It was packing up my bag at work the other day when I realized it.
I was rocking back and forth.
Whenever I’m on two feet, my body is swaying. The kid’s got me trained.
This is wonderful!
This is terrible!
This means she has to finish her edits this summer. Even with Augie in preschool three days a week, she’s left with an infant on her lap 24/7, which is not terribly conducive to productivity.
As a means to help her get a chunk of time alone, I have begun taking half-day Mondays at work. I go into work in the morning, then come home at lunchtime to take over child-rearing duties for the rest of the day, both for the weeks-old fetus and our 3 year old brute. The rule is “no disturbing Mommy” and for the most part, it’s been successful.
It’s great. On Monday morning I have only a half day at work. I’m more productive there, and look forward to a half day “off”. Then I’m a single dad for the next 8 hours.
I don’t think I’m ever as exhausted as I am on recent Monday nights. Wow.
Light of my life.
Eater of sleep.
“Behold! For I am become Shiva, Shatterer of Worlds!”
He’s a good kid, for a fetus (and until they hit three months old, clearly humans are just fetuses outside of the womb, cursed to the airy-world due to their enlarged heads). But one foible of his that his elder brother did not have is his strong preference for warm, rather than room temperature, milk.
When making formula, this is not a major problem. I use warm water from the tap instead of cold. But when the formula’s been made, or the breast milk is coming from the fridge, this means warming it up for him, or else half of it will end up splayed across your body while, in shock and horror, you witness Lewie’s impression of a lawn sprinkler. Then a red-faced air raid siren.
The other night, he was handed off to me early in the evening so my suffering wife could actually get some shut-eye. Our diagnosis before I started a movie was that he was “about to wake up”, so I kept the bottle of milk warm underneath my armpit. For the entire, terrible, movie (Captain America: The First Avenger). After that, fetus was still asleep, so I went to bed with the milk in tow. I didn’t want to let it cool to room temperature and face his wrath.
I slept for three hours with a bottle of milk between my thighs; he just kept sleeping.
This has happened since. I now consider a bottle of milk uncomfortably kept warm as a talisman against the Sleep Eater.
Always be bussing.
Thinking of Alec Baldwin’s “always be closing” speech, I think one key to sanity as a father is to always be bussing.
Headed upstairs and there’s a basket of laundry? Grab it on the way.
Headed downstairs and there are some water glasses scattered on the bedroom side tables? Grab them on the way.
The kid brings an element of unending chaos. The only way to make a dent is to ALWAYS be bussing. If you wait until it’s time to clean, it’ll be an insurmountable pile.
While the FSM meme has faded into the mists of time, I still get strong positive reactions from those who recognize it. Those who don’t usually guess I’m spaghetti and meatballs. However, often, people have some crazy wild-ass guesses.
This year, I decided to record some.
All of these were actual guesses from people wondering what in the hell I was. I didn’t record them all, but these are all genuine:
- Lady Gaga (what, really?)
- Shit with eyes
- Fallopian tubes
- Daniel Johnston (not bad! See here.)
- Giant cumshot
- Adam and Eve
- Balls and spaghetti
- Mos Eisley spaceport
- Men in black
- “Those are tits”
- Sperm donor
- Ahh! Real monster
- Pans Labyrinth
- Cock and Balls
- “Sci-fi show from the 80s”
- “I don’t know but you got big tits”
- Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs
It’s a boy!
Or, at least he will be in March 2012.
This from our 20-week ultrasound. All systems go.
Augie has a little brother cooking in “Mama’s belly”.