If you suddenly switch places with Finn and find yourself my son all of a sudden, might I ask you please to please, for God's sake SUCCUMB TO THE NAP, PLEASE?
If you don't succumb to the nap, we will all die a little during the rest of the afternoon and evening. What will happen will be that you'll be working the premise that it's actually sort of cool and interesting to hit your uncle and your dad. And then I will have to leap at you all afternoon and pull you away and try to make eye contact with you and talk about how seriously against the rules it is to hit. And you'll be all ducking your head and wiggling out of the way and grunting, and my blood pressure will be all rising and shit like that.
No fair springing the pop discipline quiz on your unprepared parents like that, man. We don't know what the F we're doing. We're like, you hit your uncle?! OKAY I'M SUDDENLY GOING TO PUT AWAY ALL YOUR TOYS FOR AN UNDETERMINED AMOUNT OF TIME AND ACT VERY CRANKY! And then we're going to watch a Thomas the Tank Engine DVD and eat chocolate chip cookies. So, that'll learn you. That'll do it.
Also, you will need a little advice: all of the chocolate chip cookies I made are basically the same. To have a bite of one and then want to abandon it for a fresh one is, just, NOT. There's just no need, man. If you stay with the cookie you came in with, you will find the same cookie satisfaction through the rest of the cookie. Don't be having a midlife crisis with the cookie, like after one bite of the cookie the cookie is now your frumpy wife of twenty years. Don't be looking at the other cookies like they're your new trophy wives. You and the first cookie have a good thing going on. Don't throw it away. You're lucky, frankly, that you have that cookie, after your sleepless hitting spree. Seriously, man.
Some of you people out there have children who know how to go to sleep without the special Brigadoon magic of breastfeeding. That to me is beyond the beyond. It would be like if Finn suddenly revealed that he can drive an eighteen-wheeler and also do our taxes. Most days our clunky jalopy system of breastfeeding-to-sleep works, even if it means our hands are tied. But some days, the eyes just keep looking up at me unwaveringly. I breastfeed and wait for the eyelids to droop a little, wave the white flag a little. Then I know we're home free even if it's going to take a while. But when Finn keeps twitching his arm around and his eyes stay superthefuckopen like that, I know that I'm screwed. The eyes. THE EYES. It's like he armwrestles me with his eyes and he wins.
In case you have good advice for me about this, I'm going to have to pre-empt you and hang up the TOO CRANKY FOR ADVICE sign. You're going to have to try to get it to me telepathically. I'm the asshole who needs a nap.
P.S. But when he finally does go to sleep in my arms come evening, when he goes limp like a little soft moon and tumbles on to the bed...I am also screwed. Screwed, blued and tattooed. Finn 4 Ever. (I actually am considering getting a "Finn" tattoo. I have a big black heart on my left shoulder covering up an old, ill-advised Cat-In-The-Hat. Thinking about getting Dave and Finn under there. They're not going anywhere. I love them. Might as well tell the world via my left shoulder. My blog AND my left shoulder.)
P.P.S. It is ridiculous, ridiculous, frigging ridonkabagonkers how much sweetness and support you beauties who are reading this have given me in this last week. I feel like I'm recovering at an amazing rate, and I blame you guys. (Blame good nice love blame.) I believe in the power of words and the power of thought, and you guys are wielding your powerful power powerfully on my behalf. I'm deeply grateful. And we're doing really damn well, considering.