My Writing Buddy

I haven't blogged in ages, because I've been just a lil busy with things like parenting, revising old scripts and writing new ones, oh and then the whole pregnancy and birthing thing.

A little over three months ago, I pushed out an almost eight-pound baby after a mere hour and forty minute labor and twelve minutes total inside the doors of the birth center (definitely a fun story, for a more intimate setting than the internet, one where I know my listeners aren't squeamish...).

And then we had the "early days" and "early weeks" where it's supposed to be a whirlwind hell of sleepless nights and non-stop rocking to sleep, spit up and diaper rash, exploding poopy diapers galore. But instead, God threw us a bone and sent us a baby who actually got the memo that parents are damn tired by the fourth kid.

The sole point of this post is to give a shout out to my little three-month-old writing buddy, S. Thorne, who's hanging out in his infant seat shooting me mischeivous grins in his typical baby-hater's-kryptonite style as I sit on the couch this evening ready for a brainstorming sesh.

He doesn't judge me for rocking out to "Fancy Like" as it plays on the Pandora app on our TV, or for the knock-off Crown and knock-off 7-Up I'm drinking to try and get the "creative juices" flowing (in fact he's saying, "Oh I get some of the good stuff in a few hours!" -- I kid I kid! Pump and dump is an unnecessary myth; the alcohol will be gone by his next feeding. Don't judge me for mom jokes please!).

Instead, he just peacefully drifts off to sleep (legit, I'm being serious. How did I end up with such a mythically "good" baby??), recharging for tomorrow when he'll look deep into my eyes as if he's reading my soul while he talks to me in coo language as my seven-year-old calls it... Until, my baby fast asleep with literally no work from me, I'm left with the reality that I actually can't procrastinate any longer and need to get to work brainstorming for my next script.

And as if on cue, Tim McGraw's "Red Ragtop," a near masterpiece of poignant and truth-filled heartache, comes onto my Pandora. If I weren't a comedy writer, the inspiration-nudge would make more sense. But still, message recieved. Okay, stream of consciousness end.