without formula. without diapers. without anything.
The metrocard trick through the side of the door didn’t work and my friend with the spare keys is in Japan. JAPAN. As in, the other side of the world.
So, of course, the first order of business is for Eaglet to move her 11pm Poo up to the 6pm Poo for the first time ever. And make it a giant one with noises so loud I hold my breath that the premie diaper can take it.
Next, cue Eaglet to decide that despite having just finished a bottle, said 6pm Poo has left her suddenly STARVING. Have you ever seen a really hungry infant? They WILL find something to suck. They will twist their little heads around like the exorcist, rooting and vacuuming in air until they find you. And then, when your arm, knee, knuckle or hair doesn’t produce milk, they become a whole new level of never before seen rage. If they had the coordination to crawl up the kitchen counter they would grab the pear knife and CARVE OUT YOUR EYES. Because ye who takes longer than 10 seconds to feed the newest souls on earth will rot in the bowels of hell’s demons.
Standing on the street, I’m eventually surrounded by homeless people telling me my baby is hungry and smelly. Yeah, I KNOW. And where are her socks? Oh, and is she your daughter? As in, she can’t be your daughter- we think you just murdered a pregnant, black woman and cut out her baby so wait here while we check the local news and call the cops.
Now skip to me feeding Eaglet little cap fulls of bottled water. On the stoop. In 100 degree weather. Surrounded by East Village’s finest street people.
I think I’ve created a whole new level of ghetto.
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