It's Genetic, Boogie-Woogie-Woogie!
Something about the heady mix of my genes and the wifes genes produces infants that basically have two settings: cute, and ticking time bomb. I thought maybe it was just Aidan; after all he's aboy, and they're EXPECTED to emit all kinds of foul odors and emanations, starting at birth and peaking around 25 or so. But Maia is doing the same thing. What the hell...girls aren't even supposed to poop! They just emit puffs of rose-scented dust clouds when they need to go. Right? Anyway, Maia basically had me doing the Daddy Decathlon.
Mom went to the doc's leaving me with the precocious and entirely too coordinated Aidan, and the sweet but nefarious Maia. She started out on the afore-mentioned "sweet" setting, looking at me while I held her, yawning, and eventually taking a pretty good nap. But when she got up.... yowza. She was hungry, so I had to convince her to take a bottle from me. While she will do it, it takes longer; she inherently senses that my boobs are smaller and entirely ineffective as a food dispensing unit, and sees the bottle as my pathetic attempt to curry her highnesses favor. Maybe it's just me. Regardless, I finally got her almost all fed, when I heard a sound akin to the fabric of space and time being torn asunder. I froze, fervently praying it was just gas-- because Maia has officially entered the stage where she only poops once every 2 to 3 days, and I knew Vesuvius was due to blow. Slowly, I began to realize that it was not, in fact, gas. I really tried to finish feeding her and burp her, but the smell...oh god, the smell... it's indescribable, but imagine what it would smell like if you miked poo, Doritos, and sugar together.
I knew it was bad....but when I checked, I found it as worse than I thought. Poo, all the way up to her neck. Worse, it was a tight fitting onesy, so I was pretty sure I was going to get it on her head as I yanked it off. So I went into lightening mode....off come the pants, down goes the waterproof changing pad, off comes the diaper, down go some transitory sacrificial wipes, swab half to goo off, flip her onto her belly on the clean half of the couch...BOOM! She spits up everywhere, and is now face-down in her own undigested milk. Worse, she gets angry and flips her head, so it's in her HAIR. I keep it together though... I grap a spit-rag, wipe it all off her, hold her up, peel off her onesy inside out, and wipe EVERYTHING like 14 times. Of course, she is screaming by this point, and Aidan is shredding Play-Dough in the other room, but I can't stop to think about it. I half-heartedly try to give her a binkly, fail, and soldier on. I now have an completely naked baby, so KA-POW I wrap her up in a receiving blanket to take her upstairs to finish this battle. I'm up the stairs, almost there, and ZAP!....suddenly the blanket is very warm, and very wet. She has just peed on me. I sigh, but continue. Put her down, wiper her off AGAIN, wrestle a fresh onesy on, and ZING! she pukes all over that one too., And gets the changing pad. I'm reeling now, barely able to keep from just wrapping her in a new blanket and cuddling her until Mom gets back, but I manage to dig deep and get another onesy and outfit on her, as well as a bib.
Finally, we're all clean, and Aidan is being an angel. Just in time too-- as I'm going down the stairs, in walks Mom. The living room looked like the poop fairy had been assassinated in it, but neither of the kids were crying, both of them had all their clothes on, and nothing was on fire. So I think I got an A. If not, screw it, I'm not interested in whatever horrors extra-credit may entail.
One other thing-- we were giving Aidan a bath recently, and as he was getting out he grabbed his junk and proudly proclaimed "I have a new penis!" We both just kind of looked at each other. I did the only thing a father could do at that point. I asked him "Where'd you get it?" Aidan replied "At the purple toy store" (which means Babies R Us). I asked him "And how's that working out for you?", to which he, without missing a beat, said "Good, Daddy.". Then he went about his business.
So, instead of an imaginary friend, my son has an imaginary new penis. Man, those early school years are going to be really, really interesting.
Mom went to the doc's leaving me with the precocious and entirely too coordinated Aidan, and the sweet but nefarious Maia. She started out on the afore-mentioned "sweet" setting, looking at me while I held her, yawning, and eventually taking a pretty good nap. But when she got up.... yowza. She was hungry, so I had to convince her to take a bottle from me. While she will do it, it takes longer; she inherently senses that my boobs are smaller and entirely ineffective as a food dispensing unit, and sees the bottle as my pathetic attempt to curry her highnesses favor. Maybe it's just me. Regardless, I finally got her almost all fed, when I heard a sound akin to the fabric of space and time being torn asunder. I froze, fervently praying it was just gas-- because Maia has officially entered the stage where she only poops once every 2 to 3 days, and I knew Vesuvius was due to blow. Slowly, I began to realize that it was not, in fact, gas. I really tried to finish feeding her and burp her, but the smell...oh god, the smell... it's indescribable, but imagine what it would smell like if you miked poo, Doritos, and sugar together.
I knew it was bad....but when I checked, I found it as worse than I thought. Poo, all the way up to her neck. Worse, it was a tight fitting onesy, so I was pretty sure I was going to get it on her head as I yanked it off. So I went into lightening mode....off come the pants, down goes the waterproof changing pad, off comes the diaper, down go some transitory sacrificial wipes, swab half to goo off, flip her onto her belly on the clean half of the couch...BOOM! She spits up everywhere, and is now face-down in her own undigested milk. Worse, she gets angry and flips her head, so it's in her HAIR. I keep it together though... I grap a spit-rag, wipe it all off her, hold her up, peel off her onesy inside out, and wipe EVERYTHING like 14 times. Of course, she is screaming by this point, and Aidan is shredding Play-Dough in the other room, but I can't stop to think about it. I half-heartedly try to give her a binkly, fail, and soldier on. I now have an completely naked baby, so KA-POW I wrap her up in a receiving blanket to take her upstairs to finish this battle. I'm up the stairs, almost there, and ZAP!....suddenly the blanket is very warm, and very wet. She has just peed on me. I sigh, but continue. Put her down, wiper her off AGAIN, wrestle a fresh onesy on, and ZING! she pukes all over that one too., And gets the changing pad. I'm reeling now, barely able to keep from just wrapping her in a new blanket and cuddling her until Mom gets back, but I manage to dig deep and get another onesy and outfit on her, as well as a bib.
Finally, we're all clean, and Aidan is being an angel. Just in time too-- as I'm going down the stairs, in walks Mom. The living room looked like the poop fairy had been assassinated in it, but neither of the kids were crying, both of them had all their clothes on, and nothing was on fire. So I think I got an A. If not, screw it, I'm not interested in whatever horrors extra-credit may entail.
One other thing-- we were giving Aidan a bath recently, and as he was getting out he grabbed his junk and proudly proclaimed "I have a new penis!" We both just kind of looked at each other. I did the only thing a father could do at that point. I asked him "Where'd you get it?" Aidan replied "At the purple toy store" (which means Babies R Us). I asked him "And how's that working out for you?", to which he, without missing a beat, said "Good, Daddy.". Then he went about his business.
So, instead of an imaginary friend, my son has an imaginary new penis. Man, those early school years are going to be really, really interesting.
posted by Clueless Dad | 9:33 AM
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