Reflux and My Return

Ah yes, I finally ave time to write again. My wife is wrapping up her research (for now). I have achieved Level 3 certification in Krav Maga. Work is settling down, before ramping up hard. My wife and I have a tenuous grasp on our companies - trying to bust ass on a website for one, and trying to prepare for business for another. And while I am doing this, I am slowly nurturing the concept behind yet a third company. My editing job has simmered down for the summer, and the kiddo is starting to sleep more. On a side note, we learned that our child has reflux. So not only does he sometimes look like a grumpy old man, he also has the digestive tract of one. Good for him....I guess?

On another note, I have been trying to write this goddamn post for three goddamn weeks. Do you know what that means? It means that I have enough one-liners to write a book and few stories to write a post. What the shit am I supposed to do? Well I'll tell you. Nothing. This is going to be a relatively short post, as I am going to start writing more in the near future.

Transformation, Protests, and Other Dribble

I know!! I've been gone for so long. I feel like I am in that Dr. Dre song, where he was gone for so long. That keeps mixing in my head with the song that goes, "My boyfriend's back, he's gonna save my reputation. Hey na, hey na, my boyfriend's back". Of course, it makes you wonder what her reputation is, and why she needs her boyfriend to save it. I see this going one of two ways. One, people doubted that the "boyfriend" existed. In reality, his name was "Hoover" and he was a vacuum. Two, the boyfriend is back and that shows that the woman was loyal to him. If that's the case, it makes you wonder what happened that she was accused of being a hussy. And yes, I said "hussy". Because there are classy ways of accusing people of sleeping around.

(Maybe her boyfriend's name is "Hank")

In other news, and speaking of sleeping around, I watched 13 Reasons Why on Netflix. It is a thoroughly depressing show about a girl who was bullied until she kills herself. And no, that's not a spoiler. I watched it so that I can be prepared to understand what kids experience. Why? Because I need to be prepared for my kids to experience that shit. And I need to know what people did wrong in this girl's life. To be fair, I imagine that Hollywood gave a romanticized version. And to be fair, that show was fucking brutal. I mean, damn. Be ready. But I digress.

So what is the purpose of my post today? Read the goddamn title. Seriously. My kid is around 6 weeks old now, and I am finally getting through part of my transformation. People say that kids will change you. They don't say that they will fuck your world up. I mean, damn. I was training in Krav with a guy, who happened to be training with his teenage son. I happened to be talking to them after a night of not sleeping. When the kid asked how it was, I turned to him, and said, "You need to know, at least once in his life, your father hated you. Don't get me wrong. He loves you, and would take a bullet for you, but at least once in your life he hated you. That deep, soul crushing hate.' Of course, the kid's father was next to him as I said this. The father said he never hated his son, but there was this one time....

And that's how it is. Every parent, whether they admit it or not, has hated their child(ren) at some point in their life. In other news, my wife and I went to the Science March. For those that don't know ("Oh you didn't know? Your ass better call somebody!"), there was a Science March to raise awareness that political denial of scientific fact does not change said fact. Now this was an exciting time. Why? Because it was my wife's first protest. That's right, she did something that most Chinese people will never be able to do: protest without fear of a tank.

Of course we had fucking great signs. For those that don't know, the "I Give A..." sign shows the mathematical equation for flux. So it literally says, "I Give A Flux About Science". The other one is just a simple history lesson. The first cure for syphilis was discovered in 1910, as a derivative of penicillin. So there you go. We not only shared science, but history. And boy, did people appreciate it. We continually got the same two reactions to our signs. Older people saw the STD sign and laughed because they survived it. Younger people saw the STD sign and laughed because they knew they were safe to be hussies. People 5-10 years older than us gave us dirty looks, and that was because they had little kids asking what an STD was. HA!

Moral of the Story: I'm back and I am hoping to write stories more frequently. Also, I did not take the time to thoroughly review this for grammar and shit. Read the stories, watch the video links, and be happy. Suck it.

Baby Daddy 34: Shit, Sex, and Shit Talk

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.

Baby Daddy 33: Aggressive Hugging and Russian Trash Pandas

Holy shit am I tired. I needed to give you a disclaimer. There it is. So evidently Russia is fucking excited for me to rip the shit out of them. How do I know this? Because my shit has been lit up by the Russia twice this week. That's right, it's so exciting that it drew me out of my fortress of shit and diapers, just so that I could write more. What was I going to rip on Russia for? Raccoon sex. Unfortunately, I lost the link that had the article. From what I could tell though, it sounded like Russians were having sex with and/or around a bunch of raccoons, and the raccoons were not prepared. There was talk about PTSD, rabies, babies, and other sexually transmitted things.

Now of course, my wife showed me the article and I immediately start to laugh. After all, Russia is known for vodka, Communism, and the color grey. that and 80-year-old grandmothers competing in caber-toss. Of course the Russians would think, "What is good animal for new sex? I know, I use trash panda. It even wear grey coat. It will be like furry midget." Now before you bitch and moan, yes I know that midget is not politically correct. You know what else is not politically correct? Fucking a goddamn raccoon. The article even showed a raccoon in a tree, laying there like it needed a cigarette.

Speaking of cigarettes, I still haven't smoked my victory cigar to celebrate my kid existing. I need to smoke two because he finally learned how to nurse.  I may smoke a third, simply to insure that I have developed a chemical dependency. I joke. I have enough caffeine in my system to replicate cocaine. I don't need shit else in my system.

I am becoming an advocate for aggressive hugging. I started recently, but the idea has been around for at least 15-ish years. As an ornery child (which I always pronounce as awnry), my folks would sometimes hug me. They always said it was that, or choke me. I didn't know what that meant until I was changing my son, and he literally shat as I was securing the new diaper. And not a simple little poo. His goddamn butt exploded. It looked like a mustard bottle died in his diaper. It was violent. He literally started fighting with the poo-poo. My son started kicking and punching like, "Fuck you bowels, I command you to move!" I ducked for cover and prayed.

I got him changed (again), and my son started screaming bloody murder. At that moment I held him tight. I figured it was safer than covering his mouth and nose. I took this same approach in Krav Maga. As it turned out, we learned bear hugs and chokes. When it came time to fight, I naturally rolled my shirt into a mid-drift and started aggressively hugging them. I would calmly squat down, point, and yell "I'MMA HUG YOU!!!!! 'MERE!!!" Evidently people don't like that. The irony is that, in fighting the hug, I would then start to choke them out. One person I fought had a knack for always putting themselves into a headlock. I wouldn't even try.

On a different note, my son has gotten into a habit of wanting to sleep on either my wife or myself. Now I understand part of this. In theory, our heart rates help him sleep, and our body temperatures help him to regulate his own temp. At the same time, it is incredibly awkward when we do. With my wife, he is likely to maneuver himself into a nursing position. With me, he shimmies up my body until he is laying across my through. It is like he wants to choke me out, but can't, so he just lays there instead.

Moral of the Story: My son is an awkward sleeper, I'm an aggressive hugger, and Russians like to molest trash pandas. 

Baby Daddy 32: Two Weeks Notice

Holy shit, I'm a father. I am a legitimate Baby Daddy now. I am literally Big Papa. I have wanted to update this shit for two weeks. And do you know why I haven't? Because I am a goddamn father now.

I thought birth control would be to show middle school and high school students video of a vaginal and cesarean birth. I was wrong. Birth control is rooming in with a newborn and their parents for the first two weeks. What. The. Sweet. Fuck. If people knew what the first few weeks of having a baby entailed, the human race would have died out centuries ago. That's a lie. Patriarchal society would have forced humanity forward. When I told my grandfather this, he told me to be glad I'm not Catholic. I'm in an awkward situation, where so many of my thoughts and experiences are based in one liners. As such, I will share some of them:

My son is a badass. He was born strong and ripped to fuck. When he feeds, his belly gets big, and he looks like a 'roided out bodybuilder. I hate to say it, but I am jealous of my son's body composition. At least I can do shit like hold my head up.

My favorite experience was when my son sneezed for the first time. It was a snotty little sneeze. The look of shock, confusion, and fear was priceless. I could literally see him thinking, "What the shit was that?!" Of course, he didn't like it and immediately shook his fists in rage. On a side note, my son was born with a full head of hair, and a receding hairline. When he shakes a fist, he looks like that old guy that yells at kids to keep off his lawn.

In other news, any parent that acts like they got their shit together is lying. Their shit is blowing out their kid's ass, into a partially prepared diaper. The parents are just trying to dodge the pee. On a related note, my kid waterboarded himself with urine at the doctor's office. Welcome to Gitmo, son. Welcome to Gitmo.

I love my kid, but goddamn he's a crybaby. To be fair, he has had a hard two weeks. For the first week, he was tongue-tied and lip-tied. We snipped him at the one week mark, because it took that long for us to learn about the situation. So that automatically put him a week behind in feeding. Not only that, but I have to stretch his tongue and lip to make sure the tissue does not reattach. That's right, I get to finger my son's mouth, five times a day. Each time I do, I tell him that this is why he needs to avoid prison. Because nobody likes a forced fingering. I then finger his face and immediately apologize. I'm pretty sure my son thinks my name is Richard, or something short for it.

We circumcised the child last weekend. That's right. In the course of a week, he had his mouth cut twice and his peepee cut. If I were him, I'd be pissed and hate the world, too. On a positive note, my boy likes to sleep on my chest. He also likes to have explosive bowel movements in my hand. On a less positive note, I have a new metric for telling when I have not secured the diaper well enough.

On another note, I didn't sleep last night. That's a lie. I slept for 2-ish hours, and then took two or three additional power naps. That's also playing a part in the nature of this post.

It should also be noted that I did not have that "paternal instinct" with this child. While my wife wanted to be a mother, my desire for the kid was more of an intellectual curiousity. I love my wife and think she is great. I like myself and think I am not bad. I then decided I was curious to see what type of human we could produce, and what he/she would be like. So rather than having that, "I want to be a dad" thought, I had the "let's see what happens" thought. That's right, I signed up for an 18+ year experimant. It's like going to high school and deciding that you will earn a bachelor's degree, master's degree, PhD, and MD, in that order. I signed up for a mega commitment, and had zero fucking clues as to what I was investing in.

Moral of the Story: I will talk shit about my son. Love does not equal a free pass from calling him an asshole. And while my son may be an asshole, goddamn it I love him.

PS: I know the Russians are reading this, looking for a little bit of something to brighten their day. I assume that the weather is as grey as their clothes. Anywho, I couldn't talk too much shit about Russia in this post. Don't worry though, I got one for y'all soon.