And... GO!
Its been less than 24hrs since my last post and the meer reason I'm navigating my indecisive fingers over the keyboard is because my girlfriend is just so encouraging. And because I've never put much effort into developing my typing skills. You may notice a slight improvement, however, from my last post as I've resorted to the more commonly used computer to post a blog, instead of the technologically advanced pain-in-the-ass I call the phone. Yes, I have internet on my phone, and its slowly killing my social skills, but the gradual deteriation is barely noticed over a short space of time. At least I think so. It's one of those things you notice when you're 55 years old and have just come out of a gruelling and unneccesary mid-life crisis only to discover, upon reflection, that it was a Blackberry that ruined your life. For now though, I'm ignoring that fact and I'm giving future Robert the benefit of the doubt.
Onto a more specific topic of discussion, and when I say discussion I mean between the voices in my head, I haven't invited you just yet. Having said that, don't be afraid to read my posts, I don't mean to intimidate anyone with my lack of external influence. See, you give someone something to write on - not about - and it ends up being completely insignificant to stray blog readers. Thats assuming this is reaching anyone. Where was I . . . ? Oh yes, the next paragraph . . .
Like I said a more specific topic, something I was told to write about, seen as I've already found something to write on. Last night I endured (and I mean it in the loosest possible way,) a 6 month old trying to digest carrot pulp for the first time. Little did we know this is a painful and heart breaking procedure, and my poor little girl was even worse off. Let me take a few lines and a moment of your time (feel free to skim over,) to introduce you to my little (naturally,) baby daughter, Ella. She's absolutely gorgeous and I'm not being bias, plenty of people say the same thing, with out me even prompting them, so I am convinced and so should you be. With denim blue eyes, a striking forehead* (this - * - means a funny story involving the word, placed directly before it, will be told in a future paragraph, if I remember to, that is,) the most wonderful gums (really they are, you should see them when she smiles,) funny monkey ears inherited from her father, and amazingly her grandfather on her mothers side, though her mothers ears are fairly ordinary. Ella was born not more than 6 months ago, a healthy, fat baby with lips as red as an inflatible doll's, and a presence I had literally never felt before. She didn't have that deformed - only parents could love - face that babies have when they tunnel their way out the baby shoot. Instead, Ella turned to the emergency escape hatch, carved open by a surgeon, and through my partners gaping abdomen, like a portal from another world, she was hoisted into our lives. I of course chose not to witness the Alien-like exit, and kept constant eye contact with my numb partner. Something Sigourney Weaver wished she had done. This particular description came from my girlfriend, which she had every right to, and not me. So for the record, I wasn't the one who refered to my daughter as a product of poor special effects. Anyway, so the next step was for the nurses to spray the new lifeling down run off with her with me in hot persuit. No, they weren't illegally adopting her, turns out the baby room (don't know the technical term,) was basically onthe opposite side of the ward. A three letter word should pull your face into a puzzled expression . . . Why? So, I eventually catch up to them, in my turquoise scrubs and shower cap shoes and find my self trying to look over the broad shouldered nurses to see whats going on with my little alien.
I know, what was supposed to be a brief description of my daughter turned into a misleading tangent and I have, as a result, strayed from my original topic. Though, come to think of it was the perfect introduction and excuse to my unexpected descripton of her birth. (Ha, I tricked you . . . Read on . . .) Since I have subsequently lost interest in what I was original writing about, I am going to briefly conclude the agonising experience that was last night. I am tired as a result of a lack of sleep, due to Ella screaming all night and was bemused, innitially, to see her gums in the shape of a smile and her sparkling denim-blue eyes glaring at me with love and appreciation, yet completely oblivious to the torture she had me endure. Which brings me to the end of my second post, because I feel I have successfully addressed the topic proposed by my girlfriend. Now before you begin to complain about reading absolutely nothing about my girlfriend other than the credit given to her for her unique description of a C-section. I have instead, craftely left you unfulfilled - yes, she's that amazing - so that you read my next post which will involve her more (actually, you'll probably find it'll be mostly about her,) so that you know the one other person in my life that shares the same tiny loft apartment.
Done. (Just so you know I was too lazy, and in a bit of a rush to read over the post, so excuse any confusing or incomprehendible grammer. I trust you'd rather read the content and not note the language. Language has, after all, evolved and so have you, so work it out.)
Who reads this?
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