Wow. All right, everyone needs to take a deep breath and chill out. Sharon, that noise you’re making is really piercing, can you take it down a bit? He’s fine, I’m sure of it.
I got him. Back to mommy for you, Jacob. He definitely needs to be changed now. Whoops—and fed again. There he goes. I knew he would start making noise. He just had the wind knocked out of him.
I’m sorry, you guys. You must think I’m a complete spacehead. This weekend has been a big jumble. I knew sharing a beach house with you would be a blast, and I appreciate you letting me bring Whiskers with me even though you’re both allergic. But things are getting mixed up in my brain. Every hard and fast rule I thought I knew about cats and babies, and babies and cats, has gone into the blender along with all those margaritas. I don’t know right from left anymore. The pills probably didn’t help either.
Don’t worry; he landed mostly on his back. I was holding him in a supine position when I let go, because that’s how I do it with Whiskers. There’s the confusion I was talking about. If I really had held Jacob upside down, his head would have been pointing to the floor. Now that could have been serious. One life down, eight to go. But landing on your back is nothing. Think of pro wrestling. Also, the floor is linoleum, not concrete. That’s why I did my little demonstration in here instead of the patio. I’m not an idiot.
The last 24 hours… I just don’t know what to think. I would have sworn on my life that that thing about cats trying to suck milk from a newborn’s breath and smothering them in the crib was an old wives’ tale. But that belief went out the window around three this morning didn’t it? Even though Whiskers runs about 18 pounds, I’m pretty sure Jacob would have eventually pushed him off if Sharon hadn’t woken up. By the way, the best way to pick up Whiskers is with one hand on the scruff of the neck, not one handful on each side of him—that’s why he took that divot out of your arm.
It’s really my fault Whiskers was so hungry. Our routine is messed up because he’s used to having milk before sleepy time but I forgot to buy it yesterday after our quarters marathon. Obviously I’m not going to give him the breast milk again (you made your feelings clear on that) so I tried microwaving what was left of the vanilla ice cream. Not only wouldn’t he eat it, he acted out the way he usually does by… well, that’s not important.
Tom, put the phone down. We don’t need to drag an ambulance into this. They charge you every time they come out. I know all the precautions about head injuries. We just need to wake him up every two hours and make sure he can answer simple questions like his name and the president’s name. Too bad we don’t have one of those high-frequency whistles only babies can hear—that would definitely keep him alert.
C’mon guys. Let’s not let this ruin the beautiful vibe we’ve been floating on since yesterday. Let it go. Breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Wow, Jacob, Whiskers brought in a baby seagull for you! I’m jealous. I’ll clean it off and put it in the stroller.
Sharon, Tom, I wish you would say something. This is getting uncomfortable. We’re at the beach, everyone is alive and well, there are kebabs to be made. And look at that sunset. Let’s all go back out and—
Oh boy, that can’t be good. Tom, you may want to hit redial.