This is a repost from my ex-blog at myspace. I wrote this late one night after a scary experience, and decided it was good enough to make the transition over here. If you’re reading this in a RSS reader the story is (should be) after the cut.
Sippy Cup – A Story
Upon reflection, my first mistake, like probably that of most men, began with (mostly) altruism .
It was the middle of the night and I heard the baby crying pitifully through the baby monitor. I thought to myself.
“Self”, Says I, “The baby is crying.”
“Yeah”, Says my tired man brain. “Get stuffed.”
“Self, if you was to get up and give the baby her juice and change her diaper, the mom might like it.”
“Yeah”. Says my still very tired man brain. “Get stuffed.”
“Yeah?” The response was sleepy now.
“Think about, how shall we say, the benefits.”
I got up.
I got the sippy cup.
I entered the tired, crying, child’s bedroom. There was entirely too much light, and the child was entirely too thirsty. I was tired, so everything was a little “too” something.
I changed the child. Figuring in my tired way that damp pants means a damp diaper, and that can’t be too comfortable to sleep in. Besides, I told myself, when I relate the story to the thankful girl in the morning, changing the kid makes me look better.
More like a hero.
We’ll get to that part.
Midnight juice and diaper changing duty done I tucked the newly pajama changed, diaper changed, juice filled girl into the crib. She promptly began to cry.
I wasn’t sure if this was worth the hassle, reward or no.
I took the sippy cup, and went back to bed. On my way back to the bed, something curious happened.
Just as I was approaching the bed, to put the sippy cup on the bedside table beside the baby monitor, the alarm clock, the water jug and the woman, (before scarpering back to my warm side of the bed and turning off my brain for a few more hours) she woke up.
She must have slept, much like I intended, through the part where I got up and got out of bed, and stumbled out of the room, and stubbed my toe and cursed and did my heroic midnight baby changing.
She must have slept well, and still thought I was beside her. Because the look of horror that crossed her face, thinking I was an intruder, was classic.
She clutched the bed, shrank back, and inhaled. Loudly.
You know the sound that girls make when the chainsaw wielding psychopath jumps out at the lone escaping hero near the end of the horror movie, right when you know he will and anticipation has been building for minutes on end? (Ok, that’s the sound I make, the girl normally screams.)
That’s what she did. Loudly.
“Hmmmmmmmmmmph!, Says she, shrinking back.
“Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!” Says I, Frightened by her overly enthusiastic intake of breath.
That’s right, I screamed.
Then I made the worst mistake my overtired, overstressed, fight or flight animal/lizard hindbrain could have made.
I did the only thing I could.
I threw the sippy cup at her.
Sippy Cup by
Jeff Closs is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.