Any parent worth a shit will tell you that there’s a small window in which you can put your little one down for a nap, that’s all. It’s not like finally putting someone out of their misery after exhausting them in a brutal duel, a la mortal Kombat, it’s much more like re entering the earth’s atmosphere. Do it at the right time, shit, it’s easy. Do it any other time at all, you’re fucked. Burnt. No hope.
Now, I’m kind of a ninja at getting this kid of mine down. I can spot the fucking window a mile away. I never have problems and I have a daily routine that’s very much built around by my ability to get him down and sleeping at the right time.
Well, yesterday he was barfing. Later in the day that turned into liquid shits which continued while I was giving him a bath to try and wash off the sheen of liquid shits that he’d coated himself in. Nothing like cleaning a toddler in a tub and then suddenly seeing a massive brown jettison seeping from the general ass region to wreck your evening. It’s disheartening. Well, today, against EVERY SINGLE BIT OF BETTER JUDGMENT I HAVE, I decided to try and change his diaper before putting him down for a nap, just because I didn’t want him to have to sleep with a diaper full of liquid shit. Long story short-He’s in there just wailing and screaming. He’s not going to nap and I’m FUCKED. This is enough to make me insane. After yesterday, when I had to change his clothes six times and do four different loads of wash, I can’t deal with a day without a nap today. I mean, honestly…Jesus, if you’re out there, good one. You got me good for calling you a zombie hippy with lame friends and making fun of your dad. We’re even now, so just knock the kid out for about two and a half hours, would you? Use some of that magic. Be a sport.
At first, I used to write this blog daily while he wailed in the other room, but that was when he was an infant. He’d eventually pass out. That’s how infants are sometimes. Now he’s got big ideas about what’s supposed to be going on and where he’s supposed to be and for a little guy who literally gets his ass wiped by almost everyone he knows, he’s cultivated a pretty hearty sense of outrage. So, he’s in there standing up, screaming at me to come get him and it’s not going to stop. I’ll get another chance to try and put him down in a few hours, but that’s gonna be sketchy too, and THAT, people is going to lead to a bad night of sleep for everyone involved. I’m supposed to be writing a god damned pitch for a television show right now, but I can’t. My fucking nerves are shot because of this stupid lapse in judgment.
I’m so pissed.
He’s not going to shut up. He’s not.
In Utah, they have these billboards that say “real men don’t shake babies’ and man, that’s true. Shittiest thing you can do is shake a baby. But man. I’ve gotta shake SOMETHING around here and I’d LOVE it if shaking that something shut up that kid. Maybe I’ll shake one of the dogs. Nah. That’s cruel. Oh, man. Oh man.
Now, I recognize that a lot of you out there are in your early twenties and reading my thoughts as I have a breakdown because I parented slip-shoddily is hardly relevant to all your PBR by way of bisexual friends and neon V-neck day-to-day, but guess what? That’s what you get today, turds. This is, as I’ve mentioned before a one way conduit from my brain to your lunch break and here’s what’s on the menu today. BSC world HQ is in shambles!!!!!! There’s fucking screaming, shitty diapers everywhere, dishes in the sink, I’m all sweaty. The Christmas decorations are still in their boxes, that trip to the grocery store surely missed a bunch of key items that I’m gonna hear all about later. What else? Oh, these fucking dogs are driving me nuts. My fucking…wait. Wait. Just a sec. I think he’s…nah, can’t be. Is he asleep? Is he down? He’s been quiet for almost a minute. This is unprecedented. My nerves dare not relax. I’m tense. This is like how tom cruise felt when they lowered him on that string down in front of that computer or when he had to scrape together a hard on and a smile before banging his wife. Holy fucking A! He’s either asleep or dead. That’s either the best or the worst possible scenario, right there folks. Absolutely split right down the center.
See, I know this kid real well, and there’s no way that he’s just sitting in there kicking it in silence. He’s either dead (unlikely) or asleep (slightly less unlikely). Either way, I’m gonna go get my new guitar and try to figure out a song or two and then put this goddamned pitch together.
Oh, and while we’re on the subject, thanks so much for all the advice on buying guitars. Did anyone else find it um, how you say…funny that so many people knew exactly what I needed and had all sorts of great advice for me on how to pick out a good guitar and what I should do and what kind of money I needed to spend? Hey, dildos. I’ve spent more time in more stupid guitar shops than ALL OF YOU, okay (except for you, Danny). I’ve been buying guitars and playing guitars longer than most of you have been feeding yourselves or producing semen/ovulating. Thanks for all the fucking advice, but uh…do you remember why you started coming to this dumb blog page in the first place? I’m from a band. I make the bulk of my living being in a band and I have for more than a decade. I know what I want. So thanks, everyone, but in the words of everyone who’s ever heard someone else say it first, I don’t come down to where you work and tell you how to suck the dicks that come through the glory hole (slightly adjusted from the original for relevance).
Hey, while you’re fixing all my problems, tell me how to put my kid down for a nap now, you fucking teenagers. Go on. I’m dying to hear your pearls of wisdom.