Oh goddamn. This is my jam. Keep me partying until the AM. Except really it's not my jam, and I'm not partying. I'm changing dirty diapers. At 3AM. Little known fact, my kids shit smells like bread and pasta. It also looks like Dijon mustard. There. I hope I have ruined those meals for you, just as they have been ruined for me.
So it should be noted that I am starting to slowly enjoy this child more. He still screams like a son of a gun, but he's getting better. I have started to recognize when he's either hyper-stimulated, or needs to poop. His poop face is a bit awkward. He starts with bugging his eyes and almost puckering his lips, like he is pleasantly surprised. He then hunkers down and tries to poo. That's where everything turns south. Why? Because he hasn't completely figured out how to poo on command. So he goes from looking pleasantly surprised, to looking like he's lifting weight. Once he fails, my son will bitch and moan for a while. Then he'll purse his lips, look to the side, and the room will smell like a bakery.
No, that is not my child. Why don't I post a real picture of him? Because fuck you, that's why. Let's be honest. With the shit I post, and the trash I talk, someone is going to get pissed. Last thing I want is to give that motherfucker an opportunity to know what my kin looks like. Fuck that.
In other news, the kid has taken to wining and screaming like it is the goddamn Olympics. On a positive note, I have found my new coping mechanism. Rather than wait, I have elected to go ahead and tell my child about the Birds and the Bees. As it turns out, I can go into explicit detail and he won't recall. It's like a two-for-one special. I get to have the talk with my son, and neither of us have to have the awkward moment.
My wife, on the other hand, does. She walked in one day, as I was changing the child, and I was talking about how a man and a woman make babies. I then talked about how, if the two people are not ready for kids, they can take precautions. Worst case scenario, they go to Chinese Baskin Robins and get an abortion. I also explained some of the other nuances of pregnancy, sexual activity, and respect. I told my son all about how, if he isn't ready for children, he needs to keep his penis to himself. As a rule, he should probably do that anyway. Last thing he needs is to trip, fall, and I become a grandfather before I'm 40. It was somewhere between the AIDS and the auto-erotic asphyxiation that my wife asked why I was trying to ruin our son. Clearly she missed the part where I congratulated him on out-swimming his half-brothers and half-sisters.
It was during this time, and during a conversation with several of our Game Night Friends, that I realized that I am a liberal. Now for the conservatives that read my shit,
really?! You were reading my shit and thought I was conservative? Wake the fuck up. The reality is that I believe in rights. I believe that people should be allowed to say and do what they want, as long as it does not cause harm to others. You want to smoke weed? Go do it. You want to carry a firearm? Cool. Please keep it safe. You're a person that does not identify with an assigned gender, or with a heterosexual orientation? Alright.
When it comes to the kid, I'm still the same. Our friends were talking about how, if someone does not want profanity around their children, the rest of the group should acquiesce. Now I'm not opposed to that. If someone doesn't want me cursing like a sailor around their kids, I will bust ass to keep it clean. At the same time, I know I am going to use profanity around my son. My wife is expecting to also. The reality is that we come from a generation that is more liberal with our language. We also think a carefully timed "fuck" can result in hilarity. A poorly timed "fuck" can result in baby. While I do plan to work with my son to be more civilized with his language, I'mma laugh my ass off when he has a perfectly timed curse word.
Now do not get me wrong. My kid will need to know respect. And I will be working with him to know when best to say a curse word. But when a popular children's story is titled
Go The Fuck To Sleep, you cannot tell me that kids don't know this shit. And it is so much easier if they learn how to curse from the parents, than it is from the streets. At least this way I can prepare the child. And to be fair, he's likely going to know how to curse in four different languages. He can always hide it.
Moral of the Story: My son has a funny poo face and knows more about sex than some people in this world. Also, I secretly hope his first word is "fuck", or something similar.
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