The Joys Of Motherhood & Other Late Night Horror Films

The great thing about a digital Christmas letter is that you can go back and strike through things at will. I plan to do this later today with much gusto beginning with the part about how Dexter is probably not defective. I spent a large amount of money on a rather odd prescription today because he has taken to puking for fun and profit. I am also waiting on a call so I can spend another lump sum on additional medication because his eye has turned into a rotting cess pool and our pediatrician won't schedule the required surgery until she knows it is "absolutely necessary". Absolutely necessary. MDs are in general fruitcakes. Absolutely necessary my behind. I'll show her absolutely necessary. I'm going to to go rub his eye up and down the shoulder of her designer suits and ask her if wiping it off is "absolutely necessary" as I have been wearing that eye nastiness since he was 2 wks old.

Furthermore, I am also striking the sleep through the night bit. Dexter is no longer sleeping through the night (note the time of this post). He has again returned to getting up for a little sippy sip at about 3:30AM. I swear it is enough to drive me absolutely insane. If there was ever a child that could cause a mother of many to cuss it is this boy. And don't give me any of that hapless infant crap. He is not hapless; he is a bottomless pit. There is a notable difference.

Now, half of the women reading this are looking appalled and are preparing a speech about how there are hungry children in Africa (I have no idea why you all are doing this by the way. I'm griping about a child not my dinner and I don't necessarily plan to eat him unless worse comes to worse). The other half are holding up cue cards that say "Let Him Cry It Out". They are holding up signs because you are not allowed to admit to this anymore in modern America because the foster system needs to be fed consistently in order to fail as effectively as it does.

The reality is that I have no problem with letting him cry it out because Dexter is not expressing a need, but is expressing a habit. I know this boy inside and out, and he no more wants that bottle than the man in the moon needs a silk kimono. He feels entitled to that ridiculous 2oz. I, however, cannot let the little moose cry it out because we live in an apartment and it bothers the neighbors. Frankly the neighbors could go take a flying leap, but the last thing we need is a complaint filed about how loud our offspring is. Such a thing never bodes well for renewing one's lease.

So here I am at 4 something in the morning. Absolutely nothing good can come from me being up at this time of day. Michael says my language becomes excessively colorful when I don't get enough sleep and I also end up eating peanut butter & jelly sandwiches in a subconscious attempt to gain enough weight that a crane will be needed to lift me out of bed. You are absolutely not allowed to operate heavy machinery in an apartment building at 4 in the morning so someone else could get up with our wonking cherub.

During the Christmas season I would spend such late nights sending Christmas carols to the ACLU via email but alas the holiday season is over and I have enough class not to harass people outside of the time of year set aside for peace, joy and the likes. So I am instead sending multiple emails to QVC letting them know how horrific their late night people are. They couldn't sell a sandwich to that guy in the movie Seven who was starved to death over a period of a year. I am later planning to email somebody and tell them what an absolute beast Rosie O'Donnell is. I don't know who yet, though. Luckily I owe a great many emails, replies on message boards, myspace requests, etc. so any one of you could become the victim of my random Rosie observation. In other words please, please be patient with me if I owe you some sort of digital correspondence. I hope to get that taken care of today while I redecorate the blog. I am also going to roam the city in search of an establishment that sells fountain drinks as big as my head. Just so you know.

Rumor has it, by the way, that if you go to the hospital and claim a little bird told you that Thomas Jefferson dressed in drag and you know this because Bill & Ted left their phone booth on the third star to the right they will put you in an absolutely darling padded room with chemical sedation, 3 square meals and required naps. This is my fall back plan. So if you hear anything about me and lithium you don't have to worry. I am not crazy perse. Just well insured.