woman no cry. baby no sleep.
2002-03-19@5:05 p.m.

Setting: A deep, dark suburban living room.
Our hero enters stage right and approaches a crib in the corner, a bottle in hand.

Our Hero Mongi: (speaking in terrible facsimile of an Australian accent) Crikey! You can't even see the little bugger yet, but already from the sound of it you can tell that he's big...and hungry.
(The camera cranes closer to reveal a screaming male child, app. 2 weeks old)
The trick is to get him in your arms as fast as you can and then just *pop* the bottle in his mouth, he'll either latch on or choke. By that point its up to him. Watch out for his hands though, the nails of a newborn shit machine grow quickly and are surprisingly sharp!

End Scene

Day sixteen of both my stay here at Casa de Emerson and of said Emerson's life. So far, neither of us is insane yet. But I'm holding on by a thread. Just to let you know how I'm doing I'll provide week one vs. week two side by side comparisons.

Week One: Isn't it fun to feed the baby? Go on, baby, take all the time you need to drink your yummy formula.
Week Two: Jesus, kid, can't you suck a little faster? You're killing my arm here. And that formula smells like shit.

Week One: Support baby's head at all times.
Week Two: A little head flopping ain't gonna kill him.

Week One: Isn't baby precious when he cries?
Week Two: Isn't baby precious when he's asleep.

P.S. He's got gas. He's always got gas.

< pitiful excuse for an update, but, hey, I'm using AOL - paperback writer rides again >

Name: MsMongi aka Kim
AIM: Lola_N_Slacks

Too Pink? Bite me.

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