It’s baaaaaack

Scene: the Hatchling’s bedroom, from 9-11:30 PM.


Squab: Whatsa matter, bean? Do you have a diaper? huh? Need a snack? (gets Hatchling up, changes her, offers boob)

The Hatchling: SUCK SUCK SUCK suck suck suck suck suck zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz …

Squab (carefully scoots to edge of rocker, slooooooooowly stands up, tiptoes over to crib, gennnnnnnntly lays Hatchling in crib)


Squab: Crap. (picks Hatchling up, reswaddles her even tighter, turns her sideways and starts to jiggle) Shhhhhh … shhhhhh … shhhhhhh … shhhhhh …

The Hatchling: waaaahh.

(Repeat for 10 minutes. Squab loses sensation in her lips and her spit dries up.)

Squab: Shhhhbbbth … fuck.

The Hatchling: waaaAAAAAAAH!

Squab (to Mr. Squab): Honey?!?! Where’s the radio?

Mr. Squab: What radio?

Squab: My boombox, the small one!

Mr. Squab: Hang on, I’ll find it. (sounds of digging around downstairs) OK, here it is.

Squab: Take her while I find a static station.


Mr. Squab: Shhhhh … shhhhh … shhhh … shhhh …

Squab (punching through every station on the dial): No … no … no … why the fuck isn’t there any pure static? How can there be stations close to every frequency?!?!

Mr. Squab: Try AM.


Squab (tries AM): It’s too quiet, it won’t turn up loud enough. (tries FM again, gets station with mostly static and decides it will have to do. Cranks it.)

The Hatchling: WAAAaaaaahhhhhzzzzzzzzzzz …

Mr. Squab (slowly puts Hatchling in crib. She stays quiet. Squab and Mr. Squab turn off the radio and sloooooooowly back away.)

*** Forty-five minutes pass ***

The Hatchling: WAAAAAAAAAAH!

(Repeat, ad infinitum)

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