The long awaited sleep-in of the weekends

(Thank you to special guest blogger Arturo Velez, also known as R2; no babies were injured in the making of this blog)

For the past few weeks, I have been waking up extra early, driving more than an hour to work and even longer returning home. I know this is natural for many people, but not for me. 

I can start my morning before dawn, fly to a distant city, be half asleep during the flight and arrive fresh and ready for work, but how does one sleep while driving?  

After careful observation, it appears sleeping while driving is commonplace for some people too; and let’s not forget the ones that text and drive or check their Facebook while speeding more than 70 miles an hour. Inevitably, this causes accidents, which in turn blocks the efficient flow of traffic making my commute more irritating each day. 

It appears this pilgrimage might be my life for several months so for now, I look forward to the long awaited sleep-in of the weekends.

One of my recurrent dreams during my much needed sleep is flying above cities or mountains however today, I was dreaming about a novel from Douglas Adams where the gods of Norse mythology joined forces with an I Ching calculator and other strambotic ideas. I can only speculate I was thinking about this because it was Adams’ birthday earlier this month. In the dream, I was flying with Odin and Thor in search of Loki because Loki stole the banana bread I was baking using the secret powers of a magical white box my wife calls the bread machine; she guards it in a secret compartment near the pantry, which I can never find. I can never find anything she hides on me, but that is a horse of a different color.

After my 14 hours of sleep, I am suddenly awake and disoriented. I can hear a strange sound, a tiny

Mighty-O and his Super-Mama

creature’s voice, something completely out of the ordinary. It could be the TV, or the radio, but we don’t have television at home and we rarely listen to radio. So, what could it possibly be? Intrigued I roll out of bed and begin the search for the source of such a heavenly sound. It giggles, it gasps, it makes noises similar to what a baby sounds like but there is no way a little person can be in our house; we don't hang out with babies.

I retreat from the bedroom into the living room and there he is; little Odin, who came flying from my dreams, materialized in a adorable form, ready to wreak havoc around the world. And as much as we know it, there is no way this handsome soul is capable of any kind of welter or chaos, he is too charming; full of dimpled smiles and bright blue eyes.

Whilst enjoying my Belgian waffles Layna pretends she loves to prepare, little Odin explodes in a frenzied cry after a magnificent fart and, most likely, a brown sluggish matter that now occupies his Huggies. "Atta boy,”  I say, while Layna tosses the diaper bag to find a clean nappy, and all the doo-dads that come with the procedure of changing and cleaning one’s soiled bum.

Odin was happy again, or at least for 25 seconds after the nappy change, when he began sniffling again. Aha! He must be hungry, so Layna bolts to the kitchen and scrambles to prepare a bottle, barely understanding what she is doing. She passes him back to me like a Quarterback and I take the little ball without knowing the play.

I lift him in the way Rafiki hoists Simba high up, summoning the animals for his presentation to the jungle kingdom. Holy Mother of God! If the little man was not agitated before, he is now absolutely and utterly unimpressed with my rendition of the Lion King’s famous song, and he is not making it a secret. With all the might of his lungs he tells me, "Bring me down, right now or I will kick your ass so hard you wouldn’t even know what hit you," give or take.

By now, Layna is ready with the bottle so I pass

Reminiscent of Baby O's pukefest

the butterball back to the Quarterback and she starts feeding mighty Odin. Magically, the screaming baby becomes content again; at least for a few more gulps of formula. Taking a break from being fed, he pushes the bottle away from her, gazes at her with a Vulcan mind stare and, just like a volcano, he showers her with all the formula that she forced fed him, whether he was hungry or not. Gushes of curdled goo come out of his mouth in all possible directions. “Good thing I haven’t showered yet,” Layna says, always looking for the bright side of things.

Odie is now steamed and it is not because of my substandard vocal chords; he, like me from my highway drive, is merely exhausted. Layna sits down with him and she shows him her version of the Vulcan Mind Meld. "Look at me baby, look at me." She does the universal two finger eyes to eyes with her hand, trying to transfix him. Odin is pondering the situation, proving that he is wise, albeit young, and decides to cave in and goes to sleep. Voila!  Just like that, Layna - 1- Odin - 0.

I  watch my hyperactive wife while she is leaving the apartment to take Odin for either an excursion in his new-age stroller or a spin in her yellow convertible. Either way, the fresh air will fumigate her recently acquired acrid smell. She doesn't seem to mind because she is enchanted with her roly-poly homey.

Our sweet homeboy

Maybe we should get a puppy to amuse her, methinks; or maybe not.

(This blog was written by R2, my tired, waffle-crazy esposo). I love his writing, he makes me laugh more than anyone - especially when he was teaching Baby O to code in Java!