5 days after beginning my new job as baby manager and holy shit. My life is now controlled by a small tyrannical nearly 9-week-old dictator. I'm rooming with fucking Kim Jong Il. Yes I know he died...and was reincarnated IN THE GUISE OF MY SON. To be fair, it hasn't been all horrible, just mostly. The kid cannot be put down for any reason. If his ass or back touches anything other than my arms he immediately breaks down. At first it's funny because he begins with a sort of whimpering whine and his face morphs slowly into full-on meltdown. Then, the screaming begins and does not abate. I'll get small moments of composure when I walk outside and do a lap around the yard or turn on the water faucet for a minute. At this point, there isn't much I haven't tried. Occasionally, huge stress on the occasionally, he'll let me stand in one place and just pat his bottom. 8lbs of raw baby is incredibly exhausting to tote around all day.
Also, I've completely forgotten to eat most days. It doesn't even enter my mind until Kelly gets home and I'm all, "Man, I'm famished." I've forgotten to brush my teeth a few of these nights. Also, I don't think I've flossed this entire week. Do we still have floss in the house? Maybe that's why. It's entirely possible we ran out and I haven't picked any up at the store with all of the time I have being consumed by El Presidente Munch.
Fast forward to our 2 month appointment yesterday and what does he do? He looks straight at nurse I'm-getting-ready-to-stick-you-with-needles and smiles. The first words out of my mouth were, "Unbelievable! What the hell is that?!" I then had to remember I was in public and public decorum must be upheld, or some such shit, and had to actively refrain from repeatedly exclaiming, "What the fuck?!" Of course, as the nurse reacts in high-pitch squeals, he SMILES AGAIN EVEN LARGER. A third smile later (because, apparently, he already knows how to rub salt in the wound of my heart) he's on the scale, lying on his back...not crying. Even though I've suffered through 4 days straight of screaming fits when I put him down for three seconds to, ya know, change the clothing he so casually vomited all over or eat a bite of food. Why do I need to eat a bite of food? SO I CAN CONTINUE TO SUSTAIN YOUR LIFE.
We basically geared up for 48 hours of hell after his vaccines. Irritable, inconsolable, probably running a fever and probably crying all day because of that. So, basically, like every other day this week minus a fever. When I pressed for a solid answer on what to expect in the next 24-48 hours the doc began to spew unicorns and rainbows from his mouth. Apparently, early term babies usually don't have very negative reactions to the first round of vaccines, and, are you ready for this? GET REALLY SLEEPY FOR 24 HOURS. As long as they're waking up to eat, it's totally fine. In my head I thought, fuck, if this kid sleeps 24 hours straight I'm cutting my losses and moving on. There is no way in hell I'm waking him up.
He took the shots like a champ and, I swear, almost immediately feel asleep in his car seat. The same car seat with which he shares a very intense love-hate relationship, heavy on the hate. We Carpe Diem'd the shit out of our good fortune and ran to a local pizza place to grab some dinner before heading home. Munch is completely passed out after his harrowing experience with the vaccines and after we sit down Kelly and I kind of look at each other for a minute. We audibly exhale at the same time. We're both acutely aware of the delicate balancing act that is required. No sudden movements, no loud sounds. Just sit quietly and calmly and bask in the glory of the moment. When the appetizers got to the table I began inhaling them at ludicrous speed, knowing full well this was not going to last. Kelly, thankfully, settled me back down. Alas, the best laid plans of moms and dads...
A family of three sat back down a few tables away from us. Where they came from I've no idea. They were not there when we walked in and somehow magically appeared at their table with their pizza being immediately served. I was a bit confused and then the toddler began making a lot of noise. Mom and dad were useless so I took matters into my own hands by staring the kid down with eyes that burned. I gave him the biggest stink eye I could possibly muster. So help me god if he ruins this moment for us. It was apparent that mom and dad were quickly loosing containment, or had no real intention of keeping containment in the first place because dad handed him the fucking pie server. THE METAL FUCKING PIE SERVER, with which he proceeded to bang repeatedly against the metal pole next to their table. The moment was lost. Munch woke up with a start wailing his head off, I tried to swing the car seat to settle him while Kelly bolted down the rest of her pizza and then we traded so I could finish. We were gone within seconds.
The moral of the story is twofold. Firstfold, I'm in talks with the doctor to schedule a rotating, every other day, vaccination schedule for Munch because he was mercifully sleepy (angelic even) all day today, and secondfold, those parents at the pizza place are the worst fucking people in the world.
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