It's been about three weeks since my daughter was born, and I've spent very little time at the computer, hence my lack of updates. I appreciate all of you being understanding about my lack of individual replies, I do read each and every one, and if you're on my friends list, there's a damn good reason.
So, speaking of which, this is going to be a rather long, hopefully not too rambling post. Some of the opinions, thoughts, and expressions in this post may disturb you slightly. If you're weak of stomach or have an idealized view of babyhood you may get uncomfortable.
I've decided to be rather frank in my discussion of this, quite simply because I think there are those of you that will benefit from my honest perspective. Some of you don't have, and never plan on having children. Some of you have children and are veteran parents that have much to teach me. Others still are mere weeks, days or months away from being where I am now, typing softly on a keyboard at 5 am, with a just barely sleeping baby resting on your lap, twitching your legs despite the muscle fatigue for fear that any disturbance in your rhythmic movements will wake your new overlord and master.
To the first and last groups, I need to begin by telling you this, as it is a fundamental understanding you need to have. Not only for your own futures, dealing with other human beings, but also appreciating what your parents went through with you.
Essential Truth #1- Babies Destroy Man.
Bill Cosby has an oft-celebrated comedy routine called "Fatherhood", wherein he describes how two intellectuals holding PhDs, himself and his wife, have a baby, and are reduced to "oggie-woogie baby need a widdew poopy change" style speech. This, while true in a fashion, is not an accurate view of child rearing. Rather, the truth is a bit darker than this, and doesn’t make for quite the mass-appeal comedic routine.
You see, a baby knows no mercy. No remorse. No logic, reason, kindness, compassion, or even basic expression of most human emotions. At first, it’s single, solitary way of expressing anything other than complete satisfaction is an ear-piercing shriek several decibels over that of a lawn mower, usually directly at your face. Imagine, if you will, someone that you have never met before, screaming in your damn face for over four hours straight, at the top of their lungs. Never ceasing, barely even breaking to draw in breath for another banshee-like wail. This is the most accurate description I can give you of the first two days of the second week of a baby’s life.
The first week is much simpler, of course. As a baby is born it’s “turned off” more or less, and that first week is time for it to charge its batteries and prepare to soften concrete, bend support beams in skyscrapers, and destroy most of Neo-Tokyo (I made an anime joke there) with its unhappiness about the fact that it has, again, shit all over itself.
All of this, in and of itself, wouldn’t be that big of a deal (unless you live in Neo-Tokyo) if it weren’t for one stupid, horrible fact. It’s your baby.
Babies, by design (evolution motherfuckers, hell yeah), have this cry that sets off a specific trigger in their parents. Sure, other people hate the sound of a baby’s cry too. It is, after all a loud, near ceaseless, high pitched sound that usually you can’t quite get away from. But to the parents of that baby, it’s something special. A gift, if you will, from Mother Nature is that a baby’s cry is specifically designed to set its parent’s teeth on edge, and cause them grief. You see, in nature, it would be a hint that the mother needs to remember to pick up its young and maybe put some food in its horrible little mouth so the other ape-people can get some fucking rest.
However, the wonders of modern society such as work, school, and my shiny new XBOX 360 mean that occasionally you want to put this adorable little lump of flesh down for a few seconds of non-back breaking peace. In America, and most westernized countries we’re supposed to be able to do this occasionally. When most people even think of babies, their third thought (after poop, after screaming) is usually one of an adorable little tiny human, tucked safely into a crib, snoozing away. For some newborns, this is easily the case, and those are lucky parents indeed. For most real parents however, babies, in their first three months, who notice that they’re alone in a crib, flailing and unmoving, flat on their backs and unable to change it, freak right the fuck out. Which of course cues the parental freak-out, and the circle of life continues (If you’ve ever seen The Fifth Element, and, like me, practically memorized Zorg’s speech about destruction causing chaos, you know exactly the kind of chain reaction I mean.). The screaming begins, and the parental checklist is brought out.
This checklist is often as follows;
“Is she hungry? Did she poop? Did she pee? Is she uncomfortable? Did I break her? Is this the time when we’re just supposed to let her cry? Holy shit what if I did break her? Why won’t she shut up? Did you try feeding her? What? I can’t hear you over the Jet Engine in my ear. Screw you I was just trying to help. I know but I just don’t know what’s wrong! Jesus should we go to the emergency room? Yeah I guess so. Get the Diaper bag just in case. Oh God in Heaven I swear I will go to church every single Sunday for the rest of my life if only you make her be okay. Oh she just burped, and she’s just staring at us like we’re idiots now. Hey God you know I might miss a Sunday or two, that’s okay right?”
It is impossible for any human being to take proper care of a baby, and not be reduced to a complete moron at at least one point in the process. Four nights ago, my little girl was screaming at the top of her lungs, and my wife needed a break. I decided to be useful while I was pacing about with the baby in a sling, and got ready to go to the grocery store. I started the car, to warm it up, and because I didn’t want any strange homeless people stealing my child (that I didn’t want someone to take her at that point is the truest sign of insanity), I locked my drivers side door. From there, I moved around to the rear passenger side door, and after about 20 minutes managed to get my screaming heap of fleshling genetic code strapped into the car seat. Again, not wanting anyone to walk off with my baby, I locked this door. I then went back around to get in the front seat to drive off to the store and be productive, only to realize that my screaming, cold, terrified infant baby girl was locked in my car, safe from homeless man and parent alike. My wife, who I’d “given a break” staggered half naked to the back door with the keys, and was, thank the good Lord, too out of it to realize what her idiot husband had done.
This is the kind of thing that happens to parents. Perfectly reasonable people are reduced to this sort of thing on an almost daily basis. You need to also bear in mind that all of this comes right along with all the regular, everyday things like trying to do laundry (which I’ve never been good at to begin with), the dishes, and God-forbid, some actual homework.
But it’s all worth it when she’s not crying because you love her, right?
Essential Truth #2 – You do not love your baby.
When you first met the love of your life, it was very likely not obvious. Even if you really, really liked that person, actually saying “I love you” probably took at least a few more jello shots. Over time, you got to know them. Their habits, their likes, their dislikes, the fact that she leaves dishes all over the house, and all of these different aspects collect until you know a person well enough to love them.
You don’t know your baby. Partially because they are new, and partially because they have little to no personality to know.
Sorry, all of those nifty little greeting cards and TV movies are horribly fucking wrong. I need to reiterate. You do not love your newborn baby. You don’t, for large swaths of time, even like your newborn baby. At this point, your newborn baby represents a gigantic inconvenience to your life, and everything you ever want to do. I don’t mean fancy things like “learn to paint”. I mean basic things, like, you know, eating.
Now, you know you should love your newborn baby, because that’s what all those greeting card TV specials and cheeky American comedies with that dry witted British guy have told you. Especially at those times when she’s in what’s called the “quiet-alert” period. This is when they are staring around at the world, wide eyed and wonderful, almost the ideal baby.
A new parent knows differently however. The baby being awake is A Bad Thing. This “quiet-alert” stage is best thought of as this;
You see, the reason you don’t get a feeling of peace or serenity from this picture is because you know what’s fucking coming. Much like someone who winces when he looks at a closed fist after having been punched in the face several times, you can associate an image with a result. You see, even though you’ve been reduced to a useless idiot, you still have the basic animal pain instinct.
I don’t watch a lot of television, but I have friends who do. They’ve told me that recently here in Denver, the gub’mint has been stepping up the Public Service Announcements discouraging baby shaking. Up until about two weeks ago, both my wife and I saw the entire thing as one huge tragedy. “Who the hell would shake a baby?” we’d say to each other, a look of shock and vague amusement at the misfortune of those weaker of wills than ourselves (don’t get all high and mighty with me here People, you have the same wicked joys sometimes, we all do.).
Three AM, on a Wednesday night, having someone Who You Do Not Love scream in your face for four hours is incentive to shake a fucking baby. (Uncomfortable moment coming) You start to come up with plans to rent a paint shaking machine from Home Depot, just to make sure the job is done right. (Uncomfortable moment over.)
This is where society comes in to save the life of your child, and indeed, has likely actually saved the human race from complete extinction due to baby shaking. Shaking your baby gets you in trouble. It’s honestly not so much that you don’t want to end this horrible, teeth grating, nails-on-a-blackboard-times-one-fucking-million sound, any way humanly possible, from bags to hammers to the lathe in the metal shop of the nearest high school. It’s that you know you’re going to be in a heap of trouble the second you do. That’s right buddy. Likely a good portion of the reason that your mother didn’t kill you when you were young was a good ol’ helping of “what would the neighbors think?”. Think about that next time you’re ticked off at lawmakers.
Speaking of your Mother (see what I did there?), brings us to my next point. Luckily for you, it’s a little more upbeat.
Essential Truth #3 – Everyone has done this.
In the afternoons, when I’m at my most lucid, I will think about my child’s future. This is a vastly humbling experience. Not in so much that I’m worried about college, or my daughter’s potential suitors, but more that I’m cleaning the fecal matter out of her vagina, behind which lay her ovaries. Six months ago (approximately) she got eggs in those tiny ovaries. That means that any potential grandchildren I may have are halfway there already.
Thinking about potential grandchildren leads me to think of my daughter eventually having sex, which of course, as a modern parent, leads me to the terrifying thought of teenage sex and pregnancy. I think of myself as a teenager, and my attitude, how cocky I was and how much I mouthed off to my own mother. And now, I’m thinking, how can anyone be so full of themselves with someone who has cleaned shit off of their genitals?
Everyone you see. Every last, single human entity on the face of this planet (except possibly test tube babies but they aren’t common enough to worry about…yet.), has been here. Whether their mothers or fathers did a very good job of it or not is all up to life, the universe, and everything. The fundamental truth still lies there, however. Everyone you meet has shit on their own genitals at one point in time. Everyone you meet, everyone you shake hands with, have sex with, hate, love, vote for, vote against, shoot, rape, kill, convict, execute, admire, lust after, model yourself after, or clean up after, has been grown in the uterus of a woman. Either thrust violently, three months too early, through a tube, one to four centimeters smaller than their head, or had that woman’s abdominal wall sliced open, organs moved aside and been drawn out by the cold rubber gloves of someone they may never meet again. Every, last, single person.
Think of this as you speak to others.
Essential Truth #4 – There is Shit They do not tell you.
About three days after my daughter was born (or was it four? They all blend together), I was acting like a good dad, and changing yet another diaper. I opened this coffin for feces expecting the usual smorgasbord of sights, smells, and even occasionally sound, and I wasn’t disappointed to find a veritable battlefield of mustard yellow poop speckled with bits of white here and there (milk curds from her mother!). However, this time, my daughter had given me a very special surprise. Nestled there among the rolling hills of amber was about an eyedropper of the most terrifying fluid to a new parent. Blood.
When a baby is in the uterus, it is flooded day in and day out with hormones from its mother. This causes it’s genitals to become engorged, and even causes the breasts to plump up and form small breast buds. We were informed of this by our very helpful nurses and told that this swelling should go down in just a few days. Easing the worries of a new dad, they also told me that there might be a bit of milky discharge due to these hormones and that it was nothing to worry about. What they did not mention to her father, was that as these hormones go down in baby girls, it actually triggers the baby’s very first (and last for about a decade or so) period. What not telling a father that blood will be leaking from his daughters vagina will do, is cause some poor fucker a heart attack and won’t they just feel awful then? Jerks.
Essential Truth #5 – A pacifier is not an Off Button.
From nearly the moment that my daughter was born, she could be nearly instantly calmed by the insertion of her mother’s or my pinky finger in her mouth. While this proved to be a very useful aid in Not Killing Our Baby, after a while we realized that having your finger plugged into the baby at all hours impeded important tasks such as typing, diaper changing, showering (ourselves), sleeping and playing Puzzle Fighter HD online on XBOX Live Arcade. (Username : Fishdinner27 )
In light of this, we decided to maybe give pacifiers a try. While we’d been warned that occasionally babies didn’t have a strong enough sucking reflex right off, we had not been warned that the insertion of the pacifier into the mouth of the baby would cause instant disgust on the face of the baby, followed by an intensification of aforementioned Neo-Tokyo destroying screams. At this point, Godzilla actually knocked on our window and asked us very politely if there was anything we could do to quiet her down, as he had a busy day at the office tomorrow.
Back to the finger. We are now convinced that our baby overlord is only satisfied by the taste of parental suffering and desperation.
At least we know that she’s our baby.
Essential Truth #6 – Babies are born too early.
Human babies are born about a trimester earlier than they should be. Why is this? Humans have huge brains. Most animals can walk, talk, and run the fuck away from scary shit a few minutes to a few days after they’re born. However, they don’t really tend to do a whole lot else for the rest of their lives. There was a time when that was the case for human beings also. As they evolved though, humans’ heads got bigger and bigger to fit bigger and bigger brains. Eventually this got to the point where they killed mothers more often than not in childbirth. So, somewhere along the line, something caused the human body to get smart and push the ejection seat button about two to three weeks after that head has gotten to the “just too big for your actual vagina” point. What this means is that the babies human beings give birth to are very, very stupid.
Human babies have, as I’d mentioned before, ONE method of real communication. They retain this single ability for a very long time, in animal terms. They cannot walk, they cannot talk, and they cannot run the fuck away from scary shit for about the average full lifespan of a Red Breasted Robin. This means that human babies need a lot more attention, a lot more saving, and a lot more fucking headaches than just about any other animal baby. This also means that the cherished, beautiful, happy baby you’ve dreamed of having (or dreamed of others having, or expected others to have, or whatever) is a FUCKING LIE. A human baby is more or less useless. A human baby, in its first three months of life is more or less still a fetus. One you can touch and hold and have to clean the poop off of, sure, but otherwise still a fetus. Any sort of joy that you may have expected playing adorable little games with your baby will have to wait, because until that three month mark, she will likely do little other than eat, sleep, poop, or terrify the living hell out of you. Sometimes they combine all of these, but even still, any interaction you have with them is purely out-of-context in what passes for their little minds.
For you new or soon to be parents though, I have managed to compile a list of things a newborn baby is useful for, and included it in this document for your use.
1. Paperweight (only when swaddled tightly).
2. Weight.
3. Counterweight for grocery bags.
4. Relationship fight starter.
5. Counter to caffeine.
6. Anti-Theft Alarm (only works at night).
7. Hole that you throw money into to watch it vanish into the blackness never to be seen again and oh God I’m so poor how will I ever afford to feed this thing?
8. Neurosis inducer.
9. Restaurant Meal Buying Grandparents attractor.
10. Free pass to be a jerk to just about anyone (“man I’m sorry I yelled at you, my daughter was just born three weeks ago.”)
11. Hot chick attractor.
12. Vomit squirt gun.
13. Poop squirt gun.
14. Pee squirt gun.
15. Wife’s breasts maker-bigger-er.
I’ve now spent about two hours bouncing my baby girl on my lap, and it’s getting time for her to eat. I can tell because she’s smacking her lips, even as she sleeps, no doubt dreaming that her servants will bring her more food, and more of the sweet suffering she so desires.
And just so you know the face of the monster I am battling, I’ve included a picture below of the little monster as she’s being burped after having been topped off with poop-fuel.
Okay, so maybe I do love her.
But just a little.
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