Conversations with the Baby Creator

8:05 p.m.

Dear God,

Thank you so much for my perfect little angel. Tonight she was so cute. She walked to me, she said "ball," and she patted my back.  She caressed my arm as I rocked her to sleep.  What a perfect child she is.  Her hair is long enough for barrettes.  Oh, life is bliss.

8:15 p.m.

Dear God,

She's crying. Why is she crying?  She used to go to bed so easily.  Bottle, Billy Joel song (I know I suck, but she doesn't care), 240 rocks, then bed.  It was magic.  Where has the magic gone?  But I shouldn't complain. She is still perfect.

8:32 p.m.

Dear God,

Okay, so I went in and patted her head like Dr. Ferber said.  She was sitting up in bed, rattling her pacifiers like the chains in a Turkish prison.  She wailed in agony when I wouldn't pick her up.  I rubbed her back for exactly one minute, then I left.  What should I do?

8:47 p.m.

Dear God,

She is occasionally taking breaths and listening, like she's assembling the rats for a full-on siege of the house.  Oops, there she goes again.  Maybe one more pat, just like SuperNanny.  I will be strong.

9:12 p.m.

Dear God,

I hope you thrash that damn Dr. Ferber when he arrives at the pearly gates.  That bastard is full of shit.

9:43 p.m.

Dear God,

I finally threw Dr. Ferber to the wind after all this time. She was supposed to be asleep almost two hours ago.  Maybe she'll be seriously stunted from lack of sleep. Oh, God, please don't let that happen. She must grow up to be brilliant.  She's finally asleep, after 6.3 minutes of back-rubbing. She had the aftershocks, so I had to rub her back a little longer than usual. I waited until she started twitching before I left. Is that bad or good?  I don't know what is bad or good anymore.

9:53 p.m.

Dear God,

Please don't let me get pregnant again anytime soon. I'm not sure if I'm cut out for the job.  Please, PLEASE let her sleep past 5:52 a.m.  Not like last night.  Good night.