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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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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.




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Look Ma, One Hands!

Some parents will tell you not to pick your baby up when he or she starts crying. They will tell you that the baby needs to learn to calm itself down without you.

And some parents will tell you you to just throw your screaming baby into the ocean.

And some parents will tell you you to just throw your screaming baby into the ocean.

For all of the parents that are lucky enough to own their own house, with no neighbors close by , in the middle of nowhere this is probably great advice. For the rest of us struggling parents forced to rent apartments with paper thin walls, or stuck living with family, this isn’t such a viable option. Such is the case with my wife and I. For convenience sake (read: we can’t afford our own place) we are currently living with her parents and for dirt cheap no less. Out of respect I try to keep the baby from screaming as much as I can. This usually entails having the little leech stuck to my left arm so much that I can scarcely tell where my appendage ends and the baby starts. Out of necessity I have had to learn to do many things one handed.



Some activities aren’t so bad one handed. Making coffee for instance, easy enough to do with one hand just takes a little bit longer. Taking a leak while holding a baby is a little bit tougher but still doable. It’s when you go upstairs to take a shower after your lovely bundle of joy has somehow defecated up the back of his diaper, through his onsie, through the COVER ON HIS SWING, that you realize just how challenging the one arm shuffle can be. Holding the itty bitty shitty commitee with one hand, trying not to get more than a bare minimum of poop on you while you turn on the shower, adjust the temp, strip the baby and take off his diaper with one hand is the kind of fun that people without kids just don’t get to have. In these situations I find it prudent to just hop in the shower with the kid because theres something about handling liquid magma poop that makes me want to cleanse my whole body of filth .Then of course comes the challenge of holding on to him while simultaneously making him ever more slippery with soap. If your lucky you can wash approx. 45% of your own body with your one free hand before your soaped up skin plus the baby’s equally slick exterior start to equal danger will Robinson, danger!

'Bath time Will Robinson! Bath time!"

‘Bath time Will Robinson! Bath time!”

My personal hell favorite is trying sneak in a meal for myself here or there. I don’t know about how your kids were as babies but mine has a “Dad’s trying to eat” sense hardwired into his little brain. Grayson could be passed out cold after ODing on boob treats (what my wife calls breast milk and it’s too cute not to include here) but somehow the minute I sit down to eat his eyes fly open and a sour “HOW DARE YOU FEED YOURSELF!” look occupies his face for the two seconds it takes him to fill his lungs with air and start the bellowing that means “Kindly turn your attention back to me sir, your food can wait”. This is one time when even if I had the option of just letting him cry I still wouldn’t. For some reason high pitched squalling does not aid my digestion in the slightest. So baby ends up in one arm balanced on one knee while I eat with the other arm. Sometimes like today when I made myself a feast of tater tots and chicken fingers (what am I ten?) that works out fine. Other times like the night before last when we were having a turkey dinner with all that that entails it kind of sucks. The logistics of cutting turkey with one hand while not spilling gravy on myself while simultaneously trying to keep the baby’s hands out of my food would give Stephen Hawking a headache. Ok that’s not fair because he can’t do any of those things. How about Neil Degrasse Tyson?

"D-O-N-T B-E A D-I-C-K'

“D-O-N-T B-E  A  D-I-C-K”

Regardless of which astrophysicist would be better suited to solve the problem, I made do as best I could. I’m sure that you’re probably thinking that trying to juggle a baby and a turkey dinner enters ridiculous territory but let me put it this way, my in-laws were all sitting down to the same turkey dinner, and all deserved to eat dinner in peace so I was going to end up holding the baby if only for their sakes so I figured that I might as well try to eat at the same time before it got cold.

Oh you're hungry huh? Howsabout a knuckle sandwich?

Oh you’re hungry huh? howsabout a knuckle sandwich?

I try to remember that holding the baby constantly won’t last forever. Soon he’ll be crawling and then walking which will keep him entertained. After that he’ll be old enough to plunk in front of the tv for a couple of hours so I can do stuff. Pretty soon after that he’ll be to big to hold in my arms and………………………….um………..sorry, I have to go pick up my baby before I start crying.

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Dad I’m Thirteen Now, Can I Swear?

My son Michael officially became a teenager last December. He received his “Welcome To Adolescence” starter kit complete with acne, mood swings and the latest voice cracking technology.

He doesn't look happy about it either...

He doesn’t look happy about it either…

I started to realize that with Jacob only two years away from the same landmark birthday, I was pretty much screwed. I remember being a teenager and all the havoc that changing hormones can wreak on the body and mind so I was preparing for a stressful five or six years. What I hadn’t prepared for was Michael’s odd birthday request: “Dad, now that I’m a teenager can I swear?”. I had no answer prepared for this question because I had never conceived of such a question being asked. Who asks their parents if they can swear? Usually you start doing it in front of your friends when no adults are around in order to sound cool or act tough. Occasionally you might let a “Shit” escape around your parents and based on their reaction, you probably won’t swear in front of them again until you reach your twenty’s. Heck, I know people with children of their own that still won’t swear in front of their parents, yes mostly out of respect but some because they don’t want their kids to see Grandma bitch slap dad in front of them.

Do I have to wash your mouth out with Louisville Slugger?

Do I have to wash your mouth out with Louisville Slugger?

Michael must have sensed my puzzlement because he quickly specified ” Only, crap, hell, damn and sucks”. I had to hold back my laughter because I probably dropped my first f-bomb around ten and here this kid was asking permission to say “crap”. It actually made me proud that my kids didn’t swear. I wish I could say that it was from example but my ex-wife and I have slipped and said words we shouldn’t have in front of them more times than I can count. No I honestly think it’s because of all the adult movies they watch. “Wait” you’re saying,”It’s because of R-rated movies that they DON’T swear?”. Believe it or not, yes. I was raised on movies like Die Hard, RoboCop and A NIghtmare On Elm St. as a kid. Especially Nightmare On Elm St. My mom was a huge horror fan and as weird as it sounds, family movie night often contained beheading and disembowelings.

We watched this and we never set any janitors on fire.

We watched this and we never set any janitors on fire.

I ended up carrying on this tradition with my own kids with the caveat that if they ever repeated anything that they heard or saw on the screen they wouldn’t watch anything other than G-rated movies for the rest of their lives. So far it’s worked. Not only do they not swear but they’ve never gotten in trouble for fighting at school, never fashioned a glove out of knives and stabbed anyone. I’ve always felt that it isn’t violent movies or video games that lead to violence in real life, but rather parents who don’t properly put such media in prospective. My kids have never watched a movie or show I haven’t seen first and we always discuss the subject matter. I have always stressed to my children that the movies they watch and games they play are fiction. Good for entertainment, not good as life lessons.

I still had to come up with an answer for Michael. I felt so weird giving my son permission to swear but on the other hand I felt even weirder having a thirteen year old that never got a chance to say “This crap sucks”. In the end I gave my blessing for Michael to use the words “crap, hell, damn, and sucks”.  BUT only after a lengthy discussion on when and where it was appropriate to use such language ( which pretty much boiled down to not at school and not in front of your mother). The results that night were hilarious. It was like a dam had burst but the water didn’t know which way to flow. I kept hearing sentences like “The hell I didn’t play the crap out of that damn game!”. The best thing I can compare it to is in Star Trek IV (yes the one with the whales) when Spock tries swearing for the first time with equally hilarious results.

"I'm not sure you're saying that right" "The HELL I'm not"

“I’m not sure you’re saying that right” “The HELL I’m not”

So of course after all this Jacob asked if he too could swear now. I told him not until he turned 13 and he bought it. So I will conceivably be going through this awkaward exchange again in a couple of years. What a crappy damn suckfest that’ll be.

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Ninja Pee Strikes Again…

I forgot the cardinal rule of diaper changing today: Have the next diaper unfolded and ready to go before even thinking about taking off the current diaper. Maybe I wasn’t as sharp as usual having had to deal with four separate incidences of projectile milk expulsion. Maybe I was still tired from getting up at 4:00am to start a new part time job. Whatever the reason I let my gaurd down and the ninja struck.


Just picture this guy peeing...or don't actually, that's kinda gross.

It took me second to realize what was going on when I started feeling my leg getting wet. By the time my slothlike reflexes kicked into gear it was too late.The bedsheet was soaked, my leg looked like something out of a porn involving water sports (I’m assuming…), and the baby and I were in desperate need of a shower. The icing on the cake though, had to be the self satisfied smirk on Graysons face. A smug little look that said “I can piss on you, I can throw up on you, anything I want and you can’t do a damn thing about it because I’m a baby. You’re totally my bitch”.
You probably think I’m paranoid right? How could a two month old baby actually be having those sinister thoughts? I don’t know, how do magnets work? Some things are just unexplainable. I swear if you saw his face you’d feel the same .



I suppose that I have no one but myself to blame really. I should know better by now. I choose to blame the baby anyways because he’s a baby and he can’t defend himself. Picking on those smaller and weaker than me is how I make myself feel like a big man and deal with my inferiority complex. Normally I would assume that everyone knows that I’m joking but seeing as how a few paragraphs ago I made a golden shower joke in the same sentence as the word “baby” I can see where some people wouldn’t be so sure. So yes, I was joking. I don’t pick on people smaller than me to feel like a big man.
I do it because it’s fun and I’m a jerk.


The kind of jerk who dresses himself and his kid in matching outfits.

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Speaking Through Your Baby: The Guide To Passive Aggressive Ventriloquism

“Daddy, why aren’t I wearing any socks? My piggies are cold!”
My mother in law recently said this to me under the guise that my two month old son was complaining on his own behalf about having bare feet. She wasn’t fooling anyone. I am well aware of the extent of my child’s ability to express himself verbally and he has just barely reached the cooing and babbling stage. It’s more than likely that she was using her grandson as a tool for the devious purpose of criticizing my parenting without doing it directly. It was a good tactic and it worked. I didn’t feel half the resentment towards her that I would have if she had come out and said “The baby should have something on his feet, they are getting cold” to me directly. Nor was I as apt to argue (however weakly) that maybe Grayson liked having cold feet, just to avoid admitting any negligence on my part. And I certainly wasn’t going to call my little boy a meddlesome harpy and tell him to go back to Nag Island where all the Nag’s belonged. So I can understand why she did it. What bothers me is the potential for abuse in using an infant as a platform for passive aggression.
What starts out as innocent statements such as “Daddy, my clothes don’t match” or “Daddy, this onesie is getting too small for me” can easily evolve into “Daddy, get your lazy butt off the computer and change me, I smell like the leftover Taco Bell mommy ate last night before she fed me”.
What if heaven forbid, my wife gets involved as well? How long is it until I start to hear “Daddy you didn’t need that extra slice of pizza, you’re fat enough as it is”? Or “Daddy, were you just checking out that woman’s bum? Do you want to only see me on the weekends?”.
I wish I could say that I was above stooping to such lows when it came to interacting with the baby but I’m not. The minute my father in law comes home, do I greet him with “Hey Ralph, would you like to take the baby for a little while so I can finally have a few minutes to my self?”, I do not.
Instead I engage my infant son in a pseudo conversation, “Grayson, look Pa’s home! Do you want to go see Pa?” . This of course leaves my father in law with no choice but to take the baby because to refuse to do so would be rejecting the baby himself.
There you have it, I am raising my child in a household full of deceptive connivers who have no qualms about using an infant to further their own agenda’s. This poor kid has no chance.

If he could talk I'd like to imagine that it would be something like this.

If he could talk I’d like to imagine that it would be something like this.


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Please Stop Throwing Up – An open letter to my infant son

My baby spits up. A lot. Every time he eats, 88% of the milk eventually ends up on my shirt, on his shirt, on his mother’s shirt, on the bed, on the pillow and everywhere else he may be. We looked it up because at first it freaked us out . Turns out that we have what’s known as a “happy spitter” on our hands. Apparently, as long as the baby doesn’t seem bothered by his vomiting or in any pain then he’s fine and we just have to deal with it. And that’s fine. I knew having a baby was a lot of work. But when you have to change the baby’s outfit three times a day (not an exaggeration) it starts to get a little annoying. In fact the only reason that I slept in a milk stained t-shirt, and milk covered fleece pajama bottoms last night was because I was so sick of changing I just said screw it and decided to change in the morning.
That sound disgusting to you? If it does you either don’t have kids, or aren’t the parent who spends the majority of time with your kids. Trust me, you eventually become so worn down that you don’t care how you look or when the last time you washed was, you just become numb to hygiene. I love my son to death but he is without a doubt the grossest kid I have ever met. I would liken him to a human Garbage Pail kid. Maybe Pukey Pete? Vince Vomit? Seriously, it’s nasty. And a side effect of that whole “happy spitter” thing is that it always comes without warning. He will be smiling one second and then *myahhh* he just opens his mouth and the milk starts flowing. The smile doesn’t even disappear. I just don’t know what to do. Would you believe that the wife said sewing his mouth shut was a no no? That’s the only logical conclusion I came to too. Oh well. I guess I just keep doing laundry twice a day and praying that my son will soon stop his barrage of vomitus projectile milk.

Pictured here in a rare puke free moment.

Pictured here in a rare puke free moment.

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The Newborn Part 3: Sleep? What’s Sleep?

I vaguely remember the concept of sleep. I think it involves shutting your eyes and then opening them eight hours later right? Well my two month old baby doesn’t understand this concept. Or rather, he does but he’s got it ass backwards. My baby likes to sleep during the day for stretches of 2-3 hours at a time. Sounds great right? I could just nap when he naps? Yeah everyone says that but when you’ve been sleeping at night and waking up in the morning for oh, I don’t know, THIRTY THREE YEARS you’re kind of used to that schedule. Plus you know, I have stuff to do during the day. You know stuff like writing on the internet…and watching Netflix, House Of Cards isn’t going to watch itself.
I try to wake the kid up so that he will sleep at night but, nope, nothing short of an atomic blast will awaken this little vampire when he hits the coffin. I’ve tried calling his name, gently stroking his face, lightly shaking him, nothing works. This of course only applies to when I want him to wake up. At night when I finally get him to go to sleep and I want him to stay sleeping, that’s when the slightest creak of the mattress spring, or the smallest movement causes his eyelids to snap open and suddenly  he goes from down for the count to Uma Thurman after an adrenaline shot to the heart in Pulp Fiction. I So what exactly happens when your baby sleeps all day, occasionally waking up to eat and poop and throw up? Well I’m so glad you asked! You get a baby who is wide awake at 3:00 in the morning and a father who is scrolling through Youtube trying to find videos amusing enough to hold his attention when he’s going on two and a half hours of sleep.

So let this be a lesson kids: Don’t have sex….ever….seriously, just don’t, it’s not worth the risk.

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The Newborn Part 2: WHY ARE YOU CRYING???

Imagine that you wanted something, I don’t know, um…a beer. Now as soon as you attempt to get up to grab a beer you realize that your limbs don’t work the way you want them to and your head just flops around like a rag doll. You still want that beer right? Of course you do, you lush. So you attempt to call out to your wife/husband/kids to get you a beer but all that comes out of your mouth is garbled noises. Finally you can’t take it anymore because you want that beer damn it! so you start doing the only thing left that you can do, screaming at the top of your lungs. That’s how your baby feels! That’s why your infant is constantly bellowing forth a banshee wail that pierces your skull and makes you think twice about suicide, because it’s fucking selfish!
Your baby wants things. It wants things all the time. It wants food, it wants not to sit in it’s own waste, it wants to be cuddled, sung to, and rocked. Your baby wants all this and yet it can do nothing to indicate what it wants at any given time other then to scream at the top of it’s lungs at frequencies designed by Satan to perfectly find the part of your brain that keeps you from flipping out and strangle the shit out of it. It’s long been said that the reason that babies come out so cute is to keep you from killing them and truer words have never been spoken.
So what happens if you have tried every solution that you can think of and your baby still sounds like an air raid siren? What happens when you’ve fed the baby, changed the baby. burped the baby. and sung show tunes to the baby and it continues it’s assault on your sanity? The answer my friends is that there is no answer. This is the dark little secret of early childhood , sometimes your baby will cry for no reason, because,and I stress this, your baby is evil.
Oh it looks so cute and precious but guess what, Hitler was a baby too once. Kim Kardashian was baby once, as was Osama Bin Ladin. Ted Bundy, Charles Manson, and Ed Gein all started out as beautiful little bundles of joy. Am I saying that your baby is destined to grow up and become a dictator or serial killer?
Of course not, but after the first full month of listening to your baby screeching like a strangled cat the possibility won’t seem to far fetched.But hey, being the parent of a dictator or serial killer isn’t so .bad right? You’ll probably get a book deal out of it.


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The Newborn Part 1: Fun With Body Fluids!

So you’ve just had a new baby, congratulations! I didn’t know you enjoyed bathing in a mixture of regurgitated milk , shit and piss. What’s that you say? You don’t enjoy bathing in those things, and how dare I cast such aspersions on your character? Calm down there sailor, I’m just doing you a public service based on my own recent experiences with a newborn baby boy.
The one thing nobody seems to prepare you for is the amount of fluids that will be coming out of this demon-spaw- I mean precious angels various orifices. Oh, you know about dirty diapers, you’ve heard stories about baby’s throwing up at inopportune times but trust me, you don’t fully grasp the regularity with which your child will evacuate his insides like a little Ebola baby.
For instance…
1) Diapers leak- The application of diapers is self explanatory right? You would think so, but unless you’re some NASA trained diaper expert, and honestly who is? then there’s a good chance you may fasten the diaper a tad loose or a tad crooked and oh boy, then the fun starts!
As you find out rather quickly, your baby’s feces resembles that of a regular patron of Taco Bell in that it’s consistency is more liquid than solid and it comes in odd colors. This liquid evil will find any space you leave between diaper and skin and make it’s escape and then it’s sayonara onsie! So long bedspread, I knew the well! And of course when you go to change this leaky diaper…
2) Ninja Pee- Your baby is a crafty and evil little imp hell bent on making your life 200% grosser than it was before he or she came into it. To this end, your child will use every sneaky way imaginable to urinate on you. This could be a simple as waiting until you open up a full diaper and unloading on you or as complex as spitting up all over his or herself and waiting until you get them undressed for bath time to spring the yellow geyser on you. Speaking of spitting up…
3) Constant Vomit- Your baby’s stomach is really small but your baby’s a glutenous pig and will ignore this. Whether feeding from the breast or the bottle, your baby will frequently drink more milk than he has room for.
This means that your baby will be throwing up more often than a 14 year old girl with body image issues. Get ready for the yummy smell of warm, partially digested milk because it will be in your clothes, the baby’s clothes, your hair, your bed, pretty much everywhere. The worst part about the whole spitting up situation is that it’s very unlikely that anyone is ever going to invent the face diaper. The only way that scientists have been able to get around the suffocation problem is by adding air holes, but that just gives the puke a way to get out thus defeating the purpose.
That should cover the body fluid portion of having a newborn. The only other one I can really think of is blood and if your baby is leaking an excessive amount of blood you need to GET OFF THE INTERNET and go to a goddamn hospital.
So enjoy your live action Garbage Pail kid and remember, all the gross stuff is worth it in the end. In a couple of years you get to put the little bastard to work around the house. FREE LABOR!

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