Thursday, July 26, 2007
Alrighty then, enough of the colloquialisms of colloquialville. It’s an overrated hamlet anyway. What I came to say is, uh, wow, blessedly, nothing. Actually I gotta ton, the same whut my uzi weighs, but why tell you bout it? Oh yeah, why not?
We are making definite progress in the fight toward the rights of sleeping more than one hour at a time through the night. Baby girl (the littler not quite a month old baby girl, that is, yes, we have two, don’t forget, keith, your 13 month old is still a baby, que sera) only woke up for feedings twice between the 11:30 laydown of the heydown and the 7 AM wakeup call with mix master mike and the notorious uno dos tres. Wowsers, indeed. I think me may just have the magic formula for knocking this kid out quickly and effectively, and it’s all about nursing and the sideways wayside, taking baby & momma to nappy poo land. Add in the added bonus that the newborn is starting to accept amounts beyond a trickle of sheesh in her dipe without staging a Spanish inquisition, and, well, worse recipe’s have made the ricky lake show to thunderous applause.
In well & true fact, the older one had the more eventful evening, not quite waking up but requiring 2 AM attention and soothing, which hasn’t happened in, jeez, 8 months? You can just about bank on once she’s out, she’s out until the morn, but she must have been having some heavy and fright filled (or at least disturbing?) dreams, because she was rolling back & forth across her bed and then starting crying, & so I picked her up & comforted her & tried to lay her down again, but she started right back into it, getting all semi-vaklempt.
So we brought her to bed so she could play pinball between me & Mrs. P rather than between her bed posts, whacking whatever blocked her way with not inconsiderable force. After an hour of getting beat down by baby & doing my best wax the car impression to periodically sleepily protect the jewels from flying limbs, I picked her up again, my nostrodamus like steel trap cerebrum indicating that success might now be achieved, forthwith picking her up again, putting her head on my shoulder (she was asleep the whole time, but a panicked sleep it was), and making my way around the house for 5 minutes or so, patting her back & letting her know dad had the monsters at bay, and sure enough, was able to lay her down again, this time for the night, putting all right in mudville once again.
prognosticating protagonist with a prototype for progress? No, fair reader, just a simple father forging a path towards slumber and a morning of typing inane chatter to a possibly caring negasphere. No reward necessary, save the few solid hours of undisturbed unconsciousness that then transpired, which may as well have been an astro medallion laced gold chain dipped in myrrh coated frankincense. Aloha, gracias, all of the above.