You may have noticed, if you’ve been paying really close attention, that I haven’t been around for a while. There’s a reason for that. I am now the proud father of two small children. Three weeks ago my wife gave birth to my daughter, who now, along with my three year old son, is the recipient of all my time and energy. Writing a blog, you say? Yeah, that’s kind of down the pecking order of my priorities right now. Don’t get me wrong, I’m elated: every day is a gift and all that shit, but it doesn’t mean it’s easy.
Last night I managed to get four hours sleep, which was
awesome. Most nights it’s two or three. My daughter, in her brief time with us,
has decided that she likes being held. Constantly. This
means that either myself or her mother must be awake at some point through the
night holding her, so that she can sleep. Unless of course she decides it’s time to be fed,
in which case she’ll charm us with her attention for a diaper and a bottle,
then it’s back off to Slumberville. It’s impressive really; that’s the kind of
high maintenance her mom would be proud of. Were she not so fucking tired all
the time.
We could manage this, just, were it not for a rather loud
and boisterous three year old we share a home with. With him night time is not
a problem – it’s the bit in between we have trouble with: he’ll sleep like the
dead from 9pm ‘til about 8am. But then … then the screaming begins. And does
not fucking end. Running away won’t help; like Daniel Day-Lewis in Last of the Mohicans… he will fucking find you. I’ve taken
to hiding out in the bathroom. I’ve got a bunch of books in there, along with
my wife’s iPad. All I need is a mini refrigerator and I never have to leave. At
this point I’m shitting more than a puppy on your brand
new beige carpet. But
still, my son hunts me down, banging on the door and squealing with a fury only
a three year old can realize.
Then, as the sun sets, and bed time nears, my daughter
decides this would be an awesome time to raise her fuzzy little head from
whomever’s chest she’s lying on, and grace us with her presence until about 2
am. And thus the dual source of mine and my wife’s exhaustion completes its
daily cycle. I’m convinced the two of them are working in tandem, like some
kind of cherubic, pink-skinned, chubby-cheeked tag-team sent from above to
purge us of our sins. Through sleep-deprivation.
And have you ever held a sleeping baby? It’s like taking
fifty Valium and climbing into a bed made from angel’s feathers and fucking
clouds, while Morgan Freeman recites nursery rhymes. Now try it on a day when
you can measure how much sleep you got the night before in minutes, not hours.
If you can stay awake through that shit, you have my eternal respect. Right
now, my wife has taken my son to the store (I can still hear him scream from
here though), so our daughter is asleep on my chest. It feels like my eyelids
are made from plutonium, and actually, as you can probably tell from the
quality of writing, most of this post was written by my face falling repeatedly
onto the keyboard.
In fact, and I’m a little ashamed to admit this, a few
nights ago, while lying near the edge of the bed, I fell asleep holding her and
almost dropped her. And by ‘almost dropped her’ I mean ‘definitely did drop
her, but caught her’. And by ‘caught her’ I mean ‘broke her fall’. Oh put the
phone down… the floor was carpeted, and she only fell about 6 inches – like I
said, I broke her fall right before she hit the ground with a light thud. But
seriously, what sort of fucked up survival instinct is that? What the hell was Mother
Nature thinking? “I know; I’ll make these defenseless, vulnerable, utterly
dependent baby humans so loud and demanding, that they cause the very people
they rely on to keep them alive, in a state of exhaustion that risks all of
their lives. What can go wrong with that?” Survival of the fittest? Fuck you
too, Darwin!
Anyway, my son is home and my daughter is awake, which means
it’s time to eat and poop ... I think I’ll poop first.
I have yet to meet the person who can stay awake with an infant sleeping on them.
ReplyDeleteThey should make it some kind of Navy Seal initiation, Vanessa. That would really separate the tough guys from the rest.
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