December 16, 2014
Parenthood offers plenty of surprises. It seems like everyday there is something new. A lot of it has to do with bowel movements. Some of it has to do with my own stress level as a stay-at-home dad. Yesterday, Cozy was screaming for her afternoon bottle. I got flustered and spilled half the pumped mother’s milk on the counter. What the fuck?
I swear a lot these days. I try not to but it just comes. I would like for my daughter’s first word to be “intersectionality,” but I have sneaking suspicion it will be “whatthefuck.” It’s possible it could be “fuckaduck” which is the more child-friendly version I’m trying to move to. I recognize that that phrase my create later problems with waterfowl, but it just seems less harsh. For infants, it’s all about the tone.
I try to be zen, but sometimes it just overwhelms me. Sorry. She’s peeing while I’m putting a new diaper on. What the fuck? She’s screaming bloody murder while I’m singing “Yellow Submarine” to her. What the fuck? She puked up 90% of the milk I just gave her and it went down my pants (Don’t ask). What the fuck? She was crying for the bottle and now that I have it ready, she’s asleep. Fuck a duck.
Many what the fuck moments have to do shit. The shit is leaking out the diaper and running down her legs (both of ‘em). What the fuck? Her diaper-liners are shit-stained beyond redemption. What the fuck? That wasn’t poop, just a big fart (after taking off layers of clothes). Da fu? While changing her, her ass becomes a firehose of baby shit, soaking the carpet brown. What the fuck and fuck a duck.
Then the WTFs get exported to everything else. Where are the wipes? What the fuck? Why won’t the microwave work faster? What the fuck? I forgot to eat lunch. What the fuck? Mom’s watching TV when there is a giant pile of laundry. What the fuck? The Walking Dead isn’t back on for months. What the fucking fuck?
I know, I know. What’s new about this? Maybe I just need to lay off the coffee. But I know there are big WTF moments coming for my daughter. Soon it will be, “I gotta poop in that? What the fuck?” “What do you mean, ‘You’re just a girl’?” What the fuck? Then comes, “Wait, I only make 80% of what you make? Seriously, what the fuck?”
Modern society gives us too many of these moments of incredulity. Sometimes I feel like I live in Whatthefuckistan. From streaming rivers of baby poop to the top stories on the 5 o’clock news (She hears WTF then, for sure). I should be immune to it. But I don’t want my child to be immune to it. I want to protect her but also instill a certain amount of naivety so she can react like human and not a jaded baby who has already seen it all. Deep breaths, but I mean, really, what the fuck?