Where Am I

Night. Day. I can't tell the difference anymore and it doesn't matter.

3:00am? Maybe 2:00am? I just don't know. They all look the same to me. They are black and dark. There is crying somewhere but I have to play wheel of fortune to determine who it is that is crying. Maybe Little Hoss woke up, she's been doing that from time to time. Maybe Bubba Hoss is hungry, he always is. Maybe Hossmom is hurting while breastfeeding.

I don't know so I go through a ritual several times each night. I start clockwise. Check Bubba first, then Little Hoss, then Hossmom. Each one gets a kiss but I'm not sure where I am kissing them. That bit of rationality is reserved for those sound of mind not those that get an hour sleep at a time. I think last night I kissed a diaper. The smell was pretty bad but that could have been just me, God I need a shower.

I don't know what day of the week it is anymore either. I'm missing football games, I'm sure of it. But when I do watch them I can only make it through the first 10 minutes then I'm out like a lamp. But only for another 30 minutes before I have to get up and kiss someone again. Superdad love, everyone gets a kiss. Last night I think I actually watched a Alasken State game. I can't be sure though because everything was in a haze and I was rocking Bubba Hoss to sleep.

I'm relying on routine, that is what is getting me through all of this. I don't have to think, which is a good thing because right now I know that I would fail 2nd grade math. In the 2nd grade I was asked to put 10 words in alphebitcal order. I was trying to be the first one finished because I knew that the hot teacher would smile at me and pat me on the head. It's the 7 year old version of a hand job, it was going to be great. But then I got the test back and I missed everyone except the "A"s. It would appear that I forgot to look at the second letter in the word. That's about how I feel now.

Sometime this morning, around when the son was coming up, I put a diaper on Mr. Frog. My mind wasn't there, it was completely gone. It was somewhere in the void where naps are possible. It was in the realm of the ordinary where each individual is given the ability to shut thier eyes without having to open them, ever.

Mr. Frog was sleeping next to Bubba Hoss. They are both the same size neither has any muscle control. It was an honest mistake that anyone could make. I don't have night light in the bedroom but it wouldn't have mattered if I did as I kept my eyes closed the entire time. But to my credit, Mr. Frog didn't leak one ounce out of his diaper. I only realized my mistake when Bubba Hoss kept crying and I figured he was hungry. So I handed Mr. Frog to my wife to breast feed. She let me know my mistake after she complained that he wasn't latching. Parents of the year.

Hossmom seems to be holding up well but I can only tell because she snores. If she snores, she's asleep. And anyone in this house that is sleeping is doing well.

Maybe I should start drinking Red Bull or perhaps the new drink: Stay Awake Parent forever cocktail. I don't know what that is but I'm sure if I invented it I would make a fortune. Because right now, I need something to focus my mind. It's all over the place. It's a miracal that I writing this blog. But as you can tell, I have totally forsaken spelling and grammer, not that there was much a diffence from before. But at least now I no longer give a shit.

The scariest moment came a couple of nights ago. My wife poked me. I hate being poked. I hate anyone poking anything. But I especially hate anyone poking the baby. Everyone constantly pokes a new born. You know, just in case. In the back of everyone's mind is the thought of something bad happening. The baby looks so peaceful, so restful. Combined with the CIA sleep deprevation torture that you currently go through, you think the worse. So you poke the baby. The baby wakes up. I go insane.

That's why we had to move the baby to my side of the bed. He sleeps in a bassinet next to the bed. I don't poke so the baby and myself get at least some sleep. Hossmom pokes like he's a ripe tomato. She poked me last night which I took to mean that the baby was awake and it was time to feed. I didn't hear anything but that's no surprise as all the hatred I was feeling for everyone was blocking my ears.

I reached over to get Bubba Hoss. I put my hand out. He wasn't there. I reached around the entire bassinet but felt nothing. It was like that game on the price is right where the contestent puts his hand into a bag and blindly pulls out a number but can't find the last tile in the bag. That was me. I'm sorry Bob says, but that is strike 3, you have lost your baby. Rod, tell him how many years he'll spend in prison.

I freaked out. It took Hossmom a couple of minutes to calm me down. I finally opened my eyes and saw that she had the baby in her arms. She stated that she was done breast feeding and could I please put Bubba Hoss back into the bassinet. It would appear that 30 minutes ago I woke up and handed her the kiddo in the first place. I have no recolection of that event, senator. None. I don't remember a thing.

I put Bubba Hoss back down cursing everyone that has done anything that has pissed me off for the last 32 years. I have no idea why.

But I couldn't go back to sleep. So I reached my hand in the basinet and started poking the baby, ya know, just incase the aliens have come back to abduct him.

For Christ's sake, now I'm poking.

No comments:

Post a Comment