When I was a youngster we had many party nights. You know the kind I’m talking about. Those, dress up in pretty shoes, glam up your make-up, have guys hit on you, get shit faced beyond comprehension and working with a mild head ache the next morning,nights. I’m a firm believer that if you’re  in your early twenties you actually have a separate liver that you carry around in your handbag… lest name it Steve. Steve loves to come out and party with your dear friends tequila and mojito. Steve is a social kinda guy, that only shows his face in your prime years, and then abandons you when you need Steve the most. I hate Steve, or better yet, I hate the false sense of carefree can do attitude, that Steve inspires.

When you get closer to my age, and ladies it happens to us all, Steve gets replaced by a three glasses of wine and you’re tipsy Betty. Betty is a softer poessier version of Steve. (Usually Betty comes with her own muffin top and turkey arm) Now a days my party nights all come down to one thing….

PJ drill. (Sigh)

Oscar is such a strange kid to get to know, and having two before him, I honesty though I’m going to rock this shit like Martha-fucking-Steward. That just goes to show. NEVER GET COCKY! 

  1. Tip: if you think that having two kids is the same as having three, get back on those happy pills you’re taking, it’s obviously worth the price. 
  2. Tip: if you think that you know what you’re doing because you have a kid that has already survived up to age 5, adopt a cat. Each little gremlin comes out with their own unique personality and temper.

Xander was a feed on demand baby. What that comes down to is that every time he made a sound he got tit for reward. He slept in my bed, when I went to sleep, got up during the night without opening his eyes, drank and slept again. In fact, every braai we had usually ended up with me doing the whole “I’m just going to go lay down with Xander so he can fall asleep” and waking up to dishes and an empty house the next morning. If you feed on demand and do what I did, I applaud you for still standing! I don’t judge, parenting is like running constant humanoid tests and finally finding the best option for you. Ajay was routine crazy! Slept at the same times each day and night, ate at the same times each day and night, shat at the same times each day and night. Funny how he ended up being my unpredictable kid. So Oscar is a new kinda crazy. I kind of try to force a routine and end up knees deep in his way any way. Sweet little cuddly covered assassin. 

Most nights I can’t complain. It’s like an early twenties Steve party. You wake up after getting up twice during the night and your sort of okay. But then there are “those” nights. Where you’re up every 20 minutes and trying everything from burping, over feeding, pain meds, crying along with him, getting feet first in his cot next to him and nothing works. It’s like taking Betty out for a Steve kinda party. 

Just like when we occasionally get to go out and sort of forget that we have to parent in the morning, it takes me three whole fucking days to recover from “those” nights..
But if I’m being completely honest, no party beats waking up to those cute little giggles and baby talk and that million dollar smile when they look up at you as if you’re the most beautiful woman they have ever seen. Even with morning breath, bad hair, puffy eyes and no make up. 

Cheers to you, Steve, my long forgotten friend. I’m strangely content with Betty, babies and a blubber but.