Ugh. It's another one of those weeks again, in which Wife gets up even earlier than the middle of the night and works until sometime in the late morning or early afternoon. I hate it for her, and I hate it for our son, whose poor little sleep pattern becomes disrupted beyond belief. I hate it hate it hate it. He was sleeping so well when we took him out to her vehicle. I just looked at her with tears welling up in my eyes and telling her over and over, "It's not right. It's not right for you, and it's not right for him."
I almost feel apologetic for her having to drag herself out in the middle of the night because I don't make enough money to where she can stay home with him. (Is that sexist? Probably. So?) I imagined that I'd be making six figures at age 31. I'm actually a seven-figure man now, if you count the cents ... most of us are, I reckon.
These nights are lonely ol', so sayeth The Coog. It's nights like these that I drink more (as opposed to other nights, when I drink zero) and stay up till 1, 2, 3 in the morning. Like tonight, for instance. I'm on Beer 1 right now, and I remember the good old days when I'd already be lit by this time of evening. I swear up and down - here at 10:13 in the evening - that I'm going to stop drinking by 11 and hit the sack.
It will be 11:45 before I notice the clock again. And roughly 2 o'clock before I drag my ass to bed.
Oh well. It's only Monday night, so it's not like the rest of my week will be ruined. Except it tends to be after nights like this.
Went to the store with Son tonight. Son is a chick magnet. Having a toddler far outweighs owning any dog as far as attracting girls goes. So, I'm all, "Yeah, it's really hard being a single dad" and gave my most mournful look.
No, not really. I just smiled and told Son to say things like "yes," "no," "thank you," and "bye-bye," which ... well, he waved "bye-bye" anyway. He did really well at the store - wasn't a complete and total terror - so I bought him a Hot Wheels car. It was a '69 Corvette, I believe. Having never been very enamored with Corvettes, I then told Son, "Hey, it's a Corvette! Can you say 'whoop-te-shit'?"
One of these days, he will, and I will kick myself very hard.
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