Member-only story
There’s a Ghost in My Living Room
It’s pretty annoying
At the end of each blissful day, after a six-hour bedtime routine, I lay my sweet daughter peacefully down in her crib. She screams, punches her mattress, and tries to rip the pajamas from her body, before eventually drifting off into the land of nod.
When I return to the living room, there’s a dickhead of a ghost waiting for me.
Because, apparently, I can’t have any fucking peace.
Each evening, I partake in the thirty-minute tidying event, which consists of picking up all of my daughter’s toys that have been launched to different areas of the house and putting them away in the living room.
I pack them all neatly away into her toy box and onto her bookcase, organized so she can violate them all again the next day. Then, I grab a drink and the baby monitor and settle on the couch.
Several minutes later, it begins.
Often, I’m trying to concentrate on an Instagram video of a shirtless, tattoed man strutting around his kitchen in slow motion, pretending not to notice his friend Roger filming him.
Dumb fuck. Still gonna watch.
When suddenly, there’s a “cock-a-doodle-doo!” The rooster on my daughter’s musical puzzle goes off.
