Reasons 523, 524 and 525 that I don’t have kids

This is a true story – from friends of mine (it’s hilarious, kind of gross and includes bodily fluids and swearing…you’ve been warned!)

Cast of Characters:
S (5 years old), C (2 years old), Ch (5months)
W (Wife)

 

The Following Takes Place Monday Night From 6:05pm-6:15pm

 

It was a rather normal Monday night.  The girls had finished dinner and we were enjoying some family time.  S and C were wrestling with W while baby Ch was in my lap making faces.  S came into our playroom with Ch and I, then it all began….

 

I laid back on the couch, lifted Ch over my head.  While making faces with each other, a stream of a freshly consumed breast milk shot from Ch’s smiling mouth, hitting me in the right eye and then making a perfectline midway down my chest.  I froze.  Holding Ch still, I heard S quickly say "SWEET!" 

 

"S", I said, "please go ask your mother to bring me towel…now!"  As she jumped off the couch and ran to the kitchen, I heard her shout "Mom, Ch yaked on Dad, bring us a towel"  I smiled, still holding my right eye closed and Ch hovering over me, she continued to smile, as did I.  As the father of 3 girls under 5, this was far from the first time I’ve been yaked upon.

 

W and S quickly returned to the playroom.  W stared over me, smirking, then gently wiping the urrp from my eye and shirt.  Then, she took Ch from my hands and sent me upstairs to change.  S followed me upstairs, still reveling in the moment and asking if I had yak on my underwear too, or just my shirt?

 

A quick change of shirt and we headed back downstairs.  As we entered the playroom, C, who was previously MIA and missed all the previous action sat in front of the TV, chair pulled under the table, with a small blue plate and a brownie.  "Interesting", I thought to myself, "I didn’t know we had any brownies".  About :20 seconds later, S got a whiff of the brownie, and you got it, that was no brownie!  That’s right, it was a plate of shit!

 

"Ahhh" screamed S.  "Oh fuck" screamed Dad.  I grabbed C under the arms, yelled to W and headed as fast as I could toward the upstairs bath.  The stench was unbelievable.  C had taken that brownie fresh from the factory and spread it like hair gel all over her.  As I sprinted upstairs, S ran behind screaming "C ate her poop, eeww, gross" 

 

W dashed into the playroom to begin to clean up the mess while I had the living turd with me.  I quickly got C into the bathtub, trying desperately to limit the damage.  "Don’t touch your face, be still honey, it’s OK" I said over and over.  Although at this point there was no consoling her.  She cried loud and often.  Meanwhile, her all too curious sister sat behind me watching the play-by-play.

 

As I peeled off layers of clothing, I flung her sinfully soiled shirt over my right shoulder.  Not paying attention, apparently the shit shirt hit S, sending her into a frenzy.  Within moments, as I desperately tried to scrub the poop from underneath C’s fingernails, I heard an all too familiar sound behind me.  "S, S, don’t you throw up"  Apparently, the shit shirt had grazed her, and a whiff of the poop sent her intoconvulsions.  "S, S, take a deep breath"  But it was too late.  As I peeled another layer of poop from C, here came a pile of freshly almost digested Chicken Salad from S’s mouth.  I quickly whirled around, grabbing her with my soiled hands and trying to get her to the sink, but the damage had been done.  And in usual fashion, we got the last 10% into to sink and the other 90% on the floor, my legs and the cabinets.

 

I screamed "HELP" to W, "Get Up Here Now" However, W had her hands full (o-poop) downstairs, so for the moment, I was on my own.  I managed to get C stable, sent S to her room to change and tried to contain the area.  Within a few minutes, I headed downstairs.  As I stood halfway down, my eyes met W standing in the kitchen.  We exchange one of "those" moments that only parents understand.  That glance that needs no words.  A glance that within it carries love, laugh, anger and acceptance.  As I looked to W’s right, Ch sat in her chair, cooing and smiling at me.  S then passed my on the stairs and said "Sorry I yaked Dad" and in the background I heard C in her room screaming "Yippee, WooHoo" – And so it was.  15 minutes of chaos.  15 minutes of life.  15 minutes of parenthood. 

Published in: on January 28, 2009 at 5:09 pm  Comments (8)  

8 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. It’s funny because it happened to someone else…

    …but yeah, no little kids for me either.

    I like teenagers. If there was some way babies could be hatched elsewhere and delivered to me when they’re oh, say age 12 or so, that would be perfect.

    • Re: It’s funny because it happened to someone else…

      after they have been truly fd up?…actually there is something to that – teenagers and need to be away from parent….fostering ala McCaffery’s Pern universe.

      And I do believe there are teenagers who need people to care about them – called older foster kids….

      • Re: It’s funny because it happened to someone else…

        I was thinking of the case where I might date someone who may have a teen from a prior marriage/relationship. It must be hard to be a single parent. Even harder to be a good single parent and have any sort of dating life.

    • Re: It’s funny because it happened to someone else…

      If I ever want kids I think I’ll just adopt a college student. Pay for their tuition, let them come to laundry at my house, take care of me when I’m old. Then I’ll kind of know what I’m getting and what the personality it :)

  2. As the parent of an about to be four year old, I have to say, by this point, I have been peed on, pooed on, and vomited on. I have also watched a wonderful little person slowly form her personality. One kind of outweighs another. I could tell you that you would feel different if you actually had a child, but birth does not make a mother. I didn’t actually feel like a mother until about three monthes after birth, when I finally realized that this was for life. After the hyperventilating, I pulled my shit together, and just went on. One day at a time, every day.

    • You are full of awesome for being a parent, I am so impressed with people who take on the task of raising a little human. I’ve never wanted kids (from the time I was able to talk I’ve been clear about it) and I know people in my position who had kids thinking that “it will be different when it’s mine”, just to find out that it wasn’t and I would never want to put a kid in that position. You go with your funky bad self, all the best to you and your shiny new person :)

      • I was 2 months early, and before I was supposed to have muscular control I managed to find out how to yank the feeding tube (I couldn’t swallow yet) out from my nose. I have no clue how I did this. More than once. And it probably drove my parents crazy.

  3. If my husband were home right now, I’d be pointing him to this post going “OMG honey no kids no kids NO KIDS!!!” (Which, to be honest, is not an uncommon refrain around our apartment.)

    I admire parents. I respect parents. I think they should get tax breaks I don’t get. And if they need to take off early from work occasionally to go to a soccer game or what have you, fine with me.

    I am SO not cut out for parenthood.


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