rolled back in her head. Like ahhhhh. I say do me do me. She says she needs to wipe her nose. 

Joe Rogan podcast, so good. He can kick it with anyone.Today he talked about Catholicism. Specifically how Moses came down from the mountain after god spoke to him from the the burning acacia bush. Jerusalem scholars think Moses got high on DMT inhaled from burning the bush. I believe the scholars. 

I don’t love that psychedelics are hush hush because they’re illegal. Kate’s like shhh don’t mention that to my mom’s friend. But it came up, and I just reported the facts. We were talking about old people and quality of life and dying and this woman was sharing about her mom and dad and shaking her head and I said what I knew. Which is that studies show that mushrooms ease pain and end-of-life anxiety in dying patients. Facts are facts right? 

For some reason, it doesn’t feel like Christmas this year. I don’t know why. It’s like having a hangnail in your sock, which you only notice some of the time. I could try and string together a theory, but I swam at the YMCA in West St Paul with my dad earlier and the back forth back forth in hot chlorine has my mind fist flattened. Right now, when I look inside myself for an explanation for my xmas past nostalgia, all I hear is mommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. 

In the presence of the baby, Kate and I now refer to each other as mama and daddy. While we were watching the Vikings game last night, my mind was predominantly in my head thinking about whether the term mother is linguistically code for stereotyped roles like nurturing, loving, sensitive, etc. Or if the term can simply refer to the woman who birthed a child, without implying any characteristics? Can the texture of the parent-child relationship and therefore the definition of mama develop organically from experience? If it’s the case that the term mama and daddy are limiting, then maybe Kate and I should use the more expansive terms: Kate and Ry. Maybe this will allow EllieRoo to see us as people sooner, rather than just these tools to her upbringing. Maybe I should talk this out with Ellie. And maybe we should intermingle terminology. Anyway. The Vikings won. 

Christmas Eve. Here already. Tomorrow the high temperature here is 3 degrees. Ok. Accept the things you cannot change.