Phallic Bee

The Blueberry woke Boo up last night with a scream that turned my blood to yogurt. It was out of character: the baby is a champion sleeper who can frequently bless us with 8- and 9-hour stretches, as long as I’ve kept up with my pentagram-inscribing and incense-burning. I must have forgotten part of the ritual, though, because at around 5 a.m., our normally trouble-free baby let out with a shriek like a cursed wallaby.

The wail only lasted about two seconds, but the damage was done: Boo came over to our room, insisted that I put my hat on, and dragged me back to her room to sit with her until she fell asleep.

During the hour that I waited, my head propped up against a stuffed lion, I was repeatedly visited by the mental image of the “Pin the Stinger on the Bee” game I’d put together for Boo’s birthday last week. In hindsight, I think I managed to make it look like the poor bee was either in the middle of an uncomfortable poop or else somewhat generously endowed. Maybe having the stinger hang between its feet wasn’t the best planning. What must my friends think of me?


Needless to say, I was too disturbed to sleep much after that. I’ve had many days that started out exhausted since taking on this stay-at-home dad gig: today, however, I was exhausted for the stupidest reason ever.