So today, I got rudely awakened by my 9 month old Grandson punching me in the face.
Ok, ok, I can hear you already. “Grandson? Grandson? Isn’t he only 24? What the hell?!?” (Click, click, click-click, click) “I was right! He did say he was 24! God, they really do start early in the South!”
Ok, let me explain.
I’m talking about my step-grandson. Many of you know that my wife is a fair bit older than me, she has a daughter from a previous marriage who is about my age, and she has two sons. Once I married in, I had a Cup-a-soup family. (Instant, just add water)…in that I have three stepkids, and three step-grandkids.
Are we clear now?
Ok.
So one of my stepkids has been out of town for the past half year. His brother, sister and wife went to pick him up from the bus station early this morning…so Sunny and I ended up looking after the kids.
So early this morning, Baby Christopher (Known as Baby Scoob, as his 4 year old brother asked if they could name him ‘Scooby Doo’) was left with us.
Now many of you also know about my nocturnal lifestyle. I got to bed at about 3.30am, meaning I actually fell asleep at about 5am. Baby Scoob was left with us at 7am. This means, the wife answered the door. I snored on.
Now it was early. Scoob was cranky, sleepy and wanted more sleep. Basically, he was placed on the bed with me, under the watchful eye of Sunny.
Now hearing a baby talking baby-talk when you’re half asleep is quite an unsettling experience. The first thing that popped into my head was ‘Sunny’s cracked. She’s finally cracked. Now I get to spend the next half-century married to a mental patient’.
Blearily, I open an eye, and come face to face with Scoob. Quite possibly the happiest, smiley-est baby in the history of the world.
“Ah.” I think.
My eyes involuntarily close again. However, Baby Scoob, having seen some activity from Papa-Paulius, wants to play. I feel him crawl towards me…
BAM!
Baby-knuckle…right to the temple.
Now I’m pretty sure the first time was a crawling-based accident. My head just happened to be in the way.
Now it may not sound a lot, but an unexpected punch when you’re 7/8ths asleep hurts like hell. My hand flies to my eye, and I start whimpering, quite ironically, like a baby.
Baby Scoob, on the other hand, has just witnessed comic gold.
BAM!
A second time, right on the lip. Scoob is cracking up. Causing pain is fun!
Ow, ow, ow, ow OW, OW, OOOOOOOOOOWWWW!
To add insult to injury, another wave of baby-giggles fills the air. Scoob his beating the crap out of his Papa and, just like a McDonalds commercial, he’s lovin’ it!
BAM!
Temple this time.
OWWWWWWWW!
“OK, You 15lb bully! I’m getting up! I’m getting up!”
Baby fighting isn’t fun, because:
a) It actually hurts (especially when you’re holding them and they decide to grab your eyeball)
b) You get absolutely no sympathy. (Oh, he’s just a baby, it can’t hurt that much!…The little barsteward is running off with my eyeball…fucking OW!)
c) You can, under no circumstances, hit the little Satan back.
Of course, as soon as I got up, Scoob decided to go back to sleep. Apparently a Super-king sized bed is too small for a 18 inch baby to share with anyone.
Then when he woke up, he commandeered the TV (IE, he started crying when I changed the channel to anything but Teletubbies and Boobahs).
I think we should all take a leaf out of Scoob’s book. Babies know how to get exactly what they want, do whatever they want…and never face any consequences.
They also have two breasts, the size of their head, on call 24 hours a day.
Lucky Bastards….
7 comments:
haha! great story...kids are little devils, no doubt.
On a different note, your marriage reminds me of my parents--my mom is 10 years older than my dad, and already had a kid, just thought I'd add that in.
When Scoob decided to go back to sleep, some balloons and a pin would have been useful.
Fucking Grandad??
Jesus Christ, gimme a break.....
And WHAT,exactly, does THAT mean Anonymus?
I hear ice cracking.
Grandad at 24??
Does he eat Werthers origional?
That Cup-a-soup bit is great.
My parents were 24 years apart. My father was married more than a few times, so I had plenty of older sisters. I was an Aunt before I was born. Add in a few divorces resulting in remarriages to the exes siblings and even parents and it gets crazier than a Jackie Collins novel.
So yeah...
Anyone giving you crap would faint at the sight of my family tree.
How was it having a baby in the house? Do you have theme songs in your head now? At least it wasn't Barney or The Wiggles...
The worst part about sleeping with a baby is when they sprawl out like a starfish, taking the entire bed, leaving you with a throw pillow worth of space on a king sized bed.
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