Chapter 12. Noodles, please.
The boy eats every two hours. This is wonderful for his growth. He is getting so large he almost fell out of his swing and now instead of picking him up we drag him around like a burlap sack full of bowling balls. The downside of his eating schedule is it makes your head explode to be woken up every two hours.
Last night Michelle and I were laying in bed around 4am listening to Lev, who had just eaten and or was just about to eat.
He was "going to the bathroom" by which I mean laying around making a sound like he was simultaneously strangling someone and being strangled.
Michelle and I like to listen to these ridiculous pooping noises and quietly laugh at our son, as this is our only remaining means of vengeance we can legally exercise as he slowly murders us both.
Suddenly, he yelled "mama!" This was not a mere auditory hallucination as was the case when he was a few days old and I thought he yelled "I'm Lev!" No. He clearly said "mama."
Michelle, probably feeling bad for me that his first word wasn't "papa," suggested he said, "yeah man." This was kind of her, but unrealistic. She then offered that maybe it was "Yemen," which makes no sense at all since he hates to travel.
Finally I realized the obvious truth. He hadn't said mama or yeah man or Yemen. He isn't even six weeks old for God's sake.
He had shouted "Ramen," as in, "Here's a menu suggestion: bring me some fucking noodles."
A man can only take so much breast milk.