The problem with having kids is that they start out helpless and demanding. They just lay there and shit and scream. They can’t communicate effectively because shit, they can’t do anything. Once they finally get going enough that they’re not just noisy defecating blobs, their arms and legs just kind of spazz around and they punch themselves in the face involuntarily and generally are constantly freaking themselves out. This makes them hard to live with. It also makes them extremely boring.
The only thing interesting about a new baby is that it exists at all. People say things like “oooooh, look at her, just taking everything in. It’s amazing” but that’s a bunch of horseshit. Really new babies can’t see a fucking thing. They’re definitely not focusing on anything specific. They’re just laying there in a state of utter confusion, for the most part cut off from the rest of the living world, sending out poop communiqués every couple of hours as evidence that shit’s going somewhat according to plan. In the beginning, they’re not even really that cute. They’re so small and breakable and goopy that they’re fascinating to look at, but I don’t know if anyone that’s not a parent or grandparent has looked at a newborn and really, genuinely thought they were, you know, attractive. It’s just not how the shit works, man. Everyone is born a gooey, pinched little troll-let and it’s only the inexorable passage of time that ripens us into swingin dicked macho he-men like yours truly.
Until these beasts are about three months old, they live their lives in thirty minute cycles. Fifteen minutes of this cycle is sleep, the other fifteen minutes is screaming, shitting, eating, barfing, gagging. There’s nothing else. I’m not trying to complain or sound negative when I relay this information to you. It’s the facts. This is ALL these new humans do. They can’t roll over, sit up, turn their heads, smile without farting. NOTHING ELSE. People are always so quick to interrupt whatever interesting conversation is going on with some trivial bullshit story about something that their kids do, or how their child is completely amazing, and when the child in question is under three months old, you’ve gotta imagine they’re saying this because they’re sleep deprived and delirious. Because there’s almost nothing interesting about an alarm that’s set to go off every fifteen minutes and spray your existence with shit and barf, besides the fact that it exists at all and that someday you’ll be sitting there and it will tell you to fuck off and then take your car and drive away.
At about three months, the baby begins to focus. They can kind of sit up a little, they’re getting chubby, and at this point it’s safe to say some babies start looking pretty cute. If you’re a ruthless shithead, this is where you can sleep train them. I sleep trained both of my kids pretty much right when they turned three months. This means you put them in their room at bedtime and just let them scream until way after you can’t take it any more and they finally shut down. In the morning you get them, when they wake up for the day. This is a horrible process that wreaks havoc on your nervous system and makes you feel cruel and absolutely goes against the DNA coding or whatever that orders you (from inside your cels!) to protect and care for your child. It’s the kind of thing that will make you cry even if you’re a heartless cocksucker, but that fourth day, when you put them down at 7 and then go to bed at 710 and you all sleep til six or seven the next morning is better than the day you first got a blowjob. It’s better than prom or winning the state championship or landing a job or any of that shit. Because at this point you haven’t slept for more than little catnaps for 3 months (and this is if you go for the sleep training RIGHT at the 3 month mark) and now, to get that sleep…hoooooooo shit. It’s amazing. It’s a full body blowjob wrapped in a chocolate crepe. You WILL definitely wake up on this day, look at the clock, be positive your child has died in the night and run in to its room in a panic only to realize that d’oh! You just woke them up. Ha ha. Stupid fucking love-panicked parent. Couldn’t just let a good thing happen, could you?
Six months is when you finally, FINALLY start getting a little return on your investment. The baby will smile when it sees you. You start to get the distinct impression that it likes you more than it likes other people. It looks around. It smiles. There’s a tiny bit of interaction. It’s not great, but after that shitty first six months, you’re broken in the soul and you’ll take what you can get. This is the entire secret of children as far as I can tell. They shit on you so much that you come to expect the worst from life, then when they make you a shitty ashtray that looks like an abortion, you’re so relieved that they’re not just pissing on the floor or sticking their fingers in the toaster that you literally receive the ashtray as one of the greatest miracles of human creation in the history of time. Never mind that you don’t smoke and it’s completely fucked up and wouldn’t hold ashes in a fucking vacuum. But I’m getting ahead of myself. That’s when they get to be, like 6 or something. At this point, they’re six months and they’re just smiling at you and you’re sitting there in your sweatpants (because you long ago gave up putting on decent clothes because you already look like shit, you go to bed at 7 and everything you wear ends up with barf stains all over it anyway) going ‘wow. That’s great! I love this thing and it loves me. The miracle of life! I’ve never been so happy!’ ignoring the fact that you are, empirically, a broken soul.
By a year, babies are legitimately interesting. They’ve got ideas and they’re starting to talk a bit and you can see their personalities. They’re starting to become pretty cute (unless you and your spouse are ugly, in which case what did you expect?) and you’re probably no longer terrified of letting a babysitter care for them for an hour or two. If you’re not a total pussy, at this point your kid sleeps through the night and you’re getting somewhat back on track in terms of having a crippled but bearable existence.
Skipping ahead a bit, at 3 they want to do everything, and this is where I am now. My oldest kid is three and my youngest is 1. The three year old puts in dvds, he takes out dvds. As a result, he breaks dvds and dvd players constantly. He lifts and puts down the toilet seat when he pees, breaking those too. He gets gallons of milk out of the fridge when he wants a drink. He drops those gallons of milk on the ground, covering the entire kitchen with said milk. He pulls things off shelves. He insists on walking the dogs. In short, he wants to do everything that a regular person can do, but he’s clumsy, weak and has no sense of consequence or precaution and so all he ends up doing is fucking up everything. I don’t condone ANY of the above activities, but I only have the one set of eyes and god help me if I have to take a dump or answer the phone. He’s turning on tvs, putting in dvds, getting some milk, yanking the box of bisquick out of the pantry, scattering it all over the floor (because he thinks that there are just pancakes right in the box) and of course, headlocking his sister and tossing her off the couch and into the corner of the coffee table. He’s a tornado of destruction, but at 3 he’s so completely cute and awesome and funny and fun to be around that I have to kind of let it go. Once your kid tells you a joke and it’s legitimately funny, well, it’s over. You’re fucked. Someday he’s gonna say something to me that’s gonna be so mean it’ll make my hair curl. Someday he’s gonna be 13, just locked in the bathroom whacking off a thousand times a day and telling me to leave him alone every chance he gets. Someday he’s gonna be a shitty old man just like his old man, so I gotta take this pile of bisquick on the ground in stride. These are the really, really good days I guess. For now, he still likes me, and his sister is cute and interesting. Fuck. I don’t even want to think about the bullshit SHE’S gonna pull in a few years.
This all goes out to my two lovely dogs of war who just had a baby, I believe in the northwest. Apparently, they met here in the Sock Drawer (which is the comments section below each entry, so named for the heavy jizz content). If you didn’t name your kid Sammy in honor of the blog, well, you guys are heartless mongos. Anyway, good work, good luck! Keep the clones coming folks! Without the repopulation we’d be a dying world, and that sounds depressing too.
Seriously though. Congratulations to (god, I hope I got this right) Bert and Sheila and yer new monster!