Things No One Really Bothers to Tell You About Fatherhood

So I’m a dad now and as shocking as that is to all the people who knew me when I was a young, pot-smoking, long hair, I decided none-the-less to try my hand at procreation and guess what, I’m fucking AWESOME at it. That’s right. I get the job done! And now as a result, my wife and I have a new a baby boy. 6lbs, 10oz of Adam genetics is now mine for the raising and man is it difficult. As a result of this newfound responsibility, I have learned a whole lot about having a child that people seriously failed to let me in on. They might have hinted at some shit but no one really gives you the bare bones reality that is fatherhood. So I’ve decided to do my best to give you a realistic understanding of parenthood as I know it. Here’s what no one bothers to tell you.

Lesson One: No one fucking cares that you are tired.

Man am I fucking tired. No..seriously. I’m really goddamn tired. I’m hallucination tired. I feel like I stayed up all night drinking Jolt cola at some shitty church lock-in and I’m never gonna get to sleep. I feel Robin Williams and it is 1982. I feel like Bin Laden. Now everyone always says “ You better get all the sleep you can before the baby gets here and boy you are gonna be tired” to the point that it isn’t really advice..it’s just someone being an asshole. First off, it is unoriginal as hell to tell someone who is about to have a baby that they are gonna be tired. No shit. I just produced an eating, crying, poop and pee storm that cannot provide any comfort for itself whatsoever. It’s all on me. AND I have to do all my other shit. Also, you can’t "stockpile sleep." I don’t have a closet full of extra hours of sleep I can cash in on like they sell two-for-ones of sleep at goddamn Costco. If I slept all day last Saturday it has jack shit to do with right now … Right now I could sleep through a blowjob.

What people SHOULD have told me is that not only am I gonna be tired but that NO ONE IS GONNA GIVE A FUCK. That’s right. Your parents think it’s funny b/c you did it to them, your grandparents think it is real funny b/c you AND your parents did it to them, your friends with kids are just glad they are past it and your friends without kids are drinking themselves into downsyndrome and readjust their Nuvarings every time they see the bags under your eyes…but the worst is your boss. Your boss REALLY doesn’t give a shit…you just have to “get the job done or suck it up" or whatever dickhead phrase that equates to "have more coffee and next time, wear a rubber."

Lesson Two: Babies are gross.

I know, I know. Babies are cute and their heads smell like a ceasefire and they get all chubby and they are simply adorable. But none of that matters when you have shit spray on you at 4am. And it’s gonna happen. Babies are unbelievably efficient at firing shit up to multiple feet. They are also very accurate. It isn’t uncommon for them to poop OVER the cloth you have placed in front of their butt in order for them to hit your hands or forearms…and if you have a boy, they like to wait for you to start to clean the poop off before showering your unprotected areas with pee. If you don’t think babies are gross, try cleaning diarrhea that looks like it has seeds in it off your wall, clothes and carpet.

Lesson Three: Leaving the house is a nightmare.

Need to go to the store to get milk? No you don’t. Re-evaluate how bad you need that milk. Can you put water in the cereal? How about black coffee? Just bought a whole pack of Oreos? Eat em dry, motherfucker! Because that trip to the store is gonna take all goddamn day. Every time you leave the house it’s like going fucking camping. Diapers, diaper bag, change of clothes, wipes, bottle, burp cloth, changing pad, car seat, stroller, pacifier, hand sanitizer, THE BABY. Then, IF and when you get all this shit in the car, you gotta make sure you remembered to brush your teeth, to put on a belt, to put in your contacts, to get your keys, your wallet, your purse, your cellphone, your sunglasses, then, when you and the baby are finally in the car and you have your shit together you forget where the fuck you are going in the first place.

Lesson Four: Like your wife’s new rack? yeah, it belongs to the baby

Her boobs are enormous….I mean, they are really big. Like porno big. Like I wanna make a mold of them, big….Man,…they look awesome. I bet they would look REAL awesome resting on my forehead. Yeeeeeah…let’s give that a try. (smack!)What do you mean I can’t touch them? Oh, you gotta feed the baby..ok maybe later.”

MAYBE NOT.

This was God’s cruelest joke (besides making the baby come out of the vagina, which is just plain shitty deployment)..I mean, why make them all awesome and untouchable at the same time? Couldn’t God just numbed em up all through the pregnancy and till the baby moves on to solids? Sounds like a good idea to me! Baby can eat, mom’s boobs don’t hurt, daddy can still touch em, everybody wins! Unfortunately this isn’t how it works and those awesome centerfold boobs are wasted on the baby, who can’t wait to tug and gnaw on them all over the place, roughing em up so that we’ll never get a chance to romance them again. If you are gonna make them so big that you can’t cover them up and they are gonna be out there all the time, give me fuckin access to them for christsakes. I liken it to those “metal claw grab games” they have at Walmart or the skating rink or whatever. There, behind the glass, that big soft stuffed animal that you want. It’s soft and all plush and nice and you can see it and you can just imagine how soft and comfy it is but you can’t grab the fuckin thing no matter how many times you try. It starts to pick it up but then drops it at the last minute. So close….yet so far away. Dammit….dammit.

Lesson Five: Paranoia…it’s not just for Schitzophrenics (or Republicans) anymore.

"I’m gonna drop the baby..I’m gonna drop the baby.." This is gonna become your mental fuckin mantra for a few weeks because you are constantly going to stress yourself out that you are gonna slip and your poor child will come crashing to the pavement and will smash their tiny baby head on the linoleum, thus becoming Tim Tebowed and solidifying you in the "Shitty Parent Hall of Fame." Even if you have a grip on that baby like he’s a bowling ball, you’ll picture yourself juggling him like a hot potato. And that is just "holding" him. Let’s talk about "sleeping." Just you wait till you set him down in the crib for the night. You put him down and walk away…only to find yourself sneaking back in there two minutes later to "see if he’s still breathing." Is he breathing? I can’t tell. I can’t HEAR him breathing. I could see him breathe but it’s dark. Shit. Let me lick my finger and hold it under his nose. Can I feel it..? I feel something but maybe it’s the fan. Fuck. Alright, I’ll just touch his chest and see if he’s breathing. Damnit. Now I know he’s breathing b/c he’s staring at me. I just woke him up.