Thursday, May 23, 2013

The Rising Price of Gas

My son is a micro-organism... A very loud micro-organism.  We spend most of our adult lives making jokes about the noises we make... Burping, farting, etc.  We forget that infant children need coaching.  Heck, I never thought they did in the first place, at least in the gas department.

My son, however, apparently creates his own magnificence, quite like one would spin a symphony out of a muse's behind.  Somehow though - he is unable to unleash that magnificence with the rest of the world.  Which, in turn, leads to teenage angst in a 7 day old.  Screaming... lots and lots of screaming.  No amount of back-patting will help, which sadly, means that all-niter's are no longer fun.

At this point, I am learning that my son needs a few things:


  1. Food.
  2. Sleep.
  3. A Clean Diaper at all times, and please utilize your ESP to know when it is happening so that I do not have to ask you to do it. Wherein I would have to invoke the "Waah Waah Waah" broken record until you finally give me what I want.
  4. A good burp or fart at all times.
  5. Love.
  6. A warm bath.
  7. Dog kisses, but not on my face.
  8. Mommy - because she is awesome.
Now, I have to remind myself that it  is eight days since my son has escaped the warm confines of being attached to my wife.  This means that he was evicted from the best 5-star hotel known to man with a free pass to the restaurant, the mini-bar, and the Chateau Le Mom Spa.  He must be pissed.

So, really, we are trying desperately to recreate that Eden in our world.  We know that here in our world there will be experiences that will exceed all of that in time.  But try explaining that to the Man of the House.

I may be tired, but I can only imagine how my wife is doing.  I think she deserves a foot rub.

For the next twenty years.