I never thought I’d have a bad thing to say about coffee
So I was on my way to this open mic that I wrote about in the last post, when Lisa called and said, “I accidentally fed Anna Dunkin’ Donuts pumpkin iced coffee.”
I asked for clarification. How does one accidentally feed an 8-month old baby a Dunkin’ Donuts pumpkin iced coffee*? “Well, I had her in the bjorn [it’s that thing that straps a baby to your chest while you walk around], and we were walking, and she was grabbing at the straw and trying to put it in her mouth. I figured it was OK if she chewed on it. It was at least a minute before I realized she was drinking the coffee.”
So, the good news is, our baby has very advanced straw-utilization capabilities. The bad news is, when I came home exhausted from history’s longest open mic, Lisa was standing in the kitchen at 1 am holding an extremely alert and very angry baby. I took Anna, fed her, put her back to bed, and, sort of wide awake myself, put in on an episode of The Wire (because really, what brings sleep like nightmarish tales of urban decay and destroyed lives?).
At 3:30, she woke up again, screaming like I’ve never heard before. Normally, she’s sort of a Bobcat Goldthwait. That night, she sounded like Sam Kinison. I went into her room, and she was staring at me, red faced and raging, reaching with both hands, covered in spit up and booger. She looked exactly like a junkie on The Wire.
It was a long, long night. America runs on Dunkin’? Not me, man. Dunkin’ Donuts ran me into the goddamn ground.
*I’d just like to quickly point out that Lisa and I clearly have very different ideas of what constitutes “coffee.” My version doesn’t include pumpkin.