Baby Daddy 37: We Broke Our Son...Maybe....?

That's right, I said it. We broke our son. We went to war, and he won the battle. With that said, we may have won the war. For those who don't know, our son is five months old. As it turns out, this is a special time in his life, where he starts sleeping like a real person. What does that mean? It means that it takes a fuck-tonne longer to get him to sleep, and he is fast and easy to wake. How do we know? Because that motherfucker woke up four times in the night, for the past week.

Now I know what you may be thinking. That's a lie, I don't know and I don't give two shits. I'd give one, but that's reserved for someone. You know who you are (*Insert winky face*). And so, after a week of non-sleep, we chose to introduce our son to the new sleeping arrangement. What is that arrangement? Well he was going to learn to sleep in a crib, in another room, and without a pacifier. Why? Because I am sick and tired of washing his goddamn pacifier all the time. 

Why am I always washing it? Because he fucking throws that binky on the floor in protest. Seriously. He was fussing up a storm one day, so I gave him a pacifier. That child looks at me, dead in the eye, grabs his pacifier, and fucking drops it. It landed straight on the floor and rolled under the couch. Do you know how gross that is? Nobody vacuums under their couch. That is known as the dead-zone. That is the area that you never look under, you never reach under, and you never acknowledge as existing. I once dropped a $20 bill, and it landed under the couch. Do you know what happened? 

The funny answer would be to say that I left that sumbitch there, until I eventually moved. That made for a great moving day, because I made $20. The real answer is that I retrieved it, and immediately wished that I could cut of my arm and soak it in bleach. I did not do this, of course. Last thing I need is to make my pasty-white self any whiter. Instead, I washed my hands and went to Taco Bell. Yes, I was drunk at the time. Fuck you, you don't know my life. 

But as I was saying, our son was growing defiant, and was needing a new sleep routine. So last night, we went for it. As it turns out, the method we used is called the Ferber technique. What we did is we got him ready for bed, and as he fell asleep, my wife put him in the crib. We then began an hour of attrition. For five minutes, we would let our son cry and scream. We would then spend two minutes trying to comfort him. After that two minutes, we would go five minutes with letting him cry and scream, followed by two minutes of comfort. We did this for thirty minutes, and then extended the crying time to ten minutes, and then fifteen minutes. This went for an hour, and we likely going to go for more.

Now I will tell you, he won the battle. He never stopped crying, and my wife eventually caved in. She started crying and held him tight. My son was crying. My wife was crying. I was downstairs eating my dinner. But guess what? After my wife called him down, my son fell asleep in his crib, without a pacifier, and slept for at least eight (EIGHT!!!) hours! 

Since this time, he has consistently slept 7 hours. Unfortunately that starts around 8-8:30 PM, and thus means that we wake up at 3-3:30 AM.

Moral of the Story: We are still fighting over sleep, but the war is shifting in our favor. 

I Shot a Man's Penis...

So I know it has been a while. I actually have a story that's ready, I just need to add the pictures. And no, this is not that story. But I will tell you one thing, I learned that I am decent at krav. Why do I say that? Because I had a test on Monday. The fun part about the test was that they had a "live-fire" pistol disarm portion. No, they did not bring a real pistol. They did bring an air-soft pistol, however, which is close enough.

One person got shot in each leg. She sustained instant welts that later started to bruise. I did my disarm, however, and did not get shot. I will tell you one thing, though, is that I have trained to be effective. I grabbed the gun and had it pointed away from me before the guy could even think of pulling the trigger. After I disarmed, I took the gun and shot at the fella.

Now normally, we train with fake rubber guns. And normally, I would not expect the gun to fire. In this case, however, the gun fired very well. Before I even knew it, I had the gun pointed at the guy, squeezed the trigger, and heard the *pop*. Everyone in the class gasped, as the guy jumped to dodge.

Now I know what you may be thinking. That's a lie. I have no clue what you are thinking. But I can tell you this, I shot the guy in the penis. To be fair, I fired as I was raising the gun. And to be fair, I was aiming for center of mass. But how do I know I hit him in the nether-yay-ya? Because he told me. As it turns out, this was one of the few times that the guy chose to wore a cup. When I had shot him, I heard the pellet hit something and ricochet. As it turns out, it hit his cup and bounced.

I then realized where I was, and what I was doing, and apologized to the guy. He told me he was a proud instructor. He said that our purpose is to neutralize the threat and get to safety. If that means shooting a person with their own gun, then great.

At the end of the night, we did scenario testing. This is the same type of test that I once barricaded myself in a room. In this case, they said that I am to walk through the hallway, looking in the rooms to find my son. For this drill, all weapons were rubber. As I approached the first room, one person put a pistol in my back. Before I thought, I had trapped the arm and began attacking my assailant. A person in that room opened the door with an assault rifle. I managed to grab the pistol - still in the hand of my attacker - and shoot person with the rifle. I then turned the gun back on the attacker and made them shoot themselves in the head.

This is where it got interesting. There was a time when I played video games. I played a lot of shooting games, where you would go and collect ammo or weapons from your fallen enemy. My wife and I would play to the point where I would call it "harvesting" supplies from the enemy. Eventually she started calling me an Angel of Death, harvesting souls. That part doesn't matter. What does matter is that I went into the room with the "fallen" assault rifle, and took it. The guy thought I was joking, until I put the newly acquired pistol in my waste-band and started clearing the hallway with the rifle.

In the end, there was only one more person, and they had a bat. He asked why I was pointing a gun at him, and I asked why he had a bat. He said he was playing baseball, until I started pointing the gun at him. I told the guy to go back to his game, and I wouldn't have to point a gun at him.

Moral of the Story: Video games teach real world skills, and I shot a man's penis.