I haven't slept in seventeen months, all the furniture is in the back yard, and I step on slimy, wet, chewed up crackers and half eaten grapes constantly. I wake up before the sun, (I wouldn't call it waking up, I just kind of open my other eye) and before I can put the mason jar style coffee mug under the keurig, I'm being screamed at through a 2 foot wooden fence separating the living room from the kitchen, for a cracker or a ball, sometimes both at once.
These are the only two words he can really say, so it's all he wants... crackers.... and balls.....
He actually says tons of other shit, but those are his favorites.
After I get my coffee, I have to hold it over my head hoping I don't scorch my scalp while he circles me like a rabid chimpanzee, screaming "DOWN???!!!" while grabbing at my pajama pants because he thinks that's the word for "up". My Mother had the wonderful idea of getting him a toy grand piano, so after I refuse to pick him up, he runs over to it and smashes his hands down on the keys repeatedly like a Jerry Lee Lewis encore, yelling in babblish like the crowd was going insane for him.
I finally get the television turned on, and search for the light blue menu bars through the puffy, crusted, bloodshot slits that used to be my beautiful brown eyes. The light blue bars are my saving grace until the sun comes up.... they are the creepy, computer generated children's shows, that are created by the genius minds of "please shut the fuck up so I can gather my thoughts and not want to choke you for the remainder of the morning."
I somehow know the words to every song that is sung, no matter what channel it is... I remember before he was born saying, "my son's not going to be one of those zombies that sits in front of the television chanting Mickey Mouse songs like he's in some kiddy cult" ... I wonder how many other parents have said that shit, and reneged on raising their children with the better way of life... and how many people that don't have kids yet, that still say that shit. You just wait.
He already knows how to use my phone, calls my friends, and accidentally posts shit on Facebook. He once put my laptop in "sepia" mode... I had to take it to my computer genius buddy to get it taken care of, and he was all "how the fuck did he do this??"
Everything I own is covered in some crusty caked finger swipe, even my guitars. I keep the expensive shit in cases, and he is now even getting into those... 5,000 toys being kicked around the house constantly by me, and he scales the leg of the dining room table and grabs my full, hot, coffee mug, or I will occasionally find him sucking on a phone charger that's plugged into the wall.
At first, everything is really new, and frightening... trying to keep your child alive. Not dropping him when he was brand new was exhausting. It was the same anxiety as walking a tight rope between two skyscrapers.
But after a while, it just becomes some ninja shit that you somehow acquired over time... you sense what he's going to do before he does it, and your foot comes out sideways from behind, and stops whatever piece of metal was inches away from the electrical outlet without even turning your head.
You quickly realize that "quiet" is only good if he's sleeping... every other time you could hear a pin drop, is usually when I'm in the kitchen making his lunch, and he's got the dog hanging from the string on the blinds, or about to swan dive from the top of the couch head first onto the hardwood floor.
And with all that... with the 15 grey hairs I've lost just writing this, he will tire out, grab his favorite blanket, climb onto the couch, and nuzzle into my arms.... and it's like nothing bad ever happened in the world, ever...
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