8/22/18 Journal: Hectic

This is bullshit. Baby Sasha will not allow me to put her down or she’ll burst out in tears, yet it’s her before-bed feeding time and I can’t find her Goddamn bottle anywhere. So I’m carrying her in one arm while looking over here, over there, under this and over that for the one way to put nutrition in this crumb-grabber.

Oh, did I mention my wife isn’t home? It’s her night out with all her “Mommy Friends”. Guess where they’re at? A comedy club! Can you believe that? I performed for seven years and have been dying to get back on stage, and here I am carrying a whiny–

THERE IT IS! Who the hell left the bottle under the bed in our room?

Doesn’t matter. Now I have to wash this thing with one hand, warm up some formula, strip the baby down and bathe her, and find something to have her sleep in. That last one is no easy task because Evi threw all of Sasha’s clothes that actually fit her in the wash, so anything left would probably fit better on a Barbie Doll than our baby.

Crap. I was afraid of this. I now have a clean baby, ready for her formula, and no clothes for her. I already know what’s going to happen: Whatever I eventually put on her will get me in trouble with my wife. It’ll either be too dressy, too cold, too hot or too pink for Baby Sasha to sleep in. So I’m not going to dick around looking. I’m grabbing anything.

I’ve turned down the lights. My daughter is on my lap, holding her own bottle while looking up and smiling at me.

Damn, I love her.

I guess it’s okay that I didn’t go out tonight.