This road that I'm on, that we're on. It can kill you. In a thousand different ways. It can come at you. From a thousand different angles. But always starts. And ends. With the kids.
This is the first quiet moment I've had all week. But it feels much longer. And I'm tired. To my bones. Both kids have been sick with coughing and colds. They haven't been sleeping well. Neither have we. I'm still waiting for a call back from The Walking Dead. I sent them our audition tapes. I think we're perfect.
Speaking of The Walking Dead, jeezus season 3 is just freakin' amazing. The last two episodes have had me gripping my arm chair white-knuckled and sweating. I'm now so invested in the characters and any of them could die at any moment. Yes, I've added another thing in my life that kills me. Don't worry, I have a lot of them.
The sleepless situation has gotten so bad that my seemingly-invincible-never-gets-sick wife is in fact, sick. Man down. I can't recall a time ever seeing her sick. Not even when we were still dating. She is strong like bull.
Miraculously I on the other hand, prone to sickness, fevers and colds, have been healthy as an ox. I must stop taking my multivitamins at once I can't handle this topsy turvy world anymore.
Health or no health, neither of us have been impervious to the effects of the constant sleep deprivation. It's one thing to be sleep deprived for a day or two. For us, this has been going on for a full week. Midway through the week, we were ready to tear each other apart. This is how divorce happens.
We're still married. FYI. But it was rough. Many times, well into the early AM, we both would be carrying a child in our arms. One or both would be crying. We'd trade carrying each child like one was trying on a jacket. Maybe it would fit better this time. Eventually they'd fall asleep in our arms. We'd lie down beside them as gentle and as quiet as possible. We'd close our red eyes and listen to their labored breathing.
30 minutes later the cycle would repeat. A child would cry, waking the other one up. Because two crying children is more fun. Later on, my wife would tell me she caught me silently screaming to no one in particular. By then I felt like punching my child in the face. Not like a devastating Manny Pacquiao left hook. More like a Manny Pacquiao straight jab. Just a quick one. A solid one. My wife would go on and tell me that she felt the same way too. I feel even more bonded now with her. Nothing like violent thoughts to bring us closer.
But the lowest point was when I saw my wife crying. I thought, holy fuck she's gone off the deep end. It's in these moments, no matter where your head is, no matter what your arms and legs are feeling, no matter how many hours you've been carrying your child, that sometimes we also need to carry each other even if it kills us.
The kids are still sick. We're still zombies. Zombies carrying each other.