Durrrrrr.
I could see the monitor firing up through my eyelids, like flashes of lightning. Still, I said nothing. You could argue that lying in a bed listening to a baby monitor go nuts is far more torturous than actually getting up and feeding a child, but I wasn’t having any of it.
Ewwooohhhh.
I scratched my face again and my wife turned again and now everything was out in the open. One of us was gonna have to back down, preferably before the real screaming began.
Wahhhhhhhh!!!!
“Honey, can you get her?” my wife asked.
“No way,” I said. “I had first shift last night.”
“But you weren’t with her all day like I was.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Please. I can’t.”
“What do you mean, you can’t?”
WAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!
“I just can’t,” she said.
“Like, you’re gonna literally die if you have to get up?”
“Will you please?”
“Oh, this is some bullshit.”
I got up, turned off the monitor, and staggered out of the bedroom to the nursery. I cursed myself for trying to win a “Who’s more tired?” argument with a woman. You’re never more tired or more put-upon than she is. She did way more than you. And if you did more than her, well then she had to push that baby out of her vagina, which more than evens the score. It’s a rigged game. I wished I could have carried the fetus to term myself just so I could have had that card to play for the rest of time. The pain would have been totally worth it.
The nursery had a changing table and a little caddy next to it that contained all of the bottles we would need for the night. There was also a small container that had three-ounce portions of formula powder in three separate chambers. We did this so that we wouldn’t have to trudge downstairs in the middle of the night to make a bottle. It took us two months to figure out we should do this. Like I said, new parents are idiots.
I had to bring the bottle out to the bathroom to fill it with precisely three ounces of water. On the can of formula, there were harsh warnings about mixing it properly, so I was vigilant about getting the proportions right. I got a cheap thrill from being able to turn the tap off at the precise moment that three ounces of fluid had filled the bottle. It was like shutting off a gas pump right on a whole dollar amount. So, so exciting.
I turned on the water and waited for it to warm up. I could hear the baby’s cries growing louder, even louder than when I first got out of bed. Babies have this incredible ability to throw you off your game with their cries. It’s like being tongue-tied when you’re talking to a beautiful woman. The harder they cry, the more of a fumbling mess you become.
“I’m coming! I’m coming!”
I hit the three ounces on the money, did a white boy fist pump, added the formula powder, capped the bottle, shook the thing like I was shooting craps at a casino, and then ran into the nursery. By now, the baby had turned deep red and was exhibiting homicidal tendencies. I grabbed her, plopped down into the glider with her, and jammed the nipple into her mouth. She began to slurp it down quickly. Too quickly. In the dead of night, I had to weigh my desire to go right back to sleep against my desire to not be coated in a gallon of curdled barf. I pulled the bottle away from my kid and she started going all berserker on me.
“Easy, girl. Easy.”
I gave her the bottle back and let her get an ounce down before the ceremonial burping began. You have to burp a new baby after every ounce or so, or else they end up painting the walls with their insides. I tucked the bottle under my armpit to keep the formula warm (mmmm . . . armpit milk) and then put her on my shoulder. She instantly brought her knees to her chest, screaming with gas pain. I kissed her ever so gently on her face to calm her down, and for a brief moment I succeeded. She settled down and let out one of those beautiful little coos that only a newborn child can make. Then I nuzzled against her and stared into her big whale eyes and whispered to her that I loved her dearly, and that pissed her right off. I tried singing to her, in my most delicate singing voice, to calm her back down. I thought it could be a really beautiful moment between us.
“Hush, little baby, don’t say a word . . .”
“WAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”
“Daddy’s gonna buy you a mockingbird. And if that mockingb—”
“WAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”