logic is a peculiar word too

You would think that thirty-seven and one-half weeks of pregnancy (35.5, I guess, since for some reason you are technically pregnant even when you aren't for two entire weeks.) and twenty-six and one-half weeks of parenting would convince someone that they have a child somewhere in this world. Nope. I am still waiting for Jake's real mom and dad to come and pick him up. Just like I am waiting to buy a real home, pick out my real car, find a real job, and meet Dave's real wife.

After Jake left for the grandparent's last night, I was lying and reading peacefully with both ears closed in my temporarily baby-free home. Out of nowhere I was hit by some cosmic flying force that made me realize that the babyman living in my house was actually my child. And he wasn't in my house. Or in my belly. And we were both just fine and most likely will be for quite some time. The feeling has since passed, but it was weird while it lasted and I'm thankful that I have once again sunken into routine oblivion.

I had a hard time processing that the little ball of responsibility who hung out with me all the time was a solid, live, actual human being who would go into the world and be Jake. Or Jacob. Or Monkey, Buddy, or Monster. That the word "Jacob" now stands for the very real thing that was created in me, born through me, and will be raised by me.

I said the word "Jacob" over and over again (to the cats, so as not to be entirely crazy) and it sounded foreign. It has always sounded strange to me, and I always associate it with the skinny blonde boy who used to pull his pants down in the back of the fourth grade classroom behind the coats. As if "Jacob" was a verb loosely defined as "dropping trou". "Jacob" even looks funny. It makes me hungry for Taco Bell, corn, and bacon. It makes me think of spider webs. It doesn't rhyme with much of anything, unless you add the word 'up' to something else. Shake up Jacob, wake up Jacob, wake up Jacob by shaking him up! You can't change one letter and make it spell something different. You can't mix the letters up to make another word. It doesn't have a profound meaning. There are no Jacob songs that several of his teachers will inexplicably sing to him on the first day of school. We just liked it, agreed on it, and picked it. And now that is someone's name. And that someone is my child.

I'm in deep.