(camera pans over belgrade. Zooms into apartment on the river.
Standing on edge of ledge is scruffy man with rope tied around his neck. On ground 5 stories below is bed of sharpened spikes and prowling around bed are 2 famished wilderbeasts who are being forced to listen to an audio reading of the Twilight book series and are understandably very, very annoyed.
As camera settles in man he looks at camera and scowls)
Don’t interrupt me. Seriously. I have thought through my options and really, trust me, this is best.
If all this (he gestures to elaborate suicide setup) seems a bit over the top, well… Lord knows i’ve GOT the free time on me hands while i sit UP ALL NIGHT with the baby.
There will be a few days of normalcy. He’ll be okay, the usual this and that. But THEN… one day he’ll have a lot of drool. And that means it’s coming. For the next few nights he wakes UP, middle of night. 3-5 am, maybe 1-3 am, maybe 2-4 am. Middle of the night. Up. No SIGN of being interested in sleep. But needy. and crying. And uncomfortable.
Problems GOING to sleep sometimes, appetite really down some days, up for HOURS at any odd time of the night.
Dealing with teething baby for two hours from 2-4 or 3-5… folks…
When i was growing up, my mother didn’t really drink. Not a big drinker, maybe some wine with dinner during a holiday meal.
But every now and then, real blue moon, when she had a day from Hell, at the tail end of it she would take out one of the bottles of something and pour herself a drink. (i don’t even know if she even finished it… i think it was the first couple sips she liked)
Last night, night 3 in a thrilling world series of baby insomnia, at 4 am when the little guy FINALLY decided to go back to sleep, i decided “Screw it. I’m going for a stiff one.” Crawling my way out on the terrace with a glass of scotch, even THAT was a disaster. I think i managed to take about 3 sips, shaking my head and grimacing nastily through each one (certainly if i was at a bar i would have held together more macho-ly, but alone on my terrace i can be as girly man about scotch as i want) before i gave up. I’m no teetotaler, but i only really drink beer and have lost the ability to do the hard stuff. Damn that was nasty.
So no solace for the besieged Daddy. No solace for the poor, uncomfortable baby, and Mama gets solace and sleep until like, 6 am, when she has to drag HERself out of bed and become a Baby Entertainment System.
Now if you’ll excuse me i have to go organize some wilderbeasts.