This is a heart-melting image, isn't it? Maybe it makes you think of soft lullabyes, or plush little toys, or the sweet scent of a just bathed baby--their little coos of contentment warming your parental soul. And it's all true, more true than you could ever imagine. But as any parent knows, it's also the worst sort of propaganda put out by the diabolical Babies Workers Union (all newborns are automatically signed up) in their effort to continue the propagation of the species.
For instance, one night ago this was Corban's (gently sleeping baby pictured above) schedule:
12:30AM - Daddy goes to bed after checking email. Baby whimpers as Daddy walks past his door. Daddy goes in and cuddles baby, softly stroking his cheek and thinking how beautiful it is to be a parent and how right things are with the world. Daddy lays down to his own precious slumber thinking beautiful thoughts, thanking God for this gift of children.
1:00AM - Baby whimpers again, breaking into a soft cry. Daddy, having just drifted off, awakes with a start, but happily calls to mind those 30 minute old memories and warmly replaces the missing binky that was the genesis of his progeny's cries. Daddy drifts off to sleep again.
1:30AM - More crying. This time louder. Daddy, not quite as happily comforts baby, laying down praying that baby goes to sleep, not so sure God was doing him any favors.
2:00AM - Crying continues. Daddy, by now in a sleep induced fog, begs (yes, begs) baby to go to sleep. Bylaws in the Babies Workers Union require baby to ignore this request. By way of divine assistance, offers to go to Africa as a missionary if God will grant sleep to his infant. This too is rebuffed by Providence.
2:somethingorotherAM - More crying. Daddy nudges mommy. Mommy repeats above cycle as obliged by amendments in Babies Workers Union bylaws.
Repeat cycle through rest of the night.
7:00AM (or shortly thereafter) - Big brother jumps in bed with Mommy and Daddy saying "get up daddy, I'm hungry! Bylaws in the Little Boys Workers Union require this request.
The rest of the day - stumbling through in a fog of exhaustion, wiping spit-up and throw-up (yes, baby was sick) off various surfaces of the house.
This, this is what it means to be a parent.