High Maintenance

That's what our little Man Cub is. Like his daddy, he only needs a few hours of sleep at a time, snatched here and there and then nowhere near as often as a normal human being. Except, and here's the funny part, now his old dad seems to need more sleep than ever.

Ha ha.

Having a new cub around the den is at once a transcendent experience as well as often being just aggravating as hell. The missus and I see eye to eye on most things of consequence so actual conflict between us is rare. The Man Cub, on the other hand, has his own opinions on everything and the most disagreeable instrument in the world for delivering them. Not being able to speak his language, I assume his every blood-curdling howl is a request for something to be placed in his mouth to obstruct the godawful din, usually a pacifier, or failing that, a bottle.

We have purchased every book ever published on child-rearing, and they all assure us that eventually, lines of verbal, language-based communication will open up, and that at that point, the conflict will really begin.