No Basketball For You

6 weeks in and Bacon Hoss was awesome.  He was a good baby.  He was a baby that went to sleep.  He ate when he was hungry.  He pooped and didn't blow out a diaper.  At night, he would lightly cry to let us know that he was hungry.  We would feed him, put him back to sleep without a fight, and get some good shut eye ourselves.  He never cried all that loud either, almost as if he was respecting the ears of his family.  He was a good baby.

But then he became self aware.  He is skynet.

For 6 weeks he was basically no problems at all.  I got everyone home from the hospital just fine and dandy.  My wife was actually happy again as she was no longer pregnant.  She thus didn't feel the need to punish me anymore.  I was happy.  6 weeks of good times.

March Madness started.  It was the second round.  I love March Madness.  I can't get enough of it.  I love the last second shots.  I love the close calls.  I love the Cinderella teams stepping up to the plate and sending the big dog home.  I love doing brackets, I love seeing my brackets explode.  I love all of it.  I don't watch any college basketball until March Madness and then I am glued to the TV.

Sometime after the first rounds of games though, Bacon Hoss had a thought, possibly his first thought.  Certainly his first profound thought.  Let's screw over Dad.  What a great thought to have.

For 6 weeks I could sit in my chair with Bacon on my chest.  I would pet him, he would make little noises.  We would both fart.  It was good times.  I would eat nachos while trying not to drip any cheese on his head. He would spasm randomly to keep me on my toes.  I would explain to him what a slam dunk was and how I could have done it.  I lied, he listened, life was good.

Then the second round started and he decided that what basketball was missing was some good old fashioned screaming.  Not good fan screaming like you get from a face painted local, but baby screaming that seems to find that last nerve and just jump on it.  For hours.

I would change him, he would still cry.  I would bounce him.  He would still cry.  I would give him his bottle. He would eat it, puke on me a bit, and then continue to cry. I just wanted to watch the game.  I thought we had an understanding.  Him and me and a whole month of college mayhem.  Apparently, he changed his terms of service.

Hossmom would go to bed around 9.  I would pull up the good old DVR and start the games that we had missed, games that I took extra attention to not find the score to.  We would spend the next three hours watching those games and then I would feed him.  I would put him to bed and go to bed myself.  Life would be grand.

He however has decided that I am his father and therefore, his enemy.  I have watched the games, sure, but not in a solid burst, more in ten minute increments punctuated by extreme screaming with the occasional vomit.

I remind myself that I've been through this before, that I got this, that I can remember my Jedi training.  After an hour I realize that my training may be out of date.

I rock him.  I put him in his car seat and rock him.  I stand up and rock him.  I sit down and rock him.  I sing rock and roll to him while I sit Indian style and rock him.  It makes no difference, this kids will is strong.  I don't know what I am doing wrong.  I don't even know if I'm doing anything wrong.  And the more we do this, the more that I am sure that I am doing nothing wrong.

He has just decided that easy street is over and that it's time to liven up the joint.  And I can't blame him, we've been pretty boring over the last couple of months.  We haven't gone anywhere, no fear has been conquered, no foe vanquished.  We haven't been on an adventure yet with Bacon Hoss and perhaps he's tired of that, perhaps it's time for him to meet the world.

Or maybe he just doesn't want to watch basketball?  Maybe he's more of a baseball kid.  That's ok, that season is starting and I've got cable.  I can envision many hours of me teaching him what chin music is and how to steal second.  And if that doesn't work?  Football season is right after that.

If he pushes me, hell, I like all kinds of sports.  Don't think I won't whip out some Nascar or Soccer.  See how he feels about that.  I'll ask him as soon as I get my hearing back.