Texas Chainsaw Massacre

We're officially afraid of the dark.

You know the horror movies where the teens are swimming at the lake all day and asking each other why the friendly seeming camp counselor who slices their sandwiches with a chainsaw has such a bad rep? And then the sun goes down and he cuts them all into pieces?

The last week has been like watching that movie over and over.

We frolic by day. Literally frolic. Diaper change? No, let me get that. Hungry baby? Allow me. Why don't you go take a shower, I'll handle these scamps. HA HA! Why don't you go work out, I'll bond with the girls. HEE HEE!

But at night, the chainsaws come out. Both of them.

The fact that they've bested me should come as no surprise. I just found out two weeks ago that I didn't actually know how to tie my shoes. I've been living a lie all these years, apparently following some procedure more appropriate for strapping on fishing lures every time I wanted to go outside.

But Amy is our rock. Before we left the hospital she was breastfeeding both babies at the same time, something the nurses assured her usually takes mere mortals much longer to master. Those who know her will not be surprised. Amy is barely mortal. If it weren't for her love of reality television she would have been sainted by now. Our first night at home, she could not only breastfeed both of them, but somehow added the ability to also eat a slice of pizza at the same time. She has skills, is what I'm saying.

But these babies, they came with knives out. I knew we were taking some blows, but I assumed we still had the upper hand until the grandparents allowed Amy and I to escape for a meal and she broke down while asking for more chips and salsa. I've tried to tell her that the combination of hormones, sleep deprivation, and a husband who can't tie his shoes is enough to break anyone, and that this is all perfectly normal, but this is a woman who is not accustomed to crying while asking for refills. On the upside, the chips and salsa came back like that.

It's very hard to think back on the last week and imagine that there's an overpopulation issue on this planet. It's hard to look back on the last week and imagine that there's such a thing as a 'younger sibling'. It's hard to imagine that I'm sitting here typing without having really slept in three days while there's a baby strapped to my chest in something called a 'hotsling', whose package assures me that it will keep me and my child looking fabulous. But here I am.

Some things I never pictured myself saying:

Please don't hand me a baby while I'm using the bathroom.

I can't watch that one, I'm watching this one, but if you want to leave her where she is I will listen for a thud.

F the environment. If Al Gore was here at three in the morning he'd offer to diaper these babies with Hummers and pieces of pure rainforest before he agreed to use another one of these leaky, cotton, pieces of shit.

Well, where was the last place you remember seeing your nipple shields?