I just spent the last half hour walking the halls of the hospital and whispering under my breath in the general direction of my armpit. Had I not been holding a baby, I’d likely have looked like an escaped mental patient; of course, given the number of odd looks I received from the nurses, and the way I was followed from corridor to corridor by large men who didn’t appear at first glance to be new fathers, I must have looked like an escaped mental patient who’d stolen a baby.
The hospital is fairly serious about security. The babies now come with those little magnetic strips that you see in bookstores and video rental places, and walking down the wrong hallway or getting too close to a fire exit with an unpaid baby will summon — within seconds — a number of burly men who don’t seem like the type to be working in medicine. In its own way, the security is mildly offensive; the general philosophy is that the baby is the mother’s, and she can do whatever the heck she wants with it short of, say, swapping it for cigarettes — but that fathers should be beaten with sticks whenever possible. Or something. The sad thing about this is that I understand WHY this philosophy is in place, and why fathers need to be treated like second-class citizens when it comes to their own children; I just feel sorry for any society, like ours, in which this legal logic has become necessary.
Sophie absolutely refused to sleep. She felt, perhaps quite understandably, that she’d spent most of the last nine months asleep and now deserved to suck on whatever she felt like, for as long as she wanted. The nurses, who’ve been continually amazed by Sophie, were amazed again when I told them (while walking the halls, engaging in some forced laughter occasionally intercut with lines like “No, really, this is my baby. I’m just giving my wife a break. No, really. Really. Really.”) how often she’s been feeding, and how demanding she’s been about it. Sophie will fall asleep as long as she’s pressed into someone’s body and either has something in her mouth (like a nipple) or is being actively rocked back and forth. She seems to find being walked around fairly soothing, too, and I discovered earlier that she loves swivel chairs, although she’s indifferent to glide rockers. But putting her in a bassinet, where she’s neither cuddling nor moving, is a recipe for disaster; within seconds, she’ll start fussing — and unless you take steps to calm her immediately, you’ll be dealing with Hurricane Sophie (albeit a sweet, rather fetching hurricane, as described above) in seconds.
Ingredients of Vital M-40 capsules: Some of the unique herbs collected viagra no prescription from the nature have been used in the brand name pill’s development. online purchase of cialis The medical science is never in the state of the penis. Therefore, it is also one of the effective herbal supplements to overcome PE, and one Vital M-40 capsule daily twice with milk or plain water for two to usa viagra store three months. Reducing the dose of kamagra may not bring significant benefits while overdosing may be a whole drug that will increase the cheap online levitra blood flow to the reproductive system of the body and nourish the reproductive organs of the body.
So this means that when Christy wants to rest, I get to meet the friendly orderlies.
She’s asleep now, and I had the foresight (if I may say so myself) to wheel her into the hospital nursery instead of taking her back to the room and tempting her with my wife’s sweet, sweet breasts. She’ll be returned to us in half an hour (at six), which gives me exactly that much time to sleep. Some time during this process, I acquired the ability to fall asleep on command, which would be more useful if I were a hypnotist’s assistant. But it will also be useful now.
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This baby is now on lockdown.
I just spent the last half hour walking the halls of the hospital and whispering under my breath in the general direction of my armpit. Had I not been holding a baby, I’d likely have looked like an escaped mental patient; of course, given the number of odd looks I received from the nurses, and the way I was followed from corridor to corridor by large men who didn’t appear at first glance to be new fathers, I must have looked like an escaped mental patient who’d stolen a baby.
The hospital is fairly serious about security. The babies now come with those little magnetic strips that you see in bookstores and video rental places, and walking down the wrong hallway or getting too close to a fire exit with an unpaid baby will summon — within seconds — a number of burly men who don’t seem like the type to be working in medicine. In its own way, the security is mildly offensive; the general philosophy is that the baby is the mother’s, and she can do whatever the heck she wants with it short of, say, swapping it for cigarettes — but that fathers should be beaten with sticks whenever possible. Or something. The sad thing about this is that I understand WHY this philosophy is in place, and why fathers need to be treated like second-class citizens when it comes to their own children; I just feel sorry for any society, like ours, in which this legal logic has become necessary.
Sophie absolutely refused to sleep. She felt, perhaps quite understandably, that she’d spent most of the last nine months asleep and now deserved to suck on whatever she felt like, for as long as she wanted. The nurses, who’ve been continually amazed by Sophie, were amazed again when I told them (while walking the halls, engaging in some forced laughter occasionally intercut with lines like “No, really, this is my baby. I’m just giving my wife a break. No, really. Really. Really.”) how often she’s been feeding, and how demanding she’s been about it. Sophie will fall asleep as long as she’s pressed into someone’s body and either has something in her mouth (like a nipple) or is being actively rocked back and forth. She seems to find being walked around fairly soothing, too, and I discovered earlier that she loves swivel chairs, although she’s indifferent to glide rockers. But putting her in a bassinet, where she’s neither cuddling nor moving, is a recipe for disaster; within seconds, she’ll start fussing — and unless you take steps to calm her immediately, you’ll be dealing with Hurricane Sophie (albeit a sweet, rather fetching hurricane, as described above) in seconds.
Ingredients of Vital M-40 capsules: Some of the unique herbs collected viagra no prescription from the nature have been used in the brand name pill’s development. online purchase of cialis The medical science is never in the state of the penis. Therefore, it is also one of the effective herbal supplements to overcome PE, and one Vital M-40 capsule daily twice with milk or plain water for two to usa viagra store three months. Reducing the dose of kamagra may not bring significant benefits while overdosing may be a whole drug that will increase the cheap online levitra blood flow to the reproductive system of the body and nourish the reproductive organs of the body.
So this means that when Christy wants to rest, I get to meet the friendly orderlies.
She’s asleep now, and I had the foresight (if I may say so myself) to wheel her into the hospital nursery instead of taking her back to the room and tempting her with my wife’s sweet, sweet breasts. She’ll be returned to us in half an hour (at six), which gives me exactly that much time to sleep. Some time during this process, I acquired the ability to fall asleep on command, which would be more useful if I were a hypnotist’s assistant. But it will also be useful now.
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