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di • vorce [di • vohrs] noun : a judicial declaration dissolving a marriage in whole or in part, esp. one that releases the husband and wife from all matrimonial obligations
It’s no secret that things have been a little tough aound the old homestead lately. My oldest daughter, now four, has taken to raking my wife and I over the coals every chance she gets, presumably due to a perceived lack of attention as a result of having a four-month-old in the house. The four-month-old has been waking up, literally, every two hours for the last four months. All of this has placed my wife and me on a very high cliff, the edge of which seems to be inching closer and closer by the second. Yesterday we decided to do something about it.
The pediatrician suggested that, if Aline were able to provide it, that I take extra breast milk and feed the baby at our bedtime feeding, thus allowing her to sleep though one completely, giving her at least four hours sleep in a row which, at this point, I imagine is like something of a vacation. I rushed home from work, had my daughter bathed, fed and in bed by 7:45 (a personal best), and we had a nice evening enjoying a few hours of silence while watching a movie. As we got up to go to bed, my wife reviewed the feeding process with me. I was to take the breast milk, supplement it with a little formula, put it in the special bottle that is made to feel exactly like a woman’s breast (Where were these when I was in junior high?), warm it and feed my boy, all without making a peep. Seemed simple enough. I bottle fed my daughter for just under a year, I could certainly handle this.
When it was time to turn in, my son was still sleeping. I told my wife that there was no reason to wake him and that, when he did finally wake up hungry, I would get up and take care of business. In doing so, we could maximize the amount of shuteye she would be able to get, and everyone would be happy. It seemed logical, so we both fell asleep.
I’m not sure what time it was when Dominick finally started stirring. Anxious to get the bottle ready before his fussing turned to a full-blown scream and woke my wife, I quietly tiptoed out to the dark kitchen and took the bottle I had prepared out of the fridge, placing it on the counter. I didn’t turn any lights on. The bedroom where I would be feeding him was dark and, should I flip the light switch I would surely blind myself and either stub my toe or kick something on my way in, waking Aline for sure. I took out a pan, filled it with water and put it on the burner of the stove, wanting the water to warm a little before I put the milk in. Hands rubbing my sleepy eyes I gazed absentmindedly out the kitchen window for a minute, taking in the darkened neighborhood, before finally turning back to the stove and reaching for the bottle. I stopped. Dead in my tracks.
There was something on the bottle that had not been there before. A tiny black blob on rubber nipple. In my hazy state of mind, I grabbed it and held it close to my face to get a better look, raising it up until it was an inch or two before my eyes and caught the light of the streetlamps outside.
There, resting contently on the nipple of the bottle, was a cockroach.
“GGGGGAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!” I shouted at the top of my lungs, stumbling backward and skyrocketing the bottle out of my hand toward the ceiling. The bottle flew about 12 inches straight up before ramming at full velocity into the overhead kitchen lamp fixture with an ear piercing “CLANG”, then glanced off my shoulder and into the drying rack full of dishes on the counter, knocking several of my daughter’s plastic plates onto the floor with a loud crash. I clapped my hand over my mouth in terror and waited, listening for the shriek of a startled baby or, worse, the shriek of an angry wife. Much to my disbelief there was none, so I turned my attention back to the bottle, now spinning lazily on its side on the counter.
There are three reasons why, after I hit “publish” on this post, I will be single again. The first is that my wife reads this blog. The second is that, even though I have referenced the fact here many times that my wife is so obsessively-compulsive regarding cleanliness and is such a neat freak around the house that she buys household cleaners with which to clean the other bottles of househould cleaners, she will not enjoy my sharing with the world that a cockroach somehow made its way into our home at all, let alone onto the nipple of my son’s bottle. The third reason is that, even though I washed the bottle in soap and scalding hot water for a few minutes, then proceeded to boil the nipple in the pan of water for another five, she most certainly would have thrown it away, and the fact that I put that bottle into my babies mouth at all will undoubtedly cost me 50% of my belongings. In hindsight, I probably should have just tossed it. But I didn’t and, thus, my marriage will shortly be over.
You see, my wife was raised amidst civil war, has witnessed bombings and gunfire and so many countless horrors but, for whatever reason, remains deathly terrified of cockroaches. Even though the one that took perch on my son’s bottle was no bigger than the size of a sunflower seed, and actually didn’t really touch the very tip of the nipple, more of the side, she will forever in her mind see this:
And not even four straight hours of sleep can make that image fly. What can I say? What’s done is done. I’ve been married for over eleven years now and, all-in-all, it was a pretty good run.
-Matt
We don’t have household cleaners, but we do have some cool baby bath and body stuff at our online boutique, RedSparks. At least it will SMELL good! ☺
Author’s Note: If ANY of you who told me that it was OK to wash off poopy underwear in the toilet give me a hard time about this? We ‘re through.
September 30th, 2009 at 2:27 pm
Meh. Wait until kid number four makes it’s way through the household. There would be a minor, “Hm, that’s a little gross,” followed rapidly by a lick or two of the nipple(by mom or dad)and voila, feeding time can commence. What is this thing called sterilization?
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Matt Reply:
September 30th, 2009 at 4:37 pm
@Kori, oh, MAN, Kori! I didn’t think anyone could top the grossness of this post, but you just proved me wrong!
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September 30th, 2009 at 2:28 pm
In retrospect, the sterilization comment? Could be taken one of two ways. The kind I was talking about was scalding the nipple in got water; perhaps Aline will be begging you to get the other kind. With a pair of secaturs.
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Matt Reply:
September 30th, 2009 at 4:37 pm
@Kori, And then right now just did it again!
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September 30th, 2009 at 4:33 pm
Aline and I think alike. But you underestimate the power of 4 hours of sleep. I suspect your left hand is still ringed. Now to go clean up the mess I made after seeing that realimaginary roach on the bottle.
Barbara´s last blog ..Children at High Risk for Flu Complications
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Matt Reply:
September 30th, 2009 at 4:38 pm
@Barbara, yes, it is still ringed at the moment, but only due to the face that she has yet to read this post. When she has, you’ll know. Believe me.
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September 30th, 2009 at 9:41 pm
OMG! i’m going to kill you!
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Barbara Reply:
October 1st, 2009 at 4:22 am
@aline, Just checking-in this morning to see if Matt is still married. Will you publish an obit for him here, Aline?
Barbara´s last blog ..Children at High Risk for Flu Complications
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RobMonroe Reply:
October 1st, 2009 at 5:54 am
@aline,
Tee hee. But you got to sleep, right?!
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October 1st, 2009 at 12:57 am
Tee hee hee! I’m totally with you on this one, Matt. Great, now I’m the one who sticks her hand into toilets and blithely ignores cockroaches. What will you think of Canadians now?
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Matt Reply:
October 4th, 2009 at 4:55 pm
@Fawn, at least you have really good bacon!
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October 1st, 2009 at 10:02 am
I would be the first to admit that it was all a dream. I remember being half asleep during a thunderstorm and screaming in terror when our dog decided to jump up on the bed. How do you know it wasn’t something else entirely.
Hoping you’re not in the dog house.
Christopher (AKA: CaJoh)´s last blog ..Couples and Train Couplings
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Matt Reply:
October 4th, 2009 at 4:56 pm
@Christopher (AKA: CaJoh), that would totally work, except I used it already a few months ago when I accidentally fed my daughter eight raw eggs. She’ll know.
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October 4th, 2009 at 7:54 am
Personnally I am hoping for Aline to give you a second chance at life and marriage. I kind of like you, Matt. Still learning from your Mom at the tender decade of the thirties (where all poop should go) and perhaps that not challenging your wife’s penchant for clean feeding methods is the way to live. Don’t leave us hanging. Is the jury still out on your status? If it’s not too late, CaJoh’s suggestion looks good.
Barbara´s last blog ..Perception is reality.
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Matt Reply:
October 4th, 2009 at 4:54 pm
@Barbara, at the moment, it would appear that I have dodged a bullet. Of course, Aline hasn’t set foot in the kitchen since “the incident,” and I have been living on uncooked pasta, brownie mix and mustard packets, but at least I’m not single.
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