Ali vs. Frazier, Tyson vs. Holyfield, The Situation vs. Ronnie…and now Newdaddyhood vs. Fussy Baby
Last night my baby and I battled and I am glad to say that I emerged victoriously. It was truly an epic, knock-down, drag-out fight. The odds were stacked against me as my baby was the Goliath in this confrontation. I needed to be clever like Biblical David because my brute force was no match for my opponent. The showdown began at 7:30PM last night and I should have seen it coming but my baby blindsided me. I had him wrapped tightly in his swaddle, he had just been fed and changed, and he definitely seemed tired. I saw him yawn and rub those eyes and went in for the kill. I had him down in the crib and was reading him his favorite book. He was sucking hard on that pacifier and he looked moments from heading off to dreamland. Then, out of nowhere, a monsoon of screams erupted. My baby had passed the point of being tired and now was in that dreaded, 9th Circle of Hell known as OVER-TIREDNESS. I did not see it coming. I thought I had him in the crib early enough. His initial screams were a brutal upper cut to the jaw and my knees definitely buckled. I tried picking him up to rock him and even checked his diaper but tonight, things would not be so easy. My baby boy did not want to self-sooth and fall asleep on his own tonight. He was putting his foot down and saying our new method for putting him to sleep was not going to work. I stood my ground reciting William Wallace’s speech from Braveheart in my head. I struck back by repeating his favorite story over and over again. He responded with louder and greater cries. I put his pacifier back in his mouth and he spit it out repeatedly while screaming. I thought of calling in back up but Wifey was out running errands. I also started seeing cracks in my baby’s armor and I knew I could handle this foe on my own. The screams continued loudly but the eyes drooped and the pacifier remained in his mouth for seconds longer each time before he spit it out. I was in this battle for the long haul and I was going to wear my opponent down with endurance. Baby Zachary may have mighty lungs that roar like the Lion King but how good could his endurance be at four months old. We traded jabs. I was Ali to his Frazier, floating like a butterfly while he used his brutal might. I stung like a bee with the pacifier making dents with each put back. I tried singing, turning the lights low and praying as well. The fight went on for an hour in length (I kid you not) but my fierce opponent eventually started to fade. While the repeating of his favorite book and the pacifier where not winning blows they kept chipping away until my baby’s eyes started to close (I was like Tim Robbins in Shawshank Redemption using pressure over time to dig that hole). I was ready to declare victory when my boy began to fade but he had one last burst of screaming like any movie villain would before their epic defeat. Finally, baby Zachary went down for the count. His eyes closed and the room was silent except for the sound of a fan in the background providing white noise. I wore my boy down and he slept for a good eight hours from there. I fought the good fight and won. On his first nap of the day this morning, my baby did not even put up a struggle this time as he knew I was not to be trifled with.