When I am unsure whether or not my daughter needs a diaper change, I nonchalantly stick my nose in her crotch and take a big sniff. Like it’s a perfectly normal thing to do to sniff human excrement. Am I crazy?!
Nah, I can’t be crazy. I like football, beach trips, and punching the elderly just like everyone else does.
Banana.
I would imagine that if a baby could keep a diary of it’s time in the womb, it would look like this. And let’s be honest. Even though you might think this is inaccurate, you don’t know enough about the human brain to dispute me. So go with it.
Weeks 1-5:
Baby has no brain function.
Sometime during Week 6:
Holy shit-on-a-stick! Where the hell am I?! Don’t panic. Assess the situation. Okay. I have a jaw, and two arm nubs. I’m floating in a hot goo and I can’t move. Is this Purgatory?
Week 7:
Looks like finger nubs are growing on my arm nubs. These could be useful. I’m also growing a tail. Not useful. And I look like a slug. With fingers. Pretty sure I’m becoming a “Finger Slug”.
Week 8:
Saw dad today. Weird.
Week 9 Things To Do List:
1. Grow Shoulders
2. Get. That. Dirt off ya shoulda.
Week 11:
I’m developing some skin. This is good. People with skin are WAY more successful and WAY less creepy than people without skin.
Week 12:
Finally. Ears. There’s nothing more soothing that hearing someone’s digestive system 24/7. Just kidding, it’s fucking gross.
Week 14:
I’m growing a thick layer of hair all over my body. I’m like some weird fetal Sasquatch.
Week 16:
Got a leg and a foot complete with toes. Time to put on my shit kickers and do work on this bladder.
Week 19:
Well. This is embarrassing.
Week 22:
No mirror in here, but I just overheard my dad say I looked like “Gollum from Lord of the Rings”. Then he repeated “My precious” in a weird voice.
Week 24:
I grew taste buds, and amniotic fluid tastes like an Ethiopian cab driver’s ass sweat.
Week 26:
Grew a vagina. Finally. Do you have any idea what its like to not have your vagina for six months? No? Ask Chaz. Zing!
Week 31:
Saw dad again. He rarely comes by. He’s a dickhead.
Week 35:
This room is getting smaller Temple-Of-Doom-spikes-coming-from-the-walls-style. Not good. Got to get out of here.
Week 38:
This…… arm…..is…… delicious.
Week 40:
Im out! And I made you shit yourself in the process. Payback’s a bitch and I’m just getting started.
I got a nosebleed Monday.
Which was weird for me because I almost never get nosebleeds.
But not that weird because I also almost never get head-butted in the nose by an infant.
The best part was when Lisa saw it. Her immediate response was “Oh my God!!!! Is the baby okay?!?!?”.
Thanks I guess…
Now that she can more efficiently use her hands, she’s using them to kick my ass. My arms are now half bald and covered in scratches. And she’s getting stronger every day. Awesome.
I got a dog. His name is Miko. Here is a horribly deceptive picture of Miko’s general demeanor and attitude towards life:
Complacent sweet little bastard isn’t he?
I don’t know why I bought a dog. Impulse I guess. Or maybe it was something in my subconscious. But I really have no idea how I ever decided it would be a good idea.
Maybe my subconscious said something like “Hey Phil, this diaper changing is getting a little mundane huh? It’s about time for a new challenge!”. Or “Hey Phil, you know what would make having a baby way more awesome? If they could run 15 mph and draw blood with their bite!”
So now in addition to normal diaper changing detail, I have larger, doggier bowel movements to tend to.
He doesn’t shit in a diaper. He shits wherever the hell he wants. And he sneaks off to do it. Now every day I find myself going on some sort of fucked up treasure hunt. And the treasure is a steamy pile of shit.
The peeing is worse because he’s WAY more shameless with it. Today Miko walked right up to me while I was watching TV, looked me right in the eye and started pissing. Three feet away from me. Almost as if to say “That just happened, bitch”.
Add in the facts that he loves eating toilet paper and seems to be on a personal mission to eat the baby, and you have one chaotic home life. It really wears on you. Nothing phases me anymore.
Example: Sunday I was home with both dog and baby. I was on the couch watching a football game. Baby to my left, dog to my right. The intensity of the game prompted me to lean forward, towards the TV. It was Tebow time. Baby decided that Tebow time equals time for her routine bulimia episode and started to induce vomiting by putting her hand down her throat. Miko snuck behind me and started to eat it. Most people would be shocked if they turned to see a human-beast puke orgy. I turned around and thought, “Oh. Well that’s normal.”
Moving on, I hope you like the new site. The forum is up and running. You can get on here and discuss whatever the hell you want with people who almost assuredly aren’t tight asses with no sense of humor. I still have a few kinks to work out with the store, but I’ll have those worked out soon. Help me get the word out.
An account of child rearing from a new dad who has no idea what he’s doing or what he has gotten himself into. Disclaimer: This blog is not politically correct. It is not intended to be. If you don’t like it, feel free to tell someone. Just make sure it’s not me.
Oh, and follow me on twitter: @Asshole_Baby
I get a lot of email. I appreciate all the fan mail and I love the hate mail, but I think it’s about time I tackle some of the tougher issues.
Yesterday I posted the shirts I had designed for the site on here, on twitter, and on my Facebook page. On my Facebook page, I also told the fans to let me know what they would like to see in the store. I had a lot of great feedback. However, there was one comment under that Facebook post from someone named Deana that I would like to address in a more public forum. Deana wrote:
“Not getting one of these!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Now, I don’t know much about Deana except that she is female, she is Canadian, she abuses punctuation marks, and she clicked the “like” button on her own comment. Maybe she got mad at the two dollar up-charge for being Canadian. Guess I’ll never know. But I would like to address her comment nonetheless.
My Open Letter to Deana
Dear Deana,
You’re a dick! What makes you think it’s okay to come to my Facebook page and shit all over something I worked very hard on? Is this behavior commonplace in Canada?
What you wrote is no different than being invited to someone’s house for dinner, showing up, looking at the casserole that they worked hard to prepare, and then exclaiming to the heavens “Not eating this!!!!!!!”
Most people wouldn’t do that because that would be a huge dickhead, borderline retarded thing to do. And most people have manners. You apparently do not.
Now, I’m assuming that because you are on my Facebook page you read my site. I’m going to further assume that you enjoy reading my site, because people generally pass on reading stuff they don’t like. So why did you feel the need to take a big steamy fudge goblin on my hard work?
Further, why did you feel the need to campaign against my daughter going to college on my page? Maybe you should post shit like that on your own page instead of using mine to post your opinion that no one asked for. People like you should have to wear a sticker on your forehead that says “I am an inconsiderate person” so everyone else knows not to waste their time.
Finally, everyone named Deana has bad 1980′s hair. Fact.
Thanks for reading and please remove the knife from my back,
Phil
Good news on the sleeping front: She finally started sleeping through the night.
Bad news on the sleeping front: Apparently to her, “night” ends at 4:45 a.m. every morning.
So I actually get less sleep than I did before she started “sleeping through the night”.
Waking up at 4:45 sucks period. But she doesn’t just “wake up”. You know, like normal people do. She wakes up screaming like a meth head that hasn’t had her fix in days. And she’s not stopping until she gets her meth milk. So I wake up every morning in a frenzied panic like my f*cking house is burning down. And when you wake up like that, your day is going to be shit.
When was the last time you said “I had a great day today. I woke up running around screaming in a panic and then everything was totally awesome after that!”? Never happens.
I keep telling her that it’s not all about her. Apparently she disagrees.
If babies were held to the same standard as everybody else, everyone would hate them. They are selfish, ungrateful assholes that do asshole things all the asshole time. And the real kick in the taint is the fact that they enjoy acting like this.
