development and regression, all rolled into one
ugh. i am no longer mr nice guy. i am mr lazy blog updating nonsleeping and no longer funny except for my insane hallucinations and talking to myself guy. you know how you have a lot of stuff to talk about but you don't say it at first but then all of a sudden there is more to talk about and then you feel overwhelmed by how much is on your mind and you don't know where to begin so you don't begin at all and then it's too late you have waaay too much to say so you might as well shut up forever because you're never going to get caught up and what's the point anyway since we're all going to die someday. you know? so it's been one of those weeks.
this is all incredibly not interesting but the basic thing is that the baby, she is possessed. it's really too bad. we had decided we liked this baby. it was a baby that we wanted to keep around. she was cute. she had begun drooling a lot and making eye contact and smiling all the time and grabbing things with her hands. cute, right? you would hand her a little tiny baby toy and she would grab it! her eyes would get all wide with wonderment at the fact that she had fingers! and an opposable thumb! and she would reach for the tiny little rattle or stuffed rainbow-colored turtle or rawhide chewy bone or whathaveyou and she would GRAB IT. she had an id, or an ego or whatever. mostly she had WILL POWER. she would exercise that will: inexorably--ineluctably even!--the thing in her hand would make its way to her mouth! she would chomp on it with her gummy pink fleshy slimy babymouth. this was a very new development, like within a week or so. the thing would sometimes not make it to her mouth, motor control not yet totally mastered, so sometimes the thing would go into her eye. or smush up against her cheek, missing her open drooly cavernous toothless maw. sometimes she would just hold the thing and babble and laugh. it was so fucking cute your head would explode and your spouse would be left to clean your brains off the wall AND raise the baby alone, but she would do it happily because the child is obviously a prodigy supermodel olympic athlete.
but THEN. then, (if i may paraphrase revelation 12:9) the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him ... and all of them ENTERED THIS PERFECT CHILD'S BODY. look, mrs nice guy and i are not dumb. we were not, unlike some members of this household, born yesterday or thereabouts. we have books and we can read and we know that the baby is supposed to sleep 15 out of every 24 hours. this lilliputian dark angel, however, now sleeps a good seven or eight hours a night. not bad right? (of course, it's mildly annoying that these nine hours begin at 6 or 7 pm and end at ... carry the one ... cosine ... times pi ... 2 or 3 am. but then she dozes for another two or three hours.) so apparently she thinks we must be convinced that she sleeps enough because she has dropped naptime like oprah drops pounds on sweeps week. no naps! we put her down for a nap at 10 am and she will fake us out: she will sleep for 20 or 40 minutes. then she will wake up emitting a sternum-splintering howl that is clearly designed to summon her minions from hades to come destroy her parents and feast on their bowels. she has gas. she farts. she refuses to go back to sleep. so after another hour of bribing her to doze off again, we cave and feed her and play with her and she is her usual adorable angelic self again. until ... the afternoon nap. same drill: she sleeps for 20 to 40 minutes (this is a nap that should last 2 hours or so) and begins caterwauling to the undead. add all those numbers up and you know what? SHE IS NOT GETTING ENOUGH SLEEP. and there is nothing we can do. we let her cry it out. we give her gripe water, which incidentally is an excellent name for a band, or Mylicon (R), which isn't. we rub her wee tum. we refrain from taking her out of the crib. we follow all the experts' advice and it's all for naught.
last night mrs nice guy had to go to a neighborhood meeting thing. she left at 7:20 pm, when the baby had just gone to sleep. usually, she goes right down at night, no problem, for the duration of the evening. so i figured, while mrs nice guy was at her meeting i would whip up a scrumptious thai chicken curry soup (in the current Cuisine at Home, check it out even though they actually call for duck, simply delicious). since i was starting with pre-cooked meat, the magazine says this recipe should only take about 45 minutes to an hour, start to finish. aha! but the editors of cuisine at home neglected to factor in the TWO HOURS it would take me to subdue my screaming hellchild who launched into full anti-aircraft mode seconds after her mother left the house. she was still screaming when mrs nice guy came home. i was so frustrated at one point that i put the baby down, went into my room ... and punched myself in the head as hard as i could. i had never done such a thing before. i will not lie to you: it hurt not only my head, but my hand as well. still, there was something oddly gratifying about it, even though i had a headache all day today and it hurts to type. anyway, i was so glad when mrs nice guy came home to stick her tits in the infant's face because i didn't really want to eat thai baby curry soup.
but, oh, i was prepared to.