Day One

15 or 20 minutes. That is all I really want:

11:00 Am--
Hossmom is ready to be discharged from the hospital with the new addition to our family and my blog. Bubba Hoss is 4 days old and is ready to go home. I am ready for him to come home. Hossmom is certaintly ready to come home. I have made around 300 trips to the car to pack all the stuff that we have from the hospital. Every time I come back to the room, Hossmom and her mother have found something else that needs to go. Crap. I am nothing but a pack mule. Cargo pants are a father's best friend. The wheel chair is late. Bubba Hoss is crying, it's time for his feeding. Hossmom is getting impatient. I bear the brunt of everyone.

We have made it home. I drove 10 miles an hour. If you honked at me, blow me--I have a baby on board. It takes Hossmom 30 minutes to get inside the house because she can barely move from the C-section they gave her. Yes, quick birth but long recovery. My previous life is over, send care packages and silly string.

2:35 pm.
Bubba Hoss is feeding for the 12th time today. Breast feeding is not fun. He mauls my wife's boobs like Mad Max beyond Boobie Dome. It hurts her. I am constantly being pointed to things that I should be doing but before I can finish I am pointed to something else. My mother in law reminds me that I should clean the garage now and also paint the house.
3:32 pm.
I pick up Little Hoss from Day Care. Things went good, she didn't punch anyone or bite anyone. Her vengence is directed at all. She decides that no Papa, I do not want to ride in the car therefore I will scream for a the entire ride home. I stop in a parking lot and throw 64 crayons at her and a sports illistrated. Hopefully that will work. I am hoping that she can entertain herself for the entire 4 minute ride back to our house. I secretly make a vow to buy a DVD player for the car.

I start trying to watch a football game. I have no idea which one. I am asked why there is football on Fridays by every female in my house except my daughter. I explain because God loves me. I have the game recording. It will take me a full 2 days to actually watch the game. I know t his going in but still give the futile effort. The two dogs decide to get into a wrestling match in the living room. My boxer is 60 pounds of pure muscle and bumps into a lot of things, like my daughter. She screams. Bubba Hoss is freaked out by the noise and screams. He clamps down harder on my wife, she screams. I go to my wife and accidently step on her foot, crushing it with my troll feet, she starts to cry. I look at my dog and decide that he will be getting nutured pretty soon. I have a vet appointment tomorrow so we are going to talk about that.

5:52 pm:
Dinner time, hopefully. I have eaten what ever has been within arms reach. A little Debbie, a nutty bar, maybe some peanuts found on the kitchen floor. I can't remember anymore. Little Hoss just hands me things and I put them in my mouth. I am sure we have both eaten dog food. Bubba Hoss doing well, only hates me when I change him. Hossmom is on the chair, unmoving and wondering why god why she wasn't given anything stronger than Vicodin. The Mother In Law tells me I need to clean the garage. My own mother is here now and agrees. I consider faking my own death.

7:21 pm
My mother is putting Little Hoss to bed. By this time I just don't care anymore. I have given over my house to both mothers. I have told them that whatever they want to do to the house, screw it, here's my credit card. Starting to get really tired now. They ask me when I'm going to clean the garage.

Everyone is in bed. Bubba Hoss has woken up for the 11 o'clock crazies. He's fussy and pissed. I imagine that he too is upset that we still haven't gotten the chance to watch our football game. Hossmom is trying to breastfeed but he is having none of it. This makes her feel bad because every woman every where tells you that you MUST breastfeed if you love your baby. What they don't tell you is that it hurts. Hossmom bites back a curse that might have been coming my way when I ask if she is hurting.

2319! 2319! That is code for when a child poops and the diaper cannot contain it's awesome power. But there is no one to answer the call. Hossmom can't move and the mother in law is asleep downstairs. There is no one else but me. I am changing Bubba Hoss on the changing table. I dreaming of peace and quiet. I am dreaming of a world where people don't point. I am dreaming of a world where I can watch football and take naps. This world no longer exsists for me. I snap awake and look down at Bubba Hoss. I fell asleep standing up. But I notice t hat his diaper is changed and I silently congratulate myself for still being able to change a AM diaper while sleep walking. I am a parenting God. Then I look down at my hand and see that I was proping myself up on the crapped diaper. It is all over me. I have drool coming out my mouth from the sleep changing. I imagine that this must be the last of my soul. We are up for an hour.

5:29 am
Bubba Hoss is up yet again. He is going for a new world record of how many times he can make me say "fuck" in a 24 hour period. He might be getting close to the record. Hossmom has to go to the bathroom. Her stitches hurt so bad that she has to stop halfway and cry. Bubba Hoss is crying to. I am the only one not crying, not hungry, and I am the only one mobile. I repeat my mantra that I learned when Little Hoss was this way: It's not about fair or right or wrong, it's about taking care of my family. Said over and over, it calms me and makes me hate less. Hossmom is almost to the bathroom and I am silently cheering for her. Bubba Hoss is screaming right at me. That's when I decide that my family needs some god damn sleep and right the god damn now. I grab a pre-made bottle of formula and put it in his pie hole. He is happy. If any medical professional even remotely attempts to give me the breast feeding speech again I am going to kick them in the junk. I hate them all so much because my wife equats her ability as a mother with her ability to breastfeed. I blame Cosmo and Hippies.

Everyones up. Mother in law is cooking breakfast. Little Hoss is up and wants her daddy. Hossmom is trying to come downstairs and has to use me as a blind man's dog. Little Hoss wants to hold hands. As a family, we are going downstairs one step at a time. Everyone is moving at a different speed and I'm being put through the rack. We finally make it down without me punting the dog because he chose this time to nap on the last god damn step. We eat breakfast and I am reminded that I need to clean the garage and take the dog to the vet. I have no idea why we made this appointment but for some reason this is important to Hossmom. I never win these arguements so I don't try anymore. I watch another 19 minutes of football while spilling milk on the floor. I missed my mouth. I don't care.

10:00 am.
I am in my bathroom, hoping to finally find my 20 minutes of quiet. Little Hoss follows me in the bathroom and throws a fit when I try to shut the door. Fuck it, I invite her in but first I make her go grab me a random book. I am reading "Is your Mama a Llama" while I do my business. Little Hoss is now bored but wants to wash her hands. We taught her this, but her timing is a little off. She screams. She is now throwing tantrums. I want to kill Barney. Why? I have no idea but it seemed right that he should bare my wrath. There is a funky smell in the bathroom that's not me. I look around and notice that our cranky cat has crapped on the floor, in the dirty clothes, on the bathmat. She does this when she is not happy. She's not happy because we didn't get the OK to bring a new kid home. I decide that if the house is on fire and I can only save 7 of us out of 8, well, I know who number 8 is going to be. Shitheel.

I am taking the fat belly Newt to the Vet. I have no idea why this was so important but it was. Little Hoss again went nuts when I left, she wants superdad because she is a little overwhelmed at the moment. I get to the vets office. The lady behind the counter says that they are running behind but if I could just sit patiently they should be with me in about 20 minutes. I almost cry. I am so grateful to this woman that I am sure she is an angel. Yes, I will gladly wait 20 extra minutes in your nice and quiet waiting room. In fact, why don't you just go ahead and make it an even 30. I close my eyes as I tie the fat belly Newt to my leg. I sleep and I dream of another important vets appointment.


  1. I know you're sleep deprived, so I'll try to use tiny words.

    1. "Clean the garage" means "get out of here". You do not have to clean the garage, just go take a nap in the car or something. Take your cell phone in case they change their minds.

    2. Two words: lactation consultant. Seriously. Breastfeeding shouldn't hurt. If it does, a consultant can make your life MUCH easier. Until then, sneaking in a middle of the night bottle makes you a hero in the long run.

    3. Please tell your cat to call off the strike, as my cat has also started crapping all over the place this week. I can only assume it is some sort of feline union activity. I'm all for moral support, but this is too much.

    4. Convince Mrs. Hoss to sleep downstairs in a recliner until the stitches come out.

  2. To Anonymous:
    You are an all seeing all knowing mini-God. 1) While the garage really really needed to be cleaned (which it was, eventually, very nicely tidied) he really did need to get out of there. Hossmom needed some soothing trash TV, not football. 2) The lactation consultant was just a day away when Buba Hoss got with the program. 3) The cat nearly permanently disappeared around 3:00 a.m. after it attacked me while I was getting (more) water for Hossmom, but I was too tired to put the body in the trash. 4. Hossmom moved to the recliner, an idea born from total genius. Hossmom was finally somewhat comfortable and Hossman got to play xbox and sleep the night though. I expect my back to recover in 4 to 6 weeks from sleeping on the living room floor so as to on call for night calls, but not having my daughter burst into tears was so worth it. Thank you.