THE DREW DOGG'S IN THE HOUUUSE

So yesterday I drove up to the hospital very early to retrieve my wife and our adorable little tax break.

At 10:26 a.m., after a nurse chastised me repeatedly for not knowing how to put an infant in a car seat, we were on our way.

We got him home and shuttled him inside, where he promptly expressed his dissatisfaction with his new home. I'm not exactly sure what he was trying to say, but it was something along the lines of "We need more Winnie The Pooh stuff in here."

After about an hour of his fussing, he finally decided that he could probably take a nap.

Mama has already decided that when Andrew naps...Mama naps.

The nap lasted ten minutes.

DING-DONG!

BARK!! BAR-RAR-RAR-RAR-RARK!! HOWWWWWWWL!!!

WAAAAAAAAAAH!!!WAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!

(That was...in succession...our doorbell ringing...our dog's complimentary freak out session that accompanies every doorbell ring, and the new addition of Andrew wailing away because the dog won't stop barking)

I answered the door.

Oh joy of joys. In-laws who couldn't bother with visiting us in the hospital. Oh noooooo...they HAD to wait until we got home to come squeeze the baby's head.

The two boys stared at Andy for about 22 seconds before saying "Uncle Bob...can we play Play Station??"

Grrrrrrr....

Yeah sure...*click*. Now you two play nice or I'm turning it off.

Ten seconds later...

"Uncle Bob...Play Station won't work".

Now all of a sudden, I'm Joe Sony. I'm supposed to figure out why the Play Station won't work. My guess is because it hasn't been turned on in four months since the last time they were here.

I finally got it working and the boys were happy.

Now, the Dad and daughter were sound asleep on my sofa.

Wait a second...come over to my house while we're trying to get a baby asleep ... wake the baby up...stare at him for a few minutes...then PASS THE FUCK OUT on my sofa?!?

...Everyone involved is DAMNED LUCKY I don't believe in guns.

(I BELIEVE in guns...I just don't believe in owning them. I know guns are real. Just thought I'd clarify that)

They finally leave once Susie and Andrew go lay down and Daddy has been woken up from his snoring nap.

I start to cook a nice "Welcome Home" dinner for my wife.

Five minutes into the dinner, the phone rings.

RING! RING!!

WAAAAAAAHHHH.....wahhh....wah...wa....w....

"Hello?"

"Uncle Bob? This is your irritating neighbor next door. Now that your company has left, can I come over and see the baby?"

Heh.

"Ummmm...not right now, irritating neighbor. They're both asleep and I'm about to pass out myself. Maybe later today."

(The indescribable sound of my irritating neighbor being rejected. The best I can tell you is that it sounded like a wounded seal)

Mama is woken up and dinner is served.

Stupidly...we allow Andrew to keep resting.

Andrew wakes up about 7:30...he's fed and decides to play a game of "Mr. Fussy".

I give him a grand tour of the house, which calms him down considerably, then I sit in the recliner with him and sing him songs for 30 minutes.

His favorites seem to be "Old McDonald" and the "ABC"s. Then again, I could have had salad dressing on my chin and he was fascinated with that. Either way, it kept him quiet and alert.

At 10 p.m., he starts to fall asleep.

PERFECT!! NAPTIME!!

We nap until midnight, when he decides he wants to eat.

Susie gets up to feed him.

12:30, he's still crying.

I get up to check out the situation.

Susie's in the recliner crying.

Andrew's in her arms crying.

Apparently...Andrew's having trouble "latching on to the boob".

And Susie's only producing a trickle of milk.

Andy's lost 9 oz since birth. Not cool. The pediatrician says it's normal...but he's not getting the milk tonight.

Susie tries the breast pump. We get enough milk to cream a tiny cup of coffee.

She's frustrated, he's frustrated.

I put Andy's head to my naked chest where he passes out.

I recline in the recliner where I try to sleep. Trouble is...I don't sleep on my back ...especially with a 7 lb. infant on my chest.

So we lay there in the recliner until 3:30 a.m.

I NEED some sleep, so I gently get up from the recliner, holding him close to my chest and we go back to the bedroom.

I lay him softly in his cradle and cover him up.

I crawl quietly into bed.

I lay there for 30 seconds.

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!

Susie's turn. She gets up and takes him into his room to try and feed him again.

An hour later, she returns.

"Did he eat?" I ask.

"Yes," she smiles like a proud mama. "He did."

He's content and full, and falls instantly asleep in the cradle.

She falls asleep almost instantly as well.

I get up, grab a cold Coke...and start my day of writing.

Yesterday, I felt kinda guilty about taking time off from work to care for my wife and child.

Now, after a little more than two hours of sleep...there's not a guilty bone in my body.

Smooch my butt, work.

Smooch it.

Smooch it.

Smooch it nice and hard.

Smooch it, work.

Smooch that big ol' butt.