I’ve been holding off on a post for a little while because it contains some news that a buddy of mine didn’t want to get out until his whole family had heard first. He says this like anyone in his family reads this. Anyway, here it is. My buddy Nick and his wife are going to have a baby! It’s their first!
Every parent reading this just made a collective, “Oh those poor bastards”!
I just recently found out that another buddy of mine and his, um, girlfriend/cohabitant/commonlaw wife/sister (I’m not sure how things work in Vermont) are also going to have a baby. Tom is a little different in that he already has a 8 year old daughter so he kinda sorta knows what is coming, except they found out they’re having a boy so he really has no idea what he’s in for at all.
I get to kick back and laugh because my boy is 16 and I need only coddle him through the remainder of his retarded years and I damn sure ain’t having anymore kids. I laugh because I care, my friends. I also laugh because I know my friends, and if their kids are anything like my nephews, they are going to be losing battles of wits before any of those kids reach the age of 2.
I’m interested in seeing how these friends interact with a new baby, not just because they are my friends, but because they are two so very different people. I think they will both be fantastic fathers and I look forward to finding out how these babies turn out, but let me talk shit about them first, because we’re dudes and that’s what dudes do and we expect it from each other.
First, I’ll tell you about Nick. He’s the rudest, crudest, most socially twisted individual in the world. If it’s on the internet and it will make you projectile vomit onto your computer screen, he’s got it neatly categorized into folders on his computer somewhere and these images are generally sent out to his closest friends . . . as birthday presents. 2 Girls, 1 Cup was the internet lottery for Nick. (I saved you all the nightmare of actually linking to that. If you got the cajones to go check it out yourself, Google is still free.) Nick likes all things guns. Nick introduced me to Tactical Bacon. Somewhere in the depths of Nick’s collections, is a picture of his naked ass . . . on my bald head. (It’s just an accepted fact that at any social function that Nick is at, someone’s naked something is gonna get caught in photographs . . . near someone’s head.)
Let me make this clear, we don’t love Nick despite these traits, we love him BECAUSE of them. We’re a twisted little bunch, we are. If genetics have anything to say about it, this child will leap from the womb with an automatic rifle in his hands and will hump the cat on sight. It both scares the hell out of me that this dude is gonna be a father, and makes me jealous as hell because he’s gonna be the coolest dad that ever lived. Besides me, of course.
Then we move to Tom. Nick’s polar opposite. Tom is quiet, reserved and the master of “ambush funny”. We can be talking about anything at all, no matter how mundane, and somewhere in the middle of it he will say something so unexpectedly funny, milk will shoot out your nose . . . even if you’re drinking Pepsi, it’ll still be milk. Tom is polite and aware of his surroundings no matter what the situation. Tom will automatically say “Pickles!” instead of an expletive when his daughter is around. It’s not a conscious effort, he just does it automatically. Very little makes Tom mad. Tom’s biggest issue is that he is one of those guys that is so nice and tolerates so much, that when he finally does get mad, it is the culmination of all the shit that should have made him mad over the last six months and he snaps like a twig and by God, inanimate objects will be broken. Tom can’t spell. Anything. At all. I have given up on the “there”, “their” and “they’re” conversation with him.
Baby Tom (they picked Keegan as his name) will come into this world and the words “Achievement Unlocked” will appear on his forehead. (Tom is an Xbox aficionado, you see) This child will eat nothing but hot dogs and macaroni and cheese until he is 40.
As a gift to my friends, and to anyone else out there getting ready to have a new baby, I’m here to offer you some advice. Because that’s what I do. I offer advice immediately followed by a legal disclaimer relieving me of responsibility if you actually follow any of it. I’m cool like that.
- Babies don’t sleep. Bourbon works wonders. For both of you.
- Babies are born pissing themselves and puking and grabbing at boobs. They are genetically pre-loaded for frat parties. It’s one of the chromosomes.
- Sometimes kids have accidents and they bump their heads and scrape their knees and sometimes break a bone or two. Medical care, drugs and extended treatment may be required. You might wanna get something for your kid too.
- Your kid is not “unique” or “different”. Somewhere, some other kid has tried to shove that same shit up his nose too.
- Kids in the 21st century are born internet friendly. Your “parental controls” make them laugh. Next time you forget your email password, have your kids get you back in.
- Grandparents spoil their wonderful grandchildren. Beat them to the punch. Give them cappuccino, a big bag of gummy bears and a puppy before you leave them there.
- All kids are retarded. Every. Damn. One. Even yours. Prepare for it.
- Your kid is a gift and you didn’t get a receipt.
- Buying your child a pet is the cruelest thing you can do. To the pet.
- Remember when your wife loved you? Yeah, that was cool, wasn’t it.
- Vodka and Valium are not the answer to your frustration. But if they’re in the cabinet . . .
- If you are thinking about going to self-help books for answers about raising your child, ask yourself this question: What could someone who had enough time to sit down and write a fucking book possibly know about raising a child?
- If you just jumped up off the couch and walked into the next room and forgot what you went in there for, you’re a parent. Grab anything just to make it look good.
- I know you’ve been playing video games since we had to shove quarters in them. Don’t play them with your kid. They will KICK YOUR ASS.
- Grand Theft Auto IV does not turn kids into murderers and careless drivers. Convincing our children that big, grinning, purple fucking dinosaurs are real does.
- Everyone will tell you your baby is beautiful and perfect. Even if it looks like a poorly shaved hamster with a goiter.
- “Remember, son, she doesn’t HAVE to love you. We’re not really paying her all that much.” is a perfectly legitimate warning to give your kid before leaving them with a babysitter.
- Learn from my experience, Metallica’s “Enter Sandman” is not an appropriate bedtime song.
- Contrary to popular belief, kids do not repeat everything you say. Just the stuff with profanity in it. And they intentionally plan it for the worst possible time. They are devious and yes, they do it on purpose.
- At some point in time you will be in a store with your kid and there will be someone in there that is looking at you and thinking, “If I was that kid’s parent, I’d take him out in the parking lot and beat his ass”. Don’t lie. You’ve thought it.
- Do NOT take your kid out to the parking lot and beat their ass. Parking lots have security cameras.
- You will inevitably say things to your kids that your parents said to you. You will hear yourself say it and you will want to kill yourself. Resist the urge.
- Your child running through the house naked and laughing at your Christmas party is just a part of childhood and nothing to be embarrassed about. Unless she’s 16.
- Teenage phone calls should be limited to no longer than 3 days.
- Kids know everything, until you ask them who left the water on in the bathroom and flooded the downstairs, then nobody knows shit.
- I forgot what I was going to put here because my son is on the phone in the next room . . . again.
My friends, this list could go on forever, but that should give you a little something to work with. If you would like any advice on anything more specific, please feel free to leave a comment, or if you’re too embarrassed, just send me an email and I’ll make a post about it here and tell everyone who you are myself.
I’ll leave you with a recent conversation I had with my son, just as an example of what you’re in for (I’ll refer to him as “Duh”, because, well, it fits):
Me: Did you eat breakfast?
Me: Why not?
Duh: I was gonna have cereal but there weren’t any clean bowls.
Me: Is there not soap and a sponge on the kitchen sink?
Me: *blank stare*
Duh: *siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh* *dejectedly walks to kitchen*