The Itsy-Bitsy-Spider.

I sang the only verse I know. Over and over and over again. If there are other verses, I may need to find them.

"The Itsy-Bitsy-Spider went up the water spout,
Down came the rain and washed the spider out,
Up came the sun and dried up all the rain,
And the Itsy-Bitsy-Spider went up the spout again"

At first, the soft singing does nothing. Violet just stares up at me with a quivery lip; the hair trigger is being caressed. Then, the moment all oxygen is vac'd from the room. And the dam gives out. Her tiny nostrils flare and collapse. That little face goes ruby. Eyes squish. My daughter's crying is somewhat akin to a 747 taking off. With sirens. Maybe a teradactyl State Trooper.

I keep the verse going though. On a steady loop...

"The Itsy-Bitsy-Spider went up the water spout,
Down came the rain and washed the spider out,
Up came the sun and dried up all the rain,
And the Itsy-Bitsy-Spider went up the spout again"

Careful not to waver my voice too much, I keep the volume the same: low-ish. Violet's stumpy limbs flail and kick and I can feel the super small fingers of right hand gripping my t-shirt. It's surprisingly tight for such a dainty fist. A few minutes go by and we are waltzing in a certain circle across the hardwood floor and back again. I know I am slumpy as I move cause I want to lean in and nibble her ear a little; I like the idea of playful maneuvers maybe relaxing her a bit. But I pull back time and again. She's too young for that shit yet... an ear nibble will just up the stakes.

Eventually, her eyes begin open a smidge and the gasps and gulps subside. She has a moment of clarity and out of nowhere stares into my face with shakey cheeks. The last of the tears rolls away, warm drips on my finger tips behind her neck. I smile down at her, keep the spider rolling.

It's working!!! OH HELL YEAH!

Her open eyes flutter, close, open, shut. I can see her watery eyeballs roll back into her eyelids. Then they pop open fast. But the verse is mystical and I am a snake charming medicine man with a itsy bitsy spider in my mouth. She is drifting. Off. To. Sleep.

I don't dare stop the verse. Ten minutes go by and my daughter is asleep in my arms while I move around the room same as before, the very short song continuing to be sung at the same volume, same timbre, everything the same same same.

I don't want to put her down. Finally.

Thunder Pie.

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...