You’re going to have to change the kitty litter, man. I know how you feel. This would have been the one deal breaker for me too, but no one told us that a woman with child could not be around kitty litter until after my wife was pregnant. I realize that this sounds like something women made up to get out of changing the litter, but the fact is that cat poop and even kitty litter dust contains a chemical that could cause Toxoplasmosis. And you know that’s bad because the word starts with toxo which is Latin for “this shit’ll kill your baby.”
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Even if you have photographic evidence of the exact time and date of conception, you pervert. It doesn’t matter to them. The first day after the last period is the day your child was conceived.
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A quick note about nine months; it’s really ten. Yeah, I know, it’s the one thing you thought you knew about having a baby. You knew how they were made and, once you were done with that part, you knew that nine months later you would have a baby. The gestational term for human babies is forty weeks. That’s ten months—even if February is doing something weird that year.
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Traditionally, people advise that you wait about three months before announcing the pregnancy. Unfortunately, many pregnancies end in a miscarriage before this time and the advice is based on not letting the cat out of the bag before the baby is out of the woods.
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The moment your wife tells you she’s pregnant, you lose the right to complain. You’ll get it back eventually but any grumblings you have for the next nine months to three years should be kept to yourself. That’s not to say that you won’t have things to complain about. Over the course of her pregnancy you’ll be doing the bulk of the work and the deeper into it she gets, the heavier things seem to get.
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I don’t care if you’re feeling neglected, had a bad day at work or been shot in the ass with an errant crossbow bolt. If you say anything, it will be considered insensitive. She’s having your baby. She’s sacrificing her body to bring life into this world and you’re bitching about being shot? What’s wrong with you?
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Once that child is visible on the screen, you cease to exist. It’s not a slow fade like your existence has been undone due to some tampering with the space-time continuum; it’s very sudden. The doctor will know it. Your wife will know it. Recent studies show that the fetus, who is only a few cells at this point, knows it. It just may not be very evident to you. You’ll try to speak and no one will hear you. You’ll have thoughts and no one will care. If you start to mess with the equipment in the room, like say picking up the sonogram wand and making ray gun noises, they will notice and tell you to quit. But as soon as you put the wand down, you’ll go back to not existing. It’s nothing you did. The doctor’s primary concern from here on out is your wife and baby’s safety and health.
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You will start to notice your new non-role slowly. Your wife and the doctor will begin to talk in a language that you don’t understand. You’ll notice that they never really turn to you anymore. No one will ask how you’re feeling. No one cares if you’ve been eating right. No one cares if you’re doing your Kegels.
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And while most of them are used for good instead of evil, there is also the 3D sonogram. This horrific upgrade is usually optional and costs extra. I’m no doctor. I don’t know if the image is helpful to the baby doctor, but I do know this: the people with the machine will try to sell you on it by telling you that you will get a picture of what your baby really looks like. You’ll see facial features, ears, eyes etcetera ... Imagine, a real picture of how your pride and joy will actually look. How could you resist? Resist. Don’t do it. Please don’t do it. Because you’ll think your baby is going to look just like a Garbage Pail Kid. I’ve never seen one 3D sonogram that didn’t give me nightmares.
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A lot of information will be flying at you, but this is the only thing you need to get—how to swaddle a baby. Some call it the baby burrito. I don’t care what you call it, that shit will save your sanity. Pay attention to that and you’ll be okay.
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Aside from swaddling, there are a couple of other things you’ll learn in baby class. First of all, cats will try to murder your baby. It’s true. They asked who had dogs; my wife and I raised our hands. The baby teacher said that was great; dogs are very protective of the baby and may even sleep underneath the crib to stay close and guard them. Then she asked who had cats. My wife raised her hand; I pointed to my wife. The baby teacher said those with cats would have to be really careful because cats are attracted to the soft breath of an infant and will climb into the crib and smother them. To death. Until they die.
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When you leave the baby class you’ll get a shopping checklist for newborns. Your first fight will occur in Babies R Us, somewhere between the baby proofing section and the diaper rags. (Not the diapers. The diaper rags. Big difference. There is no sound reasoning behind the similar names.)
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Honestly, did you know that cats were fur-bearing murder machines made of an evil so foul that even their shit carried fetus-killing poison? Of
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That is the shopping list you’re handed. It is so overwhelming that you have little choice but to trust it. After all, no one would try and bilk you when you’re having a baby, right? And what kind of parent would you be if you didn’t get the best of every item? Don’t you want the best for your child? Don’t you want them to be safe? Don’t you love them?
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With every new thing you put in the cart, the pit in your stomach/wallet will grow. You’ll start to wonder if you really need all that stuff and even though you know nothing, you’ll begin to figure out what you don’t need. You’ll start to voice your opinion and this is where the argument will start. Frustration will build as you try to grapple with the different items, their purpose and their cost. The swearing will probably start when you find out that there are diapers (for butts) and diaper rags (for faces) and you begin to scream to no one that they shouldn’t be given such similar names.
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And there is no one involved with the list that doesn’t have a vested interest in you buying everything on it. Here’s the real list:
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A Small Phillips Head Screwdriver
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Apparently the greatest threat to an infant’s life outside of cats is that he or she will suddenly learn to crawl, open a battery cover and ingest the Energizers inside. A neat trick for a newborn really. Now, I've never seen or heard of it happening but it must have happened a ton in the 70s and 80s.
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These contractions are nothing to worry about, but what do you know? You’ve never had a baby before. But, you have heard all these stories about contractions, so when your wife feels contractions, you would assume that she’s having a baby. Braxton Hicks make you worry because you don’t know any better. They play on your ignorance like a total bastard.
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The nightly room rate is what tells me they’ve never stayed at a hotel.
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There’s no thermostat in the room so the only thing you can do is pack a sweater or two. Yes, even in the summer. In Texas. And a blanket. It may seem like overkill, but there is good reason.
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Being a father still won’t seem real at this point. The fact that they actually let you leave the hospital with the child still confounds you. What kind of irresponsible institution would do that? Even once you get home, the bafflement will continue. You’ll walk in with the child in your arms, delivering him or her to their new home for the first time. You may even give the baby a tour of the house. After that, you won’t have a clue what to do. Do you put it in the swing? Seems a little soon. The pack and play? Already? You can’t just hold it forever. There’s stuff in the car that needs to be brought in. There is only one solution here. It will come to you quickly and it’s a very crucial lesson: when you don’t know what to do with a baby, give it to Mommy. Congratulations,
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Now that you are home with the baby, your life will revolve around poop. Color, consistency, frequency, odor—your life is now all about ass management. I’ll tell you right now that the best day of a father’s life is not when the child speaks your name, or walks, or gets accepted to Harvard, it’s when that child wipes his or her own ass. But, that’s a ways off so let’s get back to managing your child’s ass.
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Talk of poop will fill conversation with your wife. Catching up at the end of the day will be about the baby’s crap. You’ll get home and hug and kiss. You’ll ask about each other’s day. Each other’s day will involve stories of crap. They’ll seem natural at first, but after a few months you’ll come to the realization that you talk about poop more than you ever thought you would. Also, don’t ever get comfortable with the idea of poop always being in a diaper. It will be everywhere. You’re going to want to start adjusting to the idea of having it all over your hands, clothes and face. Yes, face. I don’t know how it gets there. Science doesn’t know how it gets there. It just gets there.
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Just a quick note on sleeping like a baby. Babies don’t sleep very well. The phrase is the most ass-backward idiom ever. But, now that you have a baby you’ll know that when someone tells you they slept like a baby what they really mean is that they woke up every hour or so, drooled and crapped themselves with regular frequency.
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child. I’m telling you, change the diapers and collect the points. This is a game you want to win. And here’s how you cheat: All diapers
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You may not get out of changing diapers but you can get out of everything else. That newborn little baby is a get-out-of-anything-you-don’t-want-to-do-card/poop generator. You’re not going to have to do anything you don’t want to for at least a year.
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I know. You still want to use the microwave and me saying you can’t isn’t a good enough reason not to. The reason you can’t use the microwave is because it will obliterate all of the nutrients in the formula.
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Once the kid has emptied the bottle and spit up the food you just tried to feed it, you’ll need to clean the bottle. This will require several specially designed brushes and pieces of equipment including a nipple brush.
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Once they have been soaked, soaped and scrubbed thoroughly you’ll have to steam them because even a board of pediatricians knows that you suck at washing dishes.
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If your wife plans on breastfeeding you’ve probably figured that bottles won’t be a part of your life as she’ll be keeping all the food in her boobs. Well congratulations, your deductive reasoning skills have brought you to exactly the wrong conclusion. A woman’s boobs are among the most amazing things on Earth, but they don’t know when a kid is sleeping and they can’t always be where the kid happens to be. Due to this lack of awareness, the boobs will continue to make breast milk even when the kid is not around. So it must be pumped and stored in bottles and little bags that cost too much and, naturally, can’t be reused. These bags will eventually fill your freezer and it’s important to remember that no matter how tired you are when you look in there, they are not really surprise ice cream cones.
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But, not in the microwave. That kills nutrients. Better warm up the water, clever guy who thought breastfeeding would mean less work.
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In fact, when your newborn is sleeping, you need to raise hell. Turn up that action movie in the living room. Vacuum. Start a band called the Din and play only the opening to We Will Rock You over and over again outside the nursery door. This will get your child used to sleeping through the normal noises of every day. Once it is a little older, it will sleep through anything and you won’t have to be a jerk to everybody who calls the house unless that’s who you truly are.
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She’s been home with the kid every day since it was born and can barely find the energy to shower much less clean the house. She spends all day wondering if she can even handle raising a kid without going insane and you just spent an entire day showing her up. Of course it wasn’t your plan to psychologically destroy your wife. It just happened that way. So here’s my advice. Never clean. It’s for her benefit.
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If you had hobbies before you had the child, chances are you have not found time for them lately. Don’t let them go. You’re not betraying your family by getting away for a few hours every now and then and your sanity is going to need it.
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I personally don’t approve of baby talk or using funny voices when speaking to a child of any age. I think it’s condescending and makes kids grow up stupid. This is one of the many issues I have with Elmo.
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For the first couple of months your child’s eyes will look just like your stoner buddy’s from college. Their eyes dart around the room as if they’re taking everything in but in reality they can’t see more than a few inches in front of their face. Within a few months, this focus improves greatly and their ability to see everything will lead you to ask, “Is my child ready for TV?” Yes. It is never really too young to open your child to the world of great entertainment. There is also a narrow window of opportunity to show them awesome movies before they can actually comprehend what is happening and you’re forced to watch only kids programming.
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baby cranium to the bridge of your nose. And the spasms don’t come one at a time. Two more quick kicks of those developing legs and you’re hit in the chin and eye socket. Your little baby has now beaten you up. A baby’s ability to kick your ass is tremendously underestimated
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Every child should come with a cup because your junk is in mortal danger from the minute they arrive. Once a baby has tried and failed to kill you using the head butt/baby rocket method, they will resort to destroying your ability to reproduce. This means constant strikes, steps and stomps to your manhood.
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You fall into the tiny embrace and then the kid sinks his teeth into your neck. This is pain. Pain you can’t really describe. Physically it’s blinding like being stabbed with a standard screwdriver by Sampson before he got his bangs trimmed. Emotionally, the pain is worse. Betrayal, treason, turned on by your own blood. A thousand emotions run through your head as your pride and joy attempts to rend the flesh from your shoulder.
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You’ve got to get the cabinet latches to keep them out of the cleaning supplies. You’ve got to get the outlet covers to keep their fingers out of the electricity. But, do you really need the toilet seat lock?
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Baby manufacturers make it very easy for you to go overboard here. When couples buy into all of the fear, their home becomes baby Alcatraz and appears more like a soft-sided fortress than a loving environment.
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Honestly it would be best if you just sell all of your furniture. You’ll never use it and they’ll just find a way to either hurt themselves on it or ruin it for everyone.
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Living with poop has become second nature by now. You’ve grown accustomed. Complacent. That’s just what the poop is counting on. As soon as you underestimate poop, it turns on you.
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In no class or book did it ever mention that my child might one day dig the crap out of their diaper and rub it in their hair and on the walls like some deranged Picasso. We were totally unprepared for it.
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what worked for us was cutting the feet off of the pajamas and putting them on the child backwards after making more room in the collar. The crappy art stopped but we still opened the door with apprehension every single morning. While holding our noses. Just in case.
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As cool as it is to realize that your kids are listening, it’s terrifying to realize that your kids are listening. Because, now you have to watch your mouth. I have what some would call a fucking potty mouth, so I’ll tell you what I did. I figured out that the word monkey replaced almost any swear word and was just as much fun to say. If someone cut me off in traffic that person was a dumb monkey. If I ran into heavy traffic, I’d declare son of a monkey. When I wanted to demonstrate how little I cared, I would tell someone that I didn’t give a monkey.
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I did not, however, foresee the great new swear words it would create. The plan went off the rails when I messed up and replaced mother with monkey instead of the bad word. I called a driver a monkey fucker. It was accidental, but very satisfying. It was the beauty of monkey combined with the visceral sensation of dropping the f-bomb. This mistake opened up a whole new world of insults. Ass monkey. Monkey bastard. Monkey loving motherfucker. So, needless to say, I have no helpful advice here. Just a warning: the baby is listening so watch your fucking mouth.
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