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The Night Shift

I'm in charge of the night shift. That means that for the past month I've been sleeping at 8 in the morning, waking up for breakfast at lunch, and so on. I've always been a night person, and a morning person. Basically I've always prided myself in needing very little sleep to survive.
But staying awake because you're doing stuff you want to do and being kept awake are two very different things. Taking care of Anne at night means that sometimes I get to do a little work, or put together a butt-ugly redesign while she's asleep. And sometimes the whole night is spent trying to get her to that point. Either way, my job is to make sure Faith gets her rest. Rest = breast milk. Breast milk = satisfied baby. And satisfied baby = quality of life.
So here I sit in my underwear. My external clothes were casualties in a poop explosion a few moments ago.
Anne's a smallish kid. But she really knows how to let one rip. Sometimes it sounds like a tractor driving through our living room, and other times it sounds like a geiger counter moseying towards Chernobyl. There was this one time during a routine diaper change, she squirted poop <strong>two and a half</strong> body lengths away. It almost made it out the door of our bedroom.
Tonight I was bottle-feeding her, her bottom placed firmly on my lap. She lets one rip.
You have to understand that with babies there's no such thing as a dry fart. They're all wet. It also means that there's no way of telling whether it's a fart or poop till it's too late.
It's a long one. Followed by another. And another. Man, this girl was on a roll. Two-and-a-half body lengths of atmospheric pressure pressed against my lap, fired again and again. Something had to give. The seam of her diaper blew and poop flew all over the place. All over my lap, my t-shirt. Mustard. Warm mustard.
Ok, so it wasn't a fart.
It's odd how babies teach you that time is relative. The five minutes it takes to warm up their milk while they're screaming their lungs out is the longest five minutes in the world. Longer than the last five-minutes of a marathon.
It was a long test of patience till the bubble burst. Now Anne's sleeping and oddly enough I hear myself think: <em>oh it wasn't that bad</em>.

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