He's baaaaaaaaaack. Shoot.
Remember that time I was all, "whatev, losers, having a newborn baby is soooooooooo easy!"? Remember that? Were those of you who had been there just chuckling to yourself, waiting for the screaming tapeworm demon to rear his ugly (except very cute) head? Well, you win. This shit is crazy.
It's like the hardest, most boring, month-long day I've ever experienced. And I'm such a cliche with my only-taking-pictures-of-my-baby, unshowered, yoga-pant-wearing, slobber-covered self. I'm grimy even for me.
Little buddy has been in his 6-week growth spurt since Monday, which means that I have done nothing but feed him and then wait ten minutes to feed him again. Did I mention that my sweet little baby eats for an hour at a time, every time? Like twenty times a day? And that my ass is actually sore from sitting on the couch for so many hours? And that if I don't remember to grab the remote before I sit down to feed him, then I am taken hostage by a marathon of America's Next Top Model or Pregnant at 70?
And I love the crap out of this baby (quite literally), but jeez-oh-pete, kid, don't you know that absence makes the heart grow fonder?*
So I've decided to make a plan. Here it is. Baby Charlie will finish his growth spurt tonight, and then will sleep for 10 hours straight and will wake up pleasant and happy and only wanting to be held half of the time that he's awake. And he will sleep 10 hours a night every night from here on out. And then he will learn to change his own diapers, to fetch me the remote, and to mix up a mean margarita. And, hell, he'll learn Spanish, too.
And I will see my bed again. And fold the laundry for the first time in a week. And have a minute to wash off some of this slobber. It's disgusting.
*Charlie, if you're reading this far, far in the future, know this: if you continue to eat this often I will have to punish you by forcing you to wear a jean jacket. Again.
Remember that time I was all, "whatev, losers, having a newborn baby is soooooooooo easy!"? Remember that? Were those of you who had been there just chuckling to yourself, waiting for the screaming tapeworm demon to rear his ugly (except very cute) head? Well, you win. This shit is crazy.
Feed me!
It's like the hardest, most boring, month-long day I've ever experienced. And I'm such a cliche with my only-taking-pictures-of-my-baby, unshowered, yoga-pant-wearing, slobber-covered self. I'm grimy even for me.
Little buddy has been in his 6-week growth spurt since Monday, which means that I have done nothing but feed him and then wait ten minutes to feed him again. Did I mention that my sweet little baby eats for an hour at a time, every time? Like twenty times a day? And that my ass is actually sore from sitting on the couch for so many hours? And that if I don't remember to grab the remote before I sit down to feed him, then I am taken hostage by a marathon of America's Next Top Model or Pregnant at 70?
Feed me!
And I love the crap out of this baby (quite literally), but jeez-oh-pete, kid, don't you know that absence makes the heart grow fonder?*
So I've decided to make a plan. Here it is. Baby Charlie will finish his growth spurt tonight, and then will sleep for 10 hours straight and will wake up pleasant and happy and only wanting to be held half of the time that he's awake. And he will sleep 10 hours a night every night from here on out. And then he will learn to change his own diapers, to fetch me the remote, and to mix up a mean margarita. And, hell, he'll learn Spanish, too.
Big sneezes.
And I will see my bed again. And fold the laundry for the first time in a week. And have a minute to wash off some of this slobber. It's disgusting.
*Charlie, if you're reading this far, far in the future, know this: if you continue to eat this often I will have to punish you by forcing you to wear a jean jacket. Again.
Well..., did your plan work?
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