be your own VO
entertain passers-by and
I thought I had a handle on the constant out loud narration of my life, but now that the wee-er one is four months old, I feel like I need to explain things to her so that her spongy little brain doesn’t atrophy.
And yet, even when I’m alone (which, granted, isn’t very often) I still narrate.
"I’m putting on my pants. Zip zip zipper!"
"This steering wheel is kind of sticky. I wonder why? Uh-oh, better drive straight. No crashing the car today. Crashing cars is against the rules. Hey look! A cow!"
"This is a pretty shirt, ooh and soft, too. Did you know some red dye is made of bugs? Gross, huh? But pretty red. Red red. FORTY EIGHT DOLLARS?"
"I’m gonna go potty now. Let’s walk down the hall. Hey, it’s the bathroom! Look at the sinks! Uh-oh, no soap. Good thing I have my handy-dandy rub-rub germ killer."
That’s right. Getting dressed, driving, at the store, in the bathroom… I never stop talking. Not only that, but I’m usually swaying while I narrate the mundane. Back and forth I rock, as if I’m quietly dancing to some hairband ballad only I can hear. I sway because it calms the wee-er one when I’m holding her, or when she’s in the pouch. Swaying is like walking for me now. I just do it, I don’t think about it. Even when I’m alone.
I also talk about myself in the third person.
"Mommy’s going to grab this can of beans from the shelf so she and daddy can have burritos for dinner!"
"No, no, mommy doesn’t like it when the car door shocks her."
"Where is Mommy’s wallet? She had it at home, she surely did."
I tell you what, the swaying combined with the annoying, simple chatter, and the third person references must make me quite a sight when I take five minutes to run up to the HEB for some maxi pads.
My glamorous life gives you chills, doesn’t it?