Out of the mouths of babes...

I was so close, oh....so close!!

I had the one who is supposed to be "The Mom" in the bathroom at the end of her rope in tears twice yesterday because I was crying so much (and very loudly, I might add). I pulled out all the stops. I was a sight to behold. Yelling, screaming, crocodile tears--the whole bit. I even rattled his cage a bit--you know, the one who is supposed to be "The Dad." I didn't get him to cry though. He is kinda tough, that one.

But what's the dealio? They think they did me such a big favor getting me out of that orphanage? I was fine. Ok, ok, so maybe this is a little bit better, I mean they did hook me up with a nice hotel room, and I guess they are all over me trying to see if I need anything. That Mom Lady would change my clothes 20 times a day if I let her, and I'm sure if I let up a bit I can eventually get those rings she is rockin', but come on? Am I supposed to not test them at all??? I was in an institution for almost a year of my life. This is hard on me too. I'm grieving, ya know? They look different, smell different, talk different. I have some issues that I developed while in the orphanage, I know that, but I'm sure I'll get over them with time...but as for them-- I don't trust them at all...well, not yet. 

Also, can I just say (to my defense) that it's not my fault they were freakin' starving me! I tried to let them know I was hungry by crying, wailing, flailing, crying, wailing, flailing, repeat, repeat, repeat but HELLO? Shoving a luke warm bottle in my face is not going to get the job done. Heat that sucker up and cut a bigger whole in the nipple! I'll drink it if you idiots do it right. Jeez. It's not that hard, people. You know... I really expected more from them. 

Here's another problem with them: Every time I freak out and cry they think it's because I'm teething. Well, I am but that's besides the point. Last night, when they were freaking out because nothing they did was working, they finally gave me some new wave, homeopathic teething medicine-- but it didn't keep me down. No, no, no. Just when they were starting to fall asleep, at a nice, ripe time of 3:30ish, you know it brothas and sistas, I woke them up screaming. It was AWESOME. They jumped a mile, I swear it.

But that's when it happened.

They figured it out. It took them until 5:52 AM, but Frick and Frack figured it out. ACES. They had the bottle at the right temp, the right amount of formula and they cut the nipple. I caved. I couldn't help it. I caved and cut them a break.

They're really not so bad and they earned it...so I drank the formula.

Here's the thing though-- Now they think they're back in control because I'm kind of into the eating thing. They aren't calling me "Cranky Frankie" anymore. Oh no...now they're calling me "Frank the Tank" and pumping their fists while chanting "Frank, Frank, Frank" every time I slam a bottle. Just because I didn't see "Old School" doesn't mean I don't get it.

I mean, really--"Frank the Tank?" 

So not cool. 

I'll get them back though. Wait 'til it's time to poop and I can't go. Constipation should cause quite the crying episode. I'm taking them both down. Over confident, newbie, wanna-be parents, you're going down--going down to China Town.

Sleep with one eye open cuz I'm Frankie Jade Coden and you ain't gonna sleep til I go to college--and maybe not even then! 

FJCoden OUT.