Chuck Wendig did another brilliant post on his new baby, and I couldn’t resist reposting it below (remember, his blog is often MA). The original is here.
“– 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 –”
“– 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 –”
“– 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 –”
“– OH SWEET SID AND MARTY KROFFT IT’S CRYING AGAIN WHICH MEANS ITS HUNGRY — “
” — send sleep — vodka — baaaacon –”
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.