first of all, a note about how the kid wakes up. i have friends with kids. at the tot lot, where i do my "comparing and despairing," i talk to my friends. their kids, they say, wake up with nary a peep. their angelic children arise with a coo ... and lay in their cribs for a while. they may babble sweetly: "mama, baba, poppee," in gentle baby tones. they play with a stuffed animal. gradually, the child will get bored and start to whine. that's ok because mom and dad have had time to wake up and are eager to fetch baby.
my kid? every single morning (and after every single nap) she wakes up by having her skull split open, green hellfire erupting from her throat. before she even opens her eyes, she is screaming like robert plant in the opening strains of "immigrant song." aaaauuugghAAAAUUUGHHaaauuughhhh -- valhalla i am coming! and i am taking this whole fucking borough with me! no gentle babbling. no cute crib rustling or plushtoy playing. just siren-wailing.
this morning it was siren-wailing at 5:30 in the am. she was shrieking in tongues, communing with her aggrieved ancestors. it was still dark outside. i went from experiencing deep REM cycle sleep (in which i was cavorting with eight oiled up gisele bundchens and a midget conjoined-twin) to suddenly knowing what it would feel like to have a skinhead doc marten my head into the sidewalk. normally, at 5:30 in the morning, i would pretend to sleep through her screaming and make my wife deal with it. it's our ritualistic game of bed-chicken: let's see who will cave first and get the kid. but there was no denying it was my turn to get the kid.
so i got the kid, fighting every urge to pull her out of the crib by her ululating tongue.
did i mention it was still dark out? ugh.
happy labor day weekend y'all. here's some excellent scissor sisters gaiety to get things off to a proper start: