You Again? Time To Fix This Guy! (The Sequel)

Posted: August 14, 2013 in LIFE
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Jaxen and Dad

By Jason Sutcliffe

This week I was prepared; I was ready for an on demand diaper change, a little play time on his mat, Story time: The Tail of Peter Rabbit and a walk over to Grandma and Papa’s.

I had prepared myself mentally; I listened to a little bit of Chingy and Two Chainz on the Galaxy music station so I would be ready for some loud, obnoxious noise, got a good night sleep, had a few cups of coffee, and spent twenty minutes getting focused and finding my emotional center.

It was that time of the week again…soccer day! The door closed, but this time his eyes did not open right away. So I waited, ready as I have ever been. It was then that I had realised that this was not even a challenge for him. While I was busy mapping out a plan of action to get through the evening, he was at peace, sleeping, sleeping and farting. Unreal!

About twenty minutes later I heard some stirring, so I went in to see if he was awake, and there he was laying there all bright-eyed, looking around. We made eye contact, and he just looked at me and cracked a smile. I could tell, inside he was laughing, saying, “Look who it is. You don’t learn, do you? Ok if this is what you want.”

However, there was something different, he seemed to be happy and content with it just being the two of us. I was skeptical but appreciative. I wasn’t going to veer from the plan, Oh no, I had a plan and I was going to stick to it. So we started with a diaper change. It was great. We had some laughs, some hugs and kisses it was beautiful…I was still skeptical.

I put him down on his mat, and he laughed, rolled around, drooled all over the place and generally enjoyed himself. Interesting, maybe today was going to be different, maybe my planning would pay off. He started to fuss a little bit, so I picked him up, we sat on the couch, and read The Tail of Peter Rabbit, he loved it!

Well this is going well. Both of us are smiling. We are about 35-40 minutes in, and everything is beautiful. Now time to go see Grandma and Papa.

The walk couldn’t have been better; he was happy and enjoying the outside. We got to my Mom and Dad’s. He spent time with Grandma and Papa, laughing and making all of his happy baby noises.

At some point we made eye contact, he was laughing, but then his little eye brows furrowed, and his whole demeanor changed. It was clear to me that he had implemented the rope-a-dope on me. He somehow knew that I had nothing left in my plan. I had got comfortable and moved through the evenings regimen too quickly.

He had got me with the old bait and trap. I had nothing left, no plan at all, I thought we were good, but he was playing me the whole time.

I quickly realised I had to go home with the little guy because he was not letting up, and things were only going to get worse.

I had underestimated this little 17lbs babies ability to plot, form a strategy and completely destroy me. I am now walking as quickly as possible well he stares a hole through my soul and screams.

We both know what I have to do to make him stop…skina ma rinky dinky do skina ma rinky do, I love you, I love you in the morning and in the afternoon…you get what is going on. He is now quiet, just staring at me smiling, mocking me. Both of us knowing there is nothing I can do but sing.

The song ends I think I am good, but no, he gets right back into a rage. Fine, Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer, had a very shiny nose, and if you ever saw it…yada, yada you get the point. Now, I have concluded that I am his bitch. We have played mental chess, and as shameful as it is to admit, I have had the shit kicked out of me by a 5 month old. Needless to say, my self-confidence is at an all time low.

We get home, and I know it is time to feed him. I have been beaten up and deflated, and it is clear to me that he couldn’t care less. I try to feed him, but he isn’t having any of this plastic nipple business. He is letting me have it with everything he’s got. He can clearly see that he has broken me and is now going for the kill shot. I am clearly defeated, but he is my son and I have to respect his killer instinct.

My wife calls me, and she can hear him screaming in the background, and can clearly hear in my voice that I have once again be defeated. She tells me that she is getting in the car and will be home in 10-15 minutes.

As if my son hasn’t put it on me enough in the past few hours, as soon as the call is done, he stops crying, relaxes, drinks the bottle and sits quietly and waits for my wife to walk in the door. All I can do is throw my hands up in defeat, except the fact that my son has plotted to destroy me mentally, and start getting ready for next week.

The next round will be mine!

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