Transmissions From Baby-Town: “Send Sleep, Vodka, And Bacon”

*PSSSHHcracklehisss*

“– you hear me? The stuff’s everywhere — black tar — came pouring out of diapers — could lay shingles with this stuff OH GOD HERE COMES MORE OF IT –“

*kkkkpsshhhhfsssss*

“– haven’t slept in days — seeing things — cherubs with wings, but not like out of a greeting card but like out of the damn Bible — so many eyes — fiery swords — chubby cheeks –“

*weeooooFSSHHHHcrackle*

“– think they’re cute but they’re deadly –“

“– energy levels low, rations dwindling –“

“– everywhere you go it’s always there watching waiting peeing –“

“– alert, alert, this thing’s got witch nails, it killed Samson, merciful Jesus it killed Samson! –“

“– we thought we controlled it, but no, no, it controls us! –“

” — such hubris, we thought we understood the parameters –“

*KKKKFSSSHHHHHBSSHHHH*

“– OH SWEET SID AND MARTY KROFFT IT’S CRYING AGAIN WHICH MEANS ITS HUNGRY — “

” — send sleep — vodka — baaaacon –“

CARRIER LOST

The Littlest Penmonkey Beseeches You

The baby is well.

He’s covered in the acne of an 8th grade math nerd.

He’s still trying to tear off his own face with his komodo claws.

He still looks like we enrolled him in Baby Fight Club.

He sometimes smiles. He likes dancing to the Beastie Boys. His poop has transitioned from the foul black hell-slurry to something that looked like swamp mud to something that looks like deli mustard.

He’s good. And we’re pretty good, too. I mean, no, we don’t sleep for shit. And we’ve learned that the most elemental functions of human life are precious — eating, showering, your own bathroom needs, they’re all second to the baby. He’s like a power-mad deity, this kid. He’s suddenly been dropped into the universe and placed not at its periphery but at its golden nougaty center.

The biggest issue I’m wrestling with is finding time to write and blog. It comes in fits and starts.

Anyway, the thing is, being “new parents,” we are of course on the receiving end of buckets of unsolicited advice, so I figured, why not just lie back and think of England? Why not go with it?

Thus, here I am, flipping the switch from unsolicited to solicited.

Hit me with your best shot. (No, not shit: the baby’s already doing that, thanks.) Best advice for parents with a newborn — double points if it’s advice that goes toward helping this penmonkey still monkey with his pens. I know you parents have collected wisdom stored up in your brains and it yearns to have the cherry popped. Pop it. Break the seal. Rupture the fontanelle. Let it all spill out.

And thank you in advance for doing so.

Oh! And happy Memorial Day.