The trees have got to come down.

Surprisingly, I remembered my password. It’s been a long hot minute since I’ve updated this mug. But my excuse flows with the theme of the blog. I’ve been stuck behind a growing, teething, congested, ear-infected minivan that won’t sleep past 4:00am. 

For the last 2-3 weeks, our baby has not slept worth a dog shit. It’s maddening, really.  He’s almost 5 months now, and at this point, I was hoping we’d be at the point where we’re getting pretty consistent sleep without the baby waking in the middle of the night. I thought we’d be on a regular schedule allowing me to crank out some work, exercise, etc.  Unfortunately, this is not the case. He’s been waking up at 4:00am every morning.

The occasional early rise is cool with me. Some mornings I enjoy it… I’ll wake up to his crying/moaning/talking over the baby monitor, I’ll walk to his room, pick up the smiling little dude and change his diaper while he’s screeching and cooing with delight (man, cooing is a terrible word).

It’s hard to be really bummed at having been woken up so early when the little guy is just so stoked to see you. Why he has that much energy at 4:00am is beyond me, but I’d like to bottle it and drink it. I could accomplish a ton. Anyway, the two of us will go downstairs, and I’ll feed him in front of the TV as MTV I and II show the same goddamn videos over and over.

Is there a rap video that Little Wayne isn’t in?  Seriously, every video is either by Little Wayne or features Little Wayne. Drake, featuring Little Wayne. Eminem, featuring Little Wayne. Own the World, by Little Wayne. <— I don’t know if that last one is totally accurate but you get the point.  Aren’t there any other rappers the kids are diggin on these days?  How do you not get sick of this dude?

Instead of MTV, the other morning I watched an entire movie. An entire movie before work. That’s ridiculous. For the record, Wassup Rockers isn’t a very good movie—before or after work.

During the day, I don’t seem to be affected by the lack of sleep. Plus, I can usually make up for the sleep deprivation on the weekends.  I just haven’t for the last two, and I’ve found myself in a rut. Granted, between work dissatisfaction and family matters, there have been some other things going contributing to my rut, but without being able to sleep or run or drink off the stresses, the rut grows.

The minivan stays in front of me farting exhaust, taunting and laughing.

So, last night I made an effort to get a jog in… for piece of mind. It worked. I felt pretty darn good afterwards and last night’s episode of Lost was one of the top 5 episodes ever. Feeling pretty stoked after Lost, I left my sleeping wife and baby downstairs and made my way up to the showers.  As I was about to hop in the shower, I felt some rumblings in the gut. The run must have shaken things up a bit. No worries, better to put the evacuation plan into action preemptively at home than to pay the price later. 

I made my way to the guest bathroom where I looked at your Facebook pictures and checked my general bookmarks. Then, out my peripherals, I thought I saw something peak out from behind the shower curtain. Something dark in color.

Oh no.

Don’t let it be a… No way. But, it has been super warm lately. You usually start seeing them this time of year, don’t you?…Damnit, man. I really don’t want to deal with this… Oh man. Alright, it’s not. It wasnt. Nah, just tired. Continue lurking.

And as I talked myself down from my fear, it appeared.

A fucking roach. A huge fucking roach. It came scurrying out from behind the curtain with a vengeance. Man, do I hate roaches. I have a legitimate fear of them. Illogical fear, but fear nonetheless.

You gotta understand, this guest bathroom is small. It even has one of those small, round toilets instead of the egg-shaped ones. The wall across from the toilet is truly only about 3 feet away. The wall with the roach on it. Growling at me.

It scared me to the point where I kinda lept off the toilet and fumbled with my laptop. 

Listen, an appearance of a roach when you’re a naked man on the toilet is nothing short of an assault. I had no defenses. The only thing I see in the bathroom is a pair of sweaty underpants. Underpants. What am I gonna do with those? I am on the toilet you bastard! That’s like punching a guy in his sleep!

The damn thing quickly moved up and hid behind a hand towel.  Okay, I got this. I stood up. Nude. No wiping. Nude. Barefoot. Hairy. Nude. I punched the hand towel hoping to squash it.

Fail. The thing came dropping down and fell to the floor and immediately zipped toward my bare feet….I jumped up. Nude.

He scattered behind the toilet. I could still see him. I bent down. Nude. I looked under the sink counter and found some Windex… I got down to one knee. Nude. To get a better vantage point. I sprayed him. It didn’t do anything but scare him toward my direction… I jumped up again. Nude. And he ran by me and out the crack at the bottom of the bathroom door.

I could breath a little easier, but my own crack at the bottom still needed to be cleaned.

I did what I could to hurry that process as I feared the roach might make his way into the baby’s room. Damn, that’s pretty trailer park. Roaches in a baby’s room. Unacceptable. Even though at this point, I am wearing underpants (underpants), I still don’t have a weapon. I ran to our bedroom and grabbed my wife’s magazine. An InStyle, with Michelle Phipher on the cover next to the words, “sexy hair in a snap.” 

I rolled that mug up and came out of the room slowly and inconspicuously. I didn’t see the damn thing anywhere. I looked over the balcony downstairs. Wife and baby still sound a sleep on the couch and in the pac’ n’ play, respectively. No sign of the roach, however.  I got nervous that he creeped into the baby’s room where’d he wait until the baby fell asleep and then crawl into his open mouth. I’ve heard all those urban legends and as ridiculous as it seems, I still worry about that happening.

Fortunately, as I made my way to the nursery, the demon bug crawled out from the washer/dryer room.  It’s over for you, devil!

Down came the tubed magazine with a violent thrust as Michelle Phipher’s sexy hair snapped down on the roach smashing it into the carpet. The blow didn’t kill it, however. It stunned it something awful and some gross bulbous sac was now sticking out it…so sick. I gagged, ran and got some toilet paper, snatched it up, and lurched into the guest bathroom banging my elbow on the door. I flushed that mutha fucka down and shook myself off like a wet dog fresh out of a lake.

I can guarantee this is not the last time I deal with this as the trees next to my house still stand mocking me. I’m chopping them down and sending the roaches back to hell. I’ll never be attacked on the toilet nude and defenseless again.

And so I went to bed, frazzled, at midnight knowing I was going to get 4 hours of sleep. Sure enough, 4:00am rolls around, and I wake to the all-too familiar sounds of shrieks and squeels from a baby demanding attention.  And, thus, the routine begins again. Wake, walk to baby’s room, pick up happy baby, and change him. Walk downstairs, turn on TV and see yet another Little Wayne video.

However, there was one small variable in this morning’s routine. About an hour after feeding, the baby decided to poop himself. About 3 hours earlier than he normally does.

Second diaper this morning. I walked back upstairs and changed him. And as I was cleaning up the crack at his bottom, the Pampers® Clean Wipes® slipped to the side.

Without the protection of the wipe, my thumb slid into a layer of poop. My thumb was covered in greenish/yellowish poop to the knuckle. Ugh. The baby laughs and shrieks and the minivan farts exhaust.

And now I am leaving. Leaving for work. Extremely late, tired and unmotivated on a day that happens to be my 33rd birthday. 

Perhaps I’ll wear my birthday suit to work. Nude.