Thunder Pie.

by Serge Bielanko

If you are a new dad then you don't know shit.

I have to believe this as my life falls apart in front of my fat face. Wife? wants me to move out and get an apartment. She says I am selfish because I want to go fishing and never really get up in the middle of the night when WeeOne is screeching death. Then, when I do hold WeeOne in my arms, I spazz out if she begins to get fussy. I thought I was going to shine as a father. But, no.

Last night, as Wife? attempted to calm me down and show me some calming stuff, I ripped open my shirt and tried to breastfeed my shrieking daughter. I had wild eyes and I could even hear the Zoloft in my bloodstream just give up like ballet boys on the Little League field. What's the use, they sighed. We are not designed for this. This seems to happen more often than not. WeeOne was weaned on her mama's milk and touch and whispers. Me, I am just some rough skinned lummox who waves Tigger the Tiger around like a gun. No wonder my own baby might not even like me.

Now I am sad.

I love WeeOne more than the dumb-ass cliches that say you will never know love until you have a child. I love her enough to wish I was more. More tender, more patient. More fucking sane than the ex-rocker who used to huff Dust-Off in the back halls of a mall when other people were developing social skills and growing mentally and emotionally.

Anyway, tomorrow Wife? goes back to work after three months off. At one pm I leave work and come home. I am taking over WeeOne's life. Please join me, you judgemental bastards...