Monday, July 6, 2009

My son subconsciously hates me. I'm sure of it.

I may or may not have pushed Lincoln off the bed in my sleep the other night. I'm leaning toward the "may" part of the previous statement. What I am going to say from here on out, I am not proud of. In fact, I should be stripped of my father certification that I earned in my two semesters at the Salt Lake Community College.

One room, two twin sized beds. To maximize mattress breadth and width, Cathi slept with Calder and I with Lincoln. A tough decision, but one that had to be made.

Sleeping with Lincoln is rough. Real rough. It's a little like sleeping with that baby kangaroo from the Warner Brothers cartoons. You know the one - Sylvester thinks is actually a giant mouse and he ends up taking an endless pounding. I hate when I play the role of Sylvester. Suffewin Suckatash!

Lincoln is a restless sleeper. He kicks, springs and flops like he is in a retarded ballet about a football game gone wrong. Laying next to him, my body became a punching (and kicking) bag. He may be the first seven year old to float like a butterfly and sting like a bee - in his sleep.

With each waking jab, I would gently move him back over to his side of the bed. With each waking jab, my gentleness decreased at about a 10% rate, until it was, at last, not a gentle moving at all.

I don't remember actually shoving my son off the bed while he slept. It had to be a subconscious, or rather, unconscious, or rather, a conscious-less-ly dip-wad move on my part. The only thing I remember is saying aloud as Lincoln flopped to the floor was, "OH NO!" And it was not an "oh no" like Lincoln had just fallen off a cliff. It was more of an "oh no!" like, "what have I done?!"

It was 2:30 in the morning.

I'll never forget Lincoln's puppy dog eyes and crocodile tears as he looked up at me from the hard, dirty floor. Actually - now get this - it was such a sad moment, Lincoln looked up at me with crocodile eyes and puppy dog tears! No, no - his eyes were even sadder than that. He looked up at me like a puppy dog about to be drowned in crocodile tears... and then gnawed by crocodile teeth into puppy mush. Now that's how sad it was.

I helped him back to bed and put him on the other side of me. That way, if I inadvertently shoved him, he would simply go headfirst into the wall - and I would feel much less guilty.

I laid in bed, unable to sleep for over an hour. What kind of father was I? My scrawny, innocent Lincoln would not hurt a fly. (Unless of course, it was a fly that looked like an ant, in which case, he would probably torture it until it screamed for mercy)

I am coming clean. I (probably) did it. In the middle of the night, I (probably) pushed my son off the bed like he was a farting Richard Simmons. He never knew what hit him. I wouldn't be surprised if he hated me for the rest of my life.

It's a good thing that he didn't remember a second of it in the morning.

6 comments:

sacdaddy said...

You'd actually want to give Richard Simmons the boot? If I had Richard Simmons next to me (farting or not) I'd want to snuggle in...Not many mid 30 year olds have snuggled Richard Simmons.

Lindsey V said...

Hahahahahahahahaha! Now that is funny! Poor little guy.

Cheeseboy said...

Very good point Steve. I had not considered that.

Tammy said...

Why were you in twin beds?

I hate when I have to share the bed with anyone but especially my kids! I wonder why they squirm so much.

Cheeseboy said...

Oops, not twin beds. We were actually in I don't know what they are called - doubles? - where two people can sleep in one, but just barely.

Jana Banana said...

That is funny, poor Lincoln!

You should have put him on the floor...Luke didn't mind that at all (maybe he did when he woke up stuck half-way under the bed).