I haven't updated in umpteen bazillion years, so I thought it might be time to put together a comprehensive list-post. Actually, I wrote the list because I stank.
Yesterday, while sitting on our couch in all my funk-filled-I-haven't-showered-in-three-days-glory, I decided to do what any onion smuggler would do...I broke out my laptop (only after giggling, "Hey Rachel, smell down my shirt!" Believe it or not, she did).
I had planned on seeing how long this stankiness could go, but Rachel (unfortunately) shot down my plan of seven consecutive days of ripeness (*sigh* some day). So I thought I would procrastinate the inevitable body-bleaching any way I could. By writing a list on parenting.
Here we go...
What I’ve learned in the last couple of months about being a parent (the abridged version):
Cheerios will be fed to children for the next 43,759 years. They are the most amazing processed food ever invented.
When working in the kitchen and finding yourself faced with a restless child, it should be understood that can openers do --in fact-- have a sharp blade on them and are NOT appropriate playthings to keep a one year old at bay. Additionally, soda cans (opened) have sharp lips, golf clubs can break things, and open refrigerators have copious amounts of condiments that can stain (although a dose of Red Hot on the fingertip can induce fridgefear).
Getting a large refund around tax time, although it might feel like it, does not negate the actual cost of a child throughout the year. That check should in no way inspire you to have more children to offset the costs of the first child, no matter what your absurd calculations may say (52 children @ $1,000/child ≠ $52,000/year in government subsidized income).
Noise-making toys without on/off switches will be (unconditionally) broken over the giver’s head.
Just when you think poop can’t get any more pungent or foul smelling, your child will continue to impress you. A gag reflex is never --under any circumstances-- phased out completely.
As a parent you can often forget entire days, yet remember the exact moment on the exact day in the exact location that you took a great picture in an album or on a wall. And if you’re lucky, that picture will have a crayon up the nose.
If you order a movie “On Demand” from your cable provider, keep in mind that your child likes to play with buttons. Given the fact that there’s a large chance he’ll likely fiddle with the set and turn the TV back on (and you have Time Warner Cable, which automatically turns a recently-powered TV back to the purchased pay-per-view channel), you will be forced to provide a rather embarrassing explanation as to why you were watching something called Naked Workout (what’s worse, it will come on right around the jumping-jacks, then again during the squat thrusts…what’s worser than worst is the sight of your child clapping to the beat of the music while you fumble for the remote).
Sleeping with your son snuggled up against your chest never gets old. I now live for those moments. It is good to bring a pacifier whenever and wherever you go. Two pacifiers are better. Three pacifiers will save your life. Like socks in a drier, pacifiers magically disappear, thus making a 10 minute car ride feel like a sherpa-less hike through the Himalayas on the back of a one-legged, three-toed sloth pulling a boat anchor tied to its good foot.
The newly clipped fingernails of a one year old child can maim and kill.
When a toy’s battery has kicked the bucket, it is up to the parent that stays home the most whether or not the battery gets replaced. Also, a piece of scotch tape over the speaker portion of any toy can reduce its decibel load tenfold (Thanks R&T!). No tape? Open the toy and place a piece of a cotton ball over the speaker. No tape or cotton? Inform your child that he is Amish and, therefore, can not play with such modern abominations.
When living out of a diaper-bag, you’ll find that the rules of eating have reversed: cooking a meal at home is 20-times easier than going out.
If you’re the kind of parent that occasionally lets your child co-sleep in your bed, there is a 98.4% chance that you will wake up with a pacifier forcibly wedged in your mouth.
Sundays are family days and should be treated as such: appointments should be few and far between, travel should be light (if at all), laughter should fill every square inch of the house, and your head should touch pillow by Simpsons-o’clock. Note: Some bedtime exemptions can be made if the Writer’s Guild is on strike and you’ve seen the episode-at-hand three times or less…but you should still Tivo the episode just in case.
IMPORTANT: Rachel, do not read this!
Babies, like Labradors, are excellent patsies for gas-related issues. If you find yourself tremendously gaseous, quickly blame the baby and venture off to change the offending diaper. Not only will the baby-excuse surreptitiously cover up your noxious gasses, but it’ll look like you were willing to dive into a diaper unsolicited, thus making the next brown delivery inescapably “her turn.” However, if you choose to do this, make sure your wife doesn’t read the blog entry that blows your cover.
Directions be damned, there is no wrong way for your child to play with a toy. Whatever game/fantasy/excitement/fun can be had, should be had. A baseball bat = a magic wand = a drum stick = a horsy. Explain the rules, but let the imagination be.
There is NOTHING cooler than Yo Gabba Gabba…period. Not Sesame Street. Not the Electric Company. Not a 6-pack of Zima hidden on your window sill in the dead of winter when you're 16 years old. Nothing. As a matter of fact, Rachel and I were so impressed with the Yo that we started Yo Mission International. We’ll be in South America next fall extolling the virtues of DJ Lance, translating the lyrics to the song There’s a Party in My Tummy (Hay un partido en mi estómago?), and converting Peruvian rugrats far and wide to all things Gabba.
An offer of unanticipated childcare, even as little as ten minutes so you can pop in a load of laundry, will make a MAJOR difference in your day. Unfortunately, you’ll probably squander nine of the workable ten minutes with your head in the washer, admiring the gentle calm of the chilly drum.