This title can go in so many directions….if you went in the dirty direction then shame on you. You know who you are….
When Jim and I were in our darkest hours of depression and sleep deprivation with the whole twins thing, we found ourselves having a psychological breakdown whilst lying on the floor of the baby bottle aisle at K-mart. Let me back track a bit here.
(That, for those of you not in the “writer’s biz”, is called leading with the end. Please keep up.)
(Actually, I just made that up. I don’t really know what that’s called. But, I think that’s a great term and one that everyone should use from this point forward. You’re welcome.)
We brought the boys home from the hospital at a mere 4 lbs. each and with a heart monitor strapped onto one of them because he threw up in his sleep.
Throwing up in ones sleep is not necessarily reserved for babies, by the way. I now see I should have been on a heart monitor myself throughout college and am lucky to be here today.
We had two old chairs that we called the porn chairs because they were permanently stained with creepy white splatters because of all the spit up.
The whole thing smacked of a bad mushroom trip. You knew there was a time when you weren’t high, but you could not recall what that might have felt like.
Blah blah blah, you were tired, twins sort of suck, we get it.
One of our little bundles of joy was personally out to get me. I was convinced that this one had a bone to pick with me from some previous life and, by God, he was going to make me pay for whatever past transgression I was guilty of.
Every time we tried to feed him it was like a bad Lucha Libre match, but without the fun masks. He squirmed and cried and did that weird rigor mortis stiff thing babies do that both pisses you off and freaks you out.
We decided it was the specific nipple on the bottle that this little prince was having issues with, so we went on the hunt for the perfect nipple like we were on the Crusades in search of the chalice.
We had heard the lore of the perfect nipple but didn’t dare to dream it really existed. It was whispered about in dark alley ways, spoken about in hushed tones at Mommy and Me classes. We wanted in on this…bad.
To our great despair, K-mart was the only store in our fairly small town that had a decent supply so we bravely headed out the door.
The scene went something like this:
Jim: My God, I’ve never seen so many nipples in one place. Am I hallucinating again?
Irene: No. If you were hallucinating, they would be human nipples, which would scare the shit out of us. This, my friend, is nirvana.
Jim: OK, you start at that end and I’ll start down here. Yell when you find the right one.
Our desperation began to build as we pulled nipples down one by one, only to reject it and throw it over our shoulders to the ground. We did this with increasing violence until we met in the middle of the row, where we became aware that we were standing in a large mound of nipple packages.
The twitches of maniacal, unhinged laughing began….
Jim: Clean up on aisle 10.
Irene: Wouldn’t it be intense if these actually were human nipples?
Jim: There is something terribly wrong with you.
Irene: YA THINK????
And the damn bursts as we fall to our knees in the rubble of nipples, and can’t recover ourselves for a good 20 minutes.
I can only imagine how odd the scene must have looked if we frightened people bad-ass enough to actually be a K-Mart shopper. But, crowds gathered at a safe distance to see how we would play this out.
My memory fails me a bit after this. At some point we must have found what we needed because the baby is now a kid so he must have eaten at some point.
And, I don’t recall any government agencies coming to my door….yet.