I hate taking care of an infant.
Essentially this tiny person who has moved into our house is everything a tyrant would be sans malicious intent—a very sleepy, whinny, messy tyrant. He wants his pacifier, but he doesn't have enough control of his muscles to A. get it in his mouth, and B. not knock it out of his mouth with his flailing hands.
Every 30 seconds I'm like: Just calm down, open your mouth, and take the pacifier. I know you want it. You know you want it. You're just going to get angry if you don't take it, so take it already.
No, you're not going to eat. Mommy just spent 40 minutes feeding you 10 minutes ago. Right now you need to take a nap. Go to sleep.
Did you fill your diaper? Again? Are you kidding me?
Why won't you go to sleep? You're three weeks old and you've been awake for seven hours. That's not normal. I can see in your face how tired you are, so why are you fighting this? Just go to sleep already!
Oh, NOW you want your pacifier? Sorry, I can't find it because of the hundred times you dropped it on the floor it finally got lost. Way to go, kid.
Cry it out.
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| My son Toby dreaming tyrannical thoughts. |
From the blissful state of Tohellwithit,
From Tohellwithit provides an optimistic pessimistic view on life, love, and all the things that ruffle our feathers from the mind of author C.W. Thomas.
