Why won't he sleep? He's fuming here. Need to hold him tight. Stop squirming! Feel like I'm taking him hostage.
It's for your own good little man!
Wow. What a scream. He should join an Emo band. Or communicate with dogs. That was impressive. And now I've definitely got tinnitus.
He was loving this cuddle at the start. But once he worked out my evil plan to send him to the land of nod he just lost his mind.
Maybe I'm holding him too tight? Don't want to squish him. But otherwise he'll start body-popping again.
Ah, that's right. Here we go. He's settling now. Good ol' Daddy to the rescue again.
Piece of cake.
*baby screams and flails limbs*
Okay. Still not down. That's fine. We can take as long as we need little fella!
I'll rock him a bit. Or is that silly? He's only just had his milk.
Didn't I read that rocking your baby causes baldness? That's got to be bollocks. I can't have read that anywhere. I'm so tired my brain is making up shite.
Can't. Reach. My. Coffee.
No. Just out of reach.
Look at that cup. That beautiful, hot, steaming mug of help. Going cold right in front of me. I should get one of those novelty hats with straws in and lash my coffee in that.
Think he's down now.
*baby gives end-of-the-world scream*
Okay. Not down. Definitely not down.
We're all tired here, mate! No need to make a song and dance about it. You don't see Daddy crying when he's knackered. Except that one time.
Anyway, you'll understand one day that naps are a treat, not a punishment. Get stuck in, lad.
Let's stand up for a bit, try that. He likes that.
Need a wee. Really badly. Shouldn't have stood up.
Jesus, my arms gone dead. Feel like I've slept on it. Hope I don't drop him. Better sit down again.
No, he doesn't like that. Okay, we don't have to sit. Let's stand up again.
I'm up and down like James Bond's pants here.
Fuck me, I can't get up off this sofa. These cushions are like quicksand. That and the two stone I've put on. I'm trapped. Can I phone the fire brigade?
How long can a baby scream for? This is like alligator wrestling. STOP WRIGGLING, PLEASE!
*baby quietens down, starts cooing*
Here we go. The home straight. Think I'll make a sandwich in a minute. Starving here.
Oh no, has he done a poo? He has, he's done a fucking stinker. My god, that smells like burnt toast.
Should I change him? Seems a shame to wake him now. It's like snakes and ladders getting them to sleep. One false move and you're back to the start.
He'll be okay.
He's still crying a tiny bit but, is that laughing? That's not happy laughing. Sounds maniacal. Crazy. Like The Joker. The Jack Nicholson one.
He's gone quiet now. Really quiet. Too quiet. This is worrying. Is he even breathing? Shall I wake him up? No, he's okay.
What's that on my hand? Feels warm. Oh please, no. That shit is leaking all over me. Right. Come on. Let's change you quickly.
*changes baby, repeats process from beginning, baby finally closes eyes and stops wriggling*
Well, this is bliss. Silence. Serenity. Bonding with my son. The world makes sense right now.
*puts baby down*
God this feels good. I've never scored the winning goal in a cup final but I can't imagine it feels this good.
First things first, a fresh coffee. Then to clean that kitchen, place looks like a warzone.
Then I reckon I'll just sit on the sofa for a bit. Just sit there, thinking about nothing, staring into space. I'm so excited!
*takes first sip of coffee and baby wakes up screaming*
Oh for fucks sake.
*gives up and opens a beer*