I’m starting a fan club for the Nachos Lunchable. Not any of the other Lunchables. Just the Nachos one. I mean, it’s terrible. But it’s also so perfect. Especially when combined with the accompanying mini-Kit Kat and fruit-punch Capri Sun. Consider the flavor profiles here: weird cheese, ice-cold corn chips, watery ketchup, chocolate, fruit punch. It sounds disgusting. And yet it works.
The thing about being awake for 20 out of 24 hours is that you get hungry. Ravenous. Starving. One morning, at 3AM, the idea of the Lunchables Nachos suddenly seemed so so right. I guess you could say I had a craving for it. Which may be the first time in history anyone over the age of eight has ever had a craving for a Lunchable.
Let me tell you — it is the perfect food for keeping you awake. It’s 510 calories of corn syrup solids. It’s not food. Food is natural. Food moves through you. Food gives you nourishment. Food makes you sleepy, because sleeping is what healthy, well-nourished people do.
This is fuel. Fuel is a material. Fuel drives engines, which are naturally dormant. Fuel gives them life. Fuel makes you awake, because you are no a longer a person. You are a re-animated robot juiced, pumped full of, primed, and running smooooothly on 510 calories of corn and sugar.
WOW I FEEL GREAT.
THIS IS GOD’S FOOD.
THIS IS WHAT LIVING FEELS LIKE.
I love dipping these microscopic stale chips into the icy pool of ketchup with that ONE sliver of onion floating in there. And let’s just talk about that cheese. That cheese. That beautiful cheese-like, neon-yellow substance. It’s almost like a custard. It has a little bit of a pull to it. Like when you’re dipping the chips, it has this quicksand-like tug to it, where it gently envelops and sucks down the chip for you. Or maybe I’m just hallucinating right now.
And then that Capri Sun. It’s like a shot of B-Vitamins mixed with speed. I don’t even care that the baby has just kicked it up a notch into LEVEL FIVE SCREAMING, because right now I’m on a tropical vacation in a weird foil pouch.
Now for the Kit Kat, which is just a regular old Kit Kat, but right now it tastes like a goddamn truffle imported from the Piedmont region of Northern Italy.
WHO NEEDS REAL FOOD. WHO NEEDS BLUEBERRIES OR ALMONDS OR KALE OR SPROUTS. I imagine this is what addicts feel like when they choose their drug-augmented reality over real life.
Okay, now I’m fully able to sooth and rock the baby for the next two hours. Does he ever sleep? Has he even slept at all in the last twenty-four hours? Have I? Has the wife? The only one I know for certain is the dog. Her face has taken on a permanent look of grimace and determination to sleep through this shit.
The wife and I take shifts in two-hour blocks. Later, on her shift, I startle awake to the sound of something in her voice. I don’t know what it is. Just her voice. I run downstairs to see what’s happening.
The baby is projectile pooping. The sound of her voice isn’t horror. It’s marvel. It’s like a scientist happening upon an undiscovered species. Something you didn’t know existed or could even possibly exist.
I didn’t realize my wife becomes a writer when describing poop. She’s very articulate and almost elegant about it. She was spitting out back to back metaphors like a free-style rapper.
“His butt was a Super Soaker full of poop.”
“It was a soup pouring out of him.”
“He almost filled the entire changing pad. I thought it was going to overflow like a volcano.”
And that’s it. That’s my life. This blog is about babies and Lunchables and poop forever from now on.