Posts Tagged With: humor

The Five Stages Of Shitting Your Pants

Here’s another one that didn’t have a home….

You’re alarm goes off and as usual you don’t get up until you’ve hit snooze at least six or seven times. Now you’ve got barely any time to get ready and certainly no time to make breakfast so you settle for leftover KFC and instant coffee. You proceed to chug both down like their going out of style as you jump in your rolling shitbox and hit the gas. You manage get to work on time, but at what cost? The grease from the KFC has lubricated your colon and the coffee is donkey punching you in the bowels. You rush to the bathroom but on the way you decide to let out a little gas to relieve the pressure…..only it’s more than a fart.
Congratulations, you’ve shit your pants! Now are you going to go home like a little sissy wimp and ask mommy to get you some fresh undies, or are you going to power through the day like a fierce warrior deity and make those soiled drawers your bitch?
Well since you’re not the one writing this scenario…

Step 1 Denial: As you take the walk of shame back to your cubicle there is a good chance that anyone with a nose (or in the case of Frank the custodian a nose hole) is going to catch a whiff of your sour trousers and start pointing fingers (or in Frank’s case, nubs) at you. Your best course of action at this point is to pretend that you have no idea what anyone is talking about. Play it off like you don’t notice the mixture of feces and sweat permeating the air. “What smell? Oh THAT smell, I have no idea. My new cologne maybe? Is my new cologne made of dog turds? Yeah Tom, it is. Do you feel smart now? You feel like a smart guy?”. Unfortunately, no matter how hard you deny it after a while even the dimmest crayon in the deck is going to realize that the bog of eternal stench is localized solely withing a two foot radius of you at all times. So now it’s time for….

Step 2 Anger: Your pissed off, and rightly so! No one enjoys shitting their pants and if they do then they are probably into some weird Japanese fetish porn. You’re angry that you have to walk around with shit in your pants all day and you’re angry because you smell like you got raped by a septic tank. Don’t hold it in, let your anger burst forth like the fiery lava ejaculate of Vesuvius. Mad at your boss because you haven’t gotten a raise in years? Go give that jackass a taste of your poop fueled ire! Mad that Judy from accounting keeps turning you down whenever you ask her out? Well too bad! You’re a grown man who shits his pants at work, what do you expect? Everyone else you can yell at though. However there is a chance that yelling alone wont do anything…

Step 3 Bargaining : Most likely by now someone has called security because they are quite literally sick of your shit. In an attempt to maintain even a shred of your former dignity you’ll probably start pulling out your wallet and offering all your co-workers $10 not to tell anyone else that you crapped your pants. By the time security comes you’ll be down to the expired coupon for a free Junior Frosty that you had tucked away behind your license. You offer it to the nice security men if they will let you exit the building in a dignified manor to which they will reply by grabbing you by the arms and dragging you out into the hall and down the stairs. Once they get to the front door Security will unceremoniously throw you out onto your ass. Ass you lie there shivering from the cold and asphyxiating on smell of your own waste…..

Step 4 Depression: By now you are probably so depressed that you’re quickly scanning the ground around you for anything sharp with which to sever your own jugular. How did your life come to this? Losing your job and any self respect you had because you have the intestinal control of a twitchy toddler with a belly full of Mexican food, walking around smelling worse than Swamp Thing on free Laxative day at the park. You’ll probably forever be known as The Fool Who Shat His Pants or TFWSHP so you might as well end it right here and now right? Not so fast, don’t start sawing at your neck with that ragged spoon just yet Paul Bunyan junior. Hold your tenuous grip on reality just a little bit longer because next comes….

Step 5 Acceptance : So you shit your pants, who hasn’t? We’ve all had that night of heavy drinking or that bout with food poisoning. We’ve all had that little trickle of chocolate syrup slowly make it’s way down our crack all the while smearing itself against the back of our underpants. No one likes to talk about the time that they’ve spent on skid row but anyone who tells you that they haven’t been there is a lying, commie bastard. Having the Hershey squirts is as American as apple pie. So don’t feel bad. Sure your underwear has gone from white to Khaki but wear those downtown browns with pride! Stand up tall and fan the rotting stench of decay that’s slowly bubbling up from your backside away as you proudly declare : “I shit my pants today AND I’M PROUD!”

Then go home and wash your ass and put on some clean underpants you filthy animal. Seriously, what kind of disease addled, degenerate mind thinks it’s a good idea to walk around all day with shit stains in their pants just because a humorous piece on the internet told them to do it? You’re disgusting.

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Which 80’s Slasher Makes The Best Wingman?

This is something I wrote for another site that never got published…enjoy!


Pictue it, it’s last call at whatever club or bar you dragged yourself to this Friday.  As you’re getting ready to go home alone… AGAIN, you can’t help but wonder if you would have had better results with a wing man. Then, because you’re a dork, you wonder which classic slasher movie icon would make the best wing man (no wonder you’re going home alone). Well wonder no more! I take important questions such as these seriously and as such have done an exhaustive analysis of each slasher and their strengths and weaknesses pertaining to the club scene. So let’s find out who’s “dead” on the dance floor and who “kills” when it comes to the ladies.


Freddy Krueger – AKA The Springwood Slasher

Pros: Freddy can be a funny guy and women like a guy who can make them laugh.

Women also love a guy with a tragic back story and Freddy‘s got that in spades. Once he opens up about his horrible childhood the chicks will be falling over each other to comfort him. Slip in a couple anecdotes about your less then stellar upbringing and the girls will be trying to nurse you both back to health like a couple of birds with broken wings.

Cons: Until Freddy starts calling them bitches and referring to them as meat. Yeah Freddy’s not the most respectful guy when it comes to women and that’s going to be a major turn off to most girls. Couple that with the fact that most of Freddy’s humor comes from one liners and puns and you’ve got a guy who wears out his welcome pretty quickly.

Bottom Line: Chances are that after a few drinks, the waterworks turn on and Freddy starts whining about how he never knew his dad. There’s a big difference between damaged and pathetic. Plus the dudes face looks like melted hamburger. Not a great choice of wing man.


Leatherface – AKA Jed Sawyer, Thomas Hewitt

Pros: Leatherface isn’t much of a free thinker so he’s definitely going to follow your lead and do whatever you say. Leatherface is very much like Lenny in Of Mice And Men, a little, shall we say touched? Pretending that he’s your mentally challenged brother or cousin will get you lot’s of sympathy with women. They will admire your willingness to take care of him and if you’re smart you’ll throw in a few tears and a “It’s just so hard sometimes”. Play it right and you’ve got yourself a ticket to Pantytown, population – You.

Cons: Look, throwing aside political correctness for a minute we all know that there are sweet lovable retards and then there are the retards that masturbate in public and eat their boogers. Leatherface is definitely a booger eating masturbater. He’s going to creep more chicks out than he draws in.

Bottom Line: Your best bet is to hook a woman as quick as you can and then get out of there before her sympathy turns to repulsion. If you can ditch Leatherface in the process, even better. Tell him some dude in the bathroom said his chainsaw was bigger or something.


Jason Voorhees –

Pros: Jason is the strong silent type and chicks just eat that up. Much like Freddy he also has a tragic back story but unlike hamburger face he isn’t going to cry about it all night. Jason has an air of mystery about him that will make girls curious. Also, he doesn’t eat or drink anything so you’re saving money.

Cons: Jason doesn’t talk much, as in at all, so you’re going to have to do all the talking.

Also he’s bound to smell pretty grody, like stale lake water and rotting flesh. Your chances of getting him to bathe before you go out are practically nil, he’s not a fan of water. You better hope the straps to that hockey mask are pulled tight because if that thing slips off, game over. One look at his rotted maggot infested puss is enough to send every girl in the joint running. Doesn’t dance.

Bottom Line: You better hope you find a nice tee-totaling virgin to take home, otherwise the next time you run to the bathroom to take a leak you’ll come back to find the skank you were chatting up impaled on a machete. Jason won’t say whether he did it or not, but we both know it was him.


Pinhead – AKA Elliot Spencer

Pros: Pinhead is a smooth talker, if you are into goth chicks or S&M you are going to be in heaven. Once Pinhead starts expounding upon the virtues of pleasure and pain and the nature of heaven and hell he’ll have his hooks into all the freaky chicks in the club….

Cons: Literally. Pinhead is a little too hardcore when it comes to the S in S&M. If you’re not into pain, too frigged bad. Pinhead is liable to turn any girls you’re interested in, into cenobites – physically twisted, gnarly abominations that reside in hell under his command.

Bottom Line: Pinhead will cock block you to the extreme. You’re best bet is to not bring him out in the first place but if you already made that mistake, try and close his stupid puzzle box as fast as you can before you get you’re skin ripped off and your nipples pierced.


Michael Myers –

Pros: Michael is a strong silent type much like Jason, However if Micheal’s mask comes off he’s got a normal looking face so he isn’t going to repulse any of the ladies.

Cons: Back story isn’t sympathetic, killed sister for no reason, trying to kill other sister for other no reason. Michael’s eyes are the devils eyes and his creepy staring will scare off any potential babes. Only kills hot young women…just like the ones you are looking to bang. He’s also got a scruffy old man following him around, total buzz kill.

Bottom Line: Myers should be left in the asylum where he belongs. He doesn’t do well around girls. As soon as the clothes come off, the knife comes out. And not his penis knife, a “knife” knife, in case there was any confusion.


Chucky- AKA Charles Lee Ray, The Lakeshore Strangler

Pros: He’s cute. The chicks are going to dig every corny one liner that comes out of his mouth because it’s always funnier when it comes from a toy/puppet/child. Have you seen the movie Ted? Chucky is Ted in this situation. All the girls are going to be fawning over him and he can be as nasty as he wants. They’ll just laugh it off with a “Oh, Chucky! You’re so bad.” Also, you’ll get major sensitivity points for being comfortable enough with your masculinity to own a doll.

Cons: Well, he is married but doll matrimony isn’t recognized in any state but Arkansas so stay out of Little Rock and you’re all set.

Bottom Line: We have a winner! Though he may fall behind his slasher movie peers when it comes to body counts or over all scariness, Chucky would make the perfect wing man. If you can manage to snag a hot single mother then that’s even better. Chucky will get to play hide the soul with little Tommy or Suzy which leaves you free to play hide the wiener with mommy. And not a hot dog weiner but your penis weiner, in case there was any confusion.

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Sleep In Your Own Damn Bed!

My wife and I have a small bed. It’s really only big enough for two people. Throw a baby into the mix and you have to be a contortionist to get comfortable.  This is why I prefer for the baby to sleep in his crib but like most things in life I seldom get what I want.
When Grayson was born my wife decided to go the breastfeeding route.
“Oh that’s great!” you’re thinking, “it’s more natural and it’s better for the baby”. Yeah, no. What it is is cheaper than formula, all the other stuff is secondary.
Now one of the temptations of breastfeeding is for the mother and baby to fall asleep together. That way if the kid wakes up in a few hours you can just latch him or her back on and fall back to sleep. No muss, no fuss. Except again, tiny bed.
My wife pumps a lot so that I can feed Grayson when I’m watching him. This is perfect at night because I feed him sitting up so that I don’t fall asleep. Once he passes out I put him in his crib….where he promptly wakes up. So I take him out and wear him down until he passes out again. I can’t just let him cry because I live with my in laws and it’s not fair to them. Plus my wife has to get up at five so she needs her sleep.
So Grayson and I battle it out until he’s too tired to resist the crib. This might be 10:30, Midnight or like the other night 1:34 AM. I’m determined to get him to sleep in his own damn bed. I was winning the war until my wife took her vacation.
On her vacation she wanted to feed bubs from the bubbies as much as she could rather than have me bottle feed him. Fine. Except that tweedle G and tweedle Mom kept falling asleep together. I try to move him, he wakes up. I want to give him a bottle so I can put him to bed but she says no I’ll feed him. They fall asleep. I can’t win.
So the whole week mom and dad and baby makes three…in the bed. Finally she goes back to work but it’s like I’ve lost all the progress I made with Grayson. So I start over. Hence the 1:30 AM zonk out. Oh well, no one said parenting would be easy.

Besides, who could stay mad at those cuties?

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Too Fat To Crawl

Recently Grayson discovered how to get off the bed. Basically he rolls onto his stomach, pivots until his feet are hanging over the side and just kind of throws himself back until gravity takes over. This also works for the couch.
I admire his ingenuity but there’s one big problem: once he reaches the floor he doesn’t know what to do. This kid is so close to crawling that it’s killing me. He moves his legs, he moves his arms, he just can’t get his gut off the floor. It would be cute if it wasn’t so sad. My baby is too fat to crawl. Its not his fault,  he has my genes I just didn’t expect his belly to hamper his mobility until at least six or so.
It’s not just his belly either. The rolls on his arms and legs make him look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. I’ve tried not feeding him but he just cries until I do. I asked my wife about switching him to low fat breast milk but she just gave me that look that she gives me whenever I fart in bed.
Maybe eventually his arms will be strong enough push that sumo belly up and off the floor but he’ll probably be walking by then, making crawling moot.
On the plus side all that padding means he doesn’t get to beat up when he does fall off the  bed.


Look at that fatty, food smeared on his face...

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Revenge Poop

Sometimes a bowel movement is so epic it needs to be forever preserved in print for future generations to marvel over. Today I witnessed such a bowel movement.
My wife was feeding the baby, I was eating breakfast all was right with the world.
Grayson gave a little grunt and a little toot and suddenly our world was thrown into a swirling vortex of chaos. This kid somehow managed to fire his colon cannon at such an angle that it flew right through the space between his diaper and his leg and landed on the couch…and my wife’s leg….and the babies leg…and the babies other leg. This was seriously the most explosive blast of liquid nastiness that I have ever had the misfortune of experiencing. I quickly took the little poop monster upstairs in order to clean the feces from his person. Along the way there were more casualties. My shirt got smeared with baby shit, some dripped onto the bathroom floor. I don’t know how a child that small could hold what appeared to be at least a gallon of shit inside his little tummy but somehow he did. The worst part? The little son of a bitch was smiling the whole time. I know, I know, a child of four months old can’t just decide to crap all over everything just to screw with Mom and Dad, but if a shark can follow a family from the east coast to the west in order to get revenge than an infant can poop on purpose. Okay so using Jaws The Revenge probably wasn’t the most sound way to get my point across but it was the first thing I thought of.

This time it's personal, the other times? That was just business.

This time it’s personal, the other times? That was just business.

So what would my four-month old son possibly want to get revenge for? Well, I may have given him a small ice chip to suck on yesterday just to see what how he would react and he may have made the funniest face ever and I may have laughed at him. If I had it all over to do again, shit or no shit, I still would. The kid really did make the funniest face like “Oh my god it’s so cold! What do I do? Oh it’s not cold anymore….” a perfect mixture of horror and perplexity. I regret nothing.

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A Belated Happy Mothers Day

Happy Mothra’s day!


Yeah, that’s a pun. It did quite well on Facebook sunday when I originally posted it in honor of Mother’s Day.

Mother’s day, contrary to what people would have you believe, was not created by the Greeting Card companies but by Anna Jarvis around 1910. In 1914 Woodrow Wilson made it a national holiday. THEN the greeting card companies, as well as the florists turned it into another commercial obligation to buy their wares. Apparently as early as nine years after she created it, Jarvis was fighting Mother’s Day’s commercialization and she even went on to regret starting it in the first place. Am I being a Mother’s Day Scrooge? Is this blog post going to be about how I don’t think we need a day to tell us when to call our mothers? Nope. Not at all, quite the opposite. The truth is that while many people would like you to believe that they tell their Mother how great she is all the time and that they resent being told when to do so (these are usually the people who hate Valentines Day as well.) many of them are to be blunt, WRONG. How often do you actually visit your mother? Chances are, if you’re an adult with a spouse and kids of your own, not that often or rather, not as often as she would like. Now how often when you visit your mother do your kids spend most of the time with her? How often while you are there do you just kind of sit in front of the tv and shoot the shit? How often do you mostly talk about whats new with you or the kids and what’s going on in your life? Now here’s the $64,000 question: When you visit/call/email/Skype your mother, how often do you say thanks? Not just “I love you” but thanks? Or “I appreciate you” ?. Probably not a lot, huh?

See, most mothers (and I’m saying most because just like father’s, kids, aunts and uncles, there are some rotten ones out there) made the decision to become mothers knowing full well that they were entering into a thankless job without retirement benefits. Kids as I have mentioned before are on the whole selfish. I don’t mean that slag them off or anything ( regular readers should know by now that I obviously love kids) but think of it as a survival instinct that stayed around into modern society. Children care about themselves above and beyond anyone else because it’s an act of self-preservation. As such they don’t care so much that mom works all day at the office or in some cases that mom works two jobs to put food on the table, they just care that food is there when they want it, and that there are video games and a computer to go on after dinner. Most mothers don’t put up a stink about their lack of recognition because that’s not what they are raising kids for. They’re not doing it for praise or to constantly have their butts kissed, or to even be thanked for pulling a double shift. And it’s because they don’t put up a stink about it that we sometimes forget that our mothers aren’t super awesome robots that run on no sleep and require no food and live only to serve. Mother’s are unfortunately as human as the rest of us. As such, they require praise and a pat on the back occasionally as well. They need to be told that they’re doing a good job or get to sleep in or even just taken out to lunch every once in a while. Mother’s Day reminds us of that. If you’re a perfect son or daughter and you treat your mom like a queen  most of the time, good for you. If you’re like the rest of us, at the very least you remember to pamper mom one day a year.

In my opinion Mother’s Day isn’t just some useless greeting card holiday but a day that actually does a lot of good.


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The Truth About School Concerts

Last night I dutifully attended my son Jacobs chorus concert with my wife and the baby. Despite the fact that my in laws would have been more than happy to watch Grayson for us, we chose to bring him anyway: he was part of the plan. An infant is the perfect tool to allow you to slip out of any function or social gathering that you are obligated to show up at but that you really want to leave as quickly as possible. Case in point: we got to the school, we made small talk with my ex, we sat through the ten minutes that the 5th grade was on stage and then we got the hell out of Dodge. No one questioned it because everyone knows how needy babies are. The fact that Grayson was being perfectly content and had eaten not that long ago was irrelevant.
I have a confession to make: I hate going to my kids sporting events and concerts. I will go of course, to show support for my children but I don’t have to enjoy it. I sound like a monster right? Please, no parents like going to these things they just don’t admit it. There’s a reason that they don’t put 8yr old playing baseball on TV, It’s as boring as watching shit dry. Seriously, little uncoordinated children running around after balls and tripping all over each other is not anyone’s idea of entertainment. The same goes for the concerts, 5th graders sing like 5th graders. They either look down at their shoes and warble off key or mumble softly to themselves in a barely audible fashion. No one is there because they want to be. If you didn’t have any kids, would you spend a night going see a little league game or watching a bunch of tweens badly reenact Glee? Of course you wouldn’t.
I go out of obligation but also because I’m investing in the future. I figure that if I sit through enough of these things when the kids suck, it will encourage them to keep doing it so that one day, maybe in High School, maybe in College, I’ll go to a recital or a concert and enjoy what I’m hearing. I have no doubt that both my kids are talented (the jury is still out on the baby) and one day that talent is going to shine through on a stage or screen. But for now I’m forced to endure the boring stuff they do. But that’s what smart phones are for right?


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Sleeping Angels

I know a lot of parents make the joke that their kids are only angels when they’re sleeping, but beyond the  humorous implication that the rest of the time they’re evil little shits, there’s a lot of truth to this.  Angels in the romantic sense are perfect beings created before us imperfect humans. Beautiful and flawless, they give us something to aspire to. Sleeping babies are similar in that they are pure innocence. A blank slate not yet filled with dreams, desires, fears and hopes.
I think the term “I slept like a baby” has less to do with waking up every couple of hours having wet yourself and crying for milk, and more to do with sleeping a sleep devoid of stress from bills, mortgages, jerky bosses and the like.
Sometimes I just watch my kids sleep and a lump catches in my throat. I wish they could sleep like that forever but I know that soon enough they’ll start sleeping like adults. Adults look haggard while they sleep, worn out by another day just surviving. They furrow their brows, they click their teeth they display all manor of nervous ticks and anxious twitches. Adults toss and turn, looking tortured as they try to rest and forget about their troubles.
Babies and young children though look at utter peace while they slumber. A peace unbroken by the cynical adult world.
When I see sleeping children I really do see angels.


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Sick Baby, Sick Daddy

I know I haven’t posted anything in a few days and there is a very good reason for that. My baby and I are sick. I’m pretty sure it’s nothing worse than a common cold for the both of us but it still sucks. 


I mean I hope it’s just a cold and not some kind of Zombie virus…

I’m miserable so I can only imagine how miserable Grayson is. Oh, wait I don’t have to imagine it, I can see it. The poor little guy wakes up  snorting as he tries in vain to breath through his minute snout but as soon as he switches to mouth breathing the coughing starts. It’s a one-two punch of infant misery that I’m powerless to stop. Nothing makes you feel as ineffectual as watching your sick baby and knowing that there isn’t really anything you can do for him.


Except to wrap him in a towel and put ice on his head like they did it in olden times.

I’ve always been a bit skeptical when it comes to cold remedies over the counter or home. Mainly this is because we learned back in Middle School that a cold was caused by a virus and that you couldn’t kill viruses.  


I mean you or I couldn’t. Rambo probably could…Rambo could kill ANYTHING.

Ergo, any cold remedy is essentially relieving the symptoms a bit but otherwise doing nothing to the cold virus itself. That’s why NyQuil’s only real use is just to put you into a temporary coma and all the other crap it’s for is just window dressing. None of that matters anyway though because you can’t give almost anything to a child under six months and what you can is certainly not the good shit, as in the ” puts you to sleep so daddy can rest” shit. So I’m stuck just holding the little guy and comforting him as best as I can.

I know that I recently wrote about having to constantly hold the baby in, but usually I get a reprieve when he takes a nap. Not when baby’s sick. He falls asleep on me and the minute I move him he wakes up and starts crying. I can’t even make one of my usual flippant jokes about him being a whiner or needy because honestly, when any of us are sick, is there anything we want more than to just be held?  


I mean besides a mountain of gold.

And so essentially, we both sit miserably on the couch just vegging. I can’t type while I’m holding him , and I can’t put daddies little sicky down because he needs comforting. Imagine being sick and not being able to bitch about it? Imagine being a GUY and being sick and not being able to bitch about it (yes ladies I am admitting for all of us what you’ve known for years: Men are the biggest babies when they are sick)?


Pictured: A sick male.

You’d go crazy suffering in silence. So…..we sit miserably on the couch and veg. It could be worse though, Netflix just added House and I just torrented obtained legally the first three seasons of Game Of Thrones so I can finally watch the show everyone’s been talking about…for the last three years. I know I’m late on this but, can you believe how messed up those Lannisters are? The brother and sister doing all that icky stuff together? And that Joffrey kid seems like a real snot. I hope he eventually gets what’s coming to him!


That’s right you little turd! You just got Imp-slapped! RECOGNIZE!


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The Smaller They Are, The Harder Their Falling Hits You

One of the worst moments in my life as a whole was when my oldest son fell down a flight of stairs. I can and probably always will, remember it vividly like it was yesterday. It’s a hard thing to forget, time seeming to stop, frozen in the moment when your hand misses your child’s by a hair’s breadth. I can’t think of a single scarier memory honestly. Everything after that happened in a blur. I remember picking him up of the floor but not running down the stairs. I remember screaming so loudly that my wife heard me from the first floor (we were on the third). Michael was just shy of two when this happened and I felt like a shoo-in for “Worst Father Of The Year”.

See, it's a real thing!

See, it’s a real thing!

Miraculously Michael was fine. Not just fine but after describing the situation frantically over the phone to a doctor we were told not to even bring him in. The kid didn’t even have a scratch on him. He was shaken up of course but no where nearly as badly as his mother and I. That’s when I realized that much like Tiggers, children were made out of rubber, though I don’t suggest throwing your child down the stairs to test this.

Wearing the skin of my enemy gives me his powers.

Wearing the skin of my enemy gives me his powers.

The funny thing about your child getting hurt (not that there is really anything funny about your child getting hurt) is that 90% of the time it doesn’t phase him or her one bit. That is until mom or dad starts freaking out, in which case the baby starts following suit. They freak out because you freak out. People will tell you that the trick is to just stay calm when your child get’s hurt and wait to see what their reaction is. That’s a great idea in theory but when your kid falls off the jungle gym and her knee is bending at an impossible angle, even if she’s cool as a cucumber, your first instinct is going to be a Chernobyl level meltdown. And that’s only natural because you love and care for your kid. These perfect parent’s out there who let their babies cry themselves to sleep, don’t get upset when their kids get hurt, and put their infants on a sleeping and eating schedule are either robots or Scientologists  and I don’t trust either.

Given the choice though I probably go with the robot.

Given the choice though I probably go with the robot.

As a first time parent it takes a few bumps and bruises before you realize that kids get hurt. It’s a natural part of growing up. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad parent, It just means that you’re human and you can’t protect your kid from every hazard no matter how hard you try. Kids despite their fragile outward appearance are built to withstand quite a bit of damage. Of course that doesn’t stop you from freaking out over every hangnail if it’s your first child but when your second baby comes you’ll notice that he or she could be  running around on fire while rabid badgers nip at their heels and the biggest response that it will earn from you as a parent is a quick glance up from your smartphone and a slight shaking of the head. This isn’t to imply that you care less with each subsequent child but just that you start realizing how indestructible the little scamps truly are.

How about a bottle bub.

How about a bottle bub.

Having a baby eleven years after your last one however, feels so much like being a first time parent again that I’m back to worrying about every little pratfall that Grayson takes. Just a couple of weeks ago I was back in the running for “Worst Father Of The Year” when I accidental scalded the baby’s nether region. I thought it would be fun to bathe Grayson in the sink like my parents did when I was a kid. Everything was going fine until, like and idiot, I turned on the hot water to rinse out his washcloth, somehow forgetting that there was a baby in the sink and the poor baby got a crotch full of second degree burns. The noise he made is one I hope that I never hear again for the rest of my life. I immediately felt like the biggest failure a parent could possibly be. I rushed him into the bedroom and put an icepack on him. Within a few minutes he was fine and laughing. Not only was there no real damage but his skin didn’t even peel or anything. He was 100% fine.

All parent’s at some point inadvertently cause or fail to prevent  some degree of harm to their child. The biggest thing to remember is that you are not the only one and that chances are it hurts you WAY more than it hurts them. Children are like Timex watches: They take a licking’ and keep on ticking.

Seriously though, don’t lick your baby, that’s just creepy.

Meh. It's okay but I still prefer milk.

Meh. It’s okay but I still prefer milk.




Categories: Parents | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

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