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Monday, August 22, 2005

testicles, r.i.p.



so all in all, the first day flying solo was a smashing success. of course, by "smashing success" i mean "a success with such hair-straightening caveats that, if i were nasa, would lead me to ground my entire fleet for all eternity."

the successes: the child eventually napped. 20 minutes of sleep here, 15 there, a half-hour of solid ululating, some smiles and, finally, she took a good solid two-hour nap just seconds before i would have succumbed to the gas in the oven where i had placed my head. not used to the bottle, she didn't eat much all day. by about 6 pm, though, she was exhausted, bathed, changed, had been for a walk, and so she ate like a FUCKING TOUR DE FRANCE CHAMPION. great, right? right? WRONG!

the failures: the child ate, yes, but not until it was too late. mrs nice guy returned from the office with, oddly, an F-cup bra size. she had left her pump, which she hadn't employed since noon, at the office, banking on the fact that her child would be famished and obligingly drain her copious breasts. well, her child had indeed been famished, which is precisely why i fed her child 10 minutes before she walked in the door. do you think mrs nice guy said "why thank you, good husband, for washing the baby, doing the laundry, making the bed, running errands, remaining sane and not burning down the apartment today"? do you!? i would look pretty silly right now if she did! (ok, fine. fuck. full disclosure: i had sent her an e-mail at 5:30 asking if i should feed the child or wait for mrs nice guy to bring her breasts home. i never did receive the reply e-mail. or the reply voicemail at home. or the reply voicemail on my cell. all of which she somehow managed to leave simultaneously, emphasizing how detrimental to my health it would be were i to feed the daughter, for surely she would avenge her breasticular explosion.) no. needless to say, she was less than pleased to find that her daughter had been fed.

she was apoplectic. her eyes turned the color of the river styx, overflowing with the carrion of slaughtered husbands. she began speaking an otherworldly tongue understood only by the immortals ... and by wives reaching nirvana-like levels of ecstatic rage. you see, the child was asleep for the night. as it was she was depressed to be returning to work. she had not held her precious tiny daughter since 7:30 am and her mom-arms were as empty and dry as her mom-mamms were full and sloshy. she is miserable. i too am miserable: my wife has not spoken more than six words since returning home this evening, and four of those were "assface."


the cats, however, are quite happy: tonight they had the rare delightful treat of dining on nice guy testicle souffle.

10 Comments:

Blogger birthfree said...

Oh I am sorry... what did your poor wife do with her boobs? Ouch. Poor Momma, poor Dad, it will get better...

8/23/2005 12:35 AM  
Blogger momma of 2 said...

ouch- I understand where your wife was coming from. Hope today goes better.

8/23/2005 9:26 AM  
Blogger Candace said...

*groan*

Oh, Mr. Nice Guy. Poor, poor Mr. Nice Guy.

That which does not kill us makes us stronger, right?

8/23/2005 10:35 AM  
Anonymous Mandy said...

Urg. Poor Mrs. Nice Guy. I've been there, and it's no fun. Ouch. A back-up hand pump is handy, but never worked well for me. You did a great job, though, Mr. Nice Guy, even if your timing proved to be off!

8/23/2005 11:13 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Yes, poor Mrs. Nice Guy! I think you should take a walk today with Baby Nice Guy and pick up an Avent Isis manual pump to keep at home...so much cheaper than years of family psychotherapy!

8/23/2005 12:35 PM  
Blogger Not-For-Profit Dad said...

This is why I tell my wife that if something's really important, she should just count on the fact that I can read her mind at vast distances. That way, I'll know the right thing to do.

Hey, it worked for Luke and Leia in Empire Strikes Back.

8/23/2005 2:37 PM  
Blogger Kirsten said...

I can totally relate, this was also my day 2 home alone with my babe. mine only sleeps in a sling during the day, so I hung the sling on a clothes hook. We all do what we have to, this is a survival game!! Best of luck to you and the Mrs.!!

Kirsten

8/23/2005 6:35 PM  
Blogger ~raammartin~ said...

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA It's a miracle you were still well enough to write your entry!

8/23/2005 10:30 PM  
Blogger Elisabeth said...

HEE HEE HEE.. I LOVE your blog. I can always count on a good laugh when I read it.

Ouch for Mrs. Nice Guy. It really does hurt. Hang in there, and keep writing. Good stress relief!! :)

8/23/2005 10:48 PM  
Blogger Hostile in Ohio said...

*Love* the link. LOL

You deserved more than to be made a souffle of...I'd have hurt you. Poor Mrs. Nice Guy!

You do good otherwise, though.

8/25/2005 4:49 PM  

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