Dude I'm Totally Talking Like a Dad (CTL 20)

Countdown to Laughter

Issue 20

Nancy was feeling a bit down today. It was a cross between the dreary weather, constant lower belly ache, and lack of sleep. On the plus side, Nancy discovered that our local news channels actually do a live broadcast at two in the morning.

She is out with her girlfriends right now, and I’ve been practicing the guitar for Max. He’s been a great audience. We were sitting out on the porch, and a young couple walked by pushing a stroller. I introduced myself and struck up a conversation with them. It turns out that they live on the other side of the neighborhood. Their baby is eleven weeks old. We had a short conversation about the five star daycare rating system and it occurred to me. “I’m a man who talks about daycare centers now.” We talked for a while and I gave them my number. How the hell else do you get to know your neighbors? I’m sure they thought I was a bit strange, a big guy playing an off key rendition of Magaritaville to a midget lab mix, but they seemed to be pleasant people.

I now talk about day care centers, breast milk, and can debate circumcision at length. At the same time, I’m really excited about the new movie “The Aristocrats” which is basically nothing but the retelling of a filthy joke. I guess I will carve out my own niche of fatherhood. I will in the words of my friend Mark “Relax and parry the blow.”

I had two baby related odd moments at work today. The first was when I told the girls at the front desk about Nancy being induced next week. First off, they were pissed and decided that if that happened, the betting pool was off. Secondly, they told me that we had to have the baby early and started rattling of home induction techniques. They mentioned driving on bumpy roads, drinking castor oil, the usual, then suddenly one of them said, “You have got to have sex!” The others chimed in, “That’s the only surefire way” “Wait until Tuesday, so I will win the office pool”.

Now those who know me know I don’t get embarrassed easily. Here I had four women all urging me to have sex with my wife in the same tone of voice that they would use to tell me to buy her flowers on our anniversary, or paint the garage (is that a euphemism?). I’m slightly more reserved at work, and try not to reveal too much of my personal life, but I was completely at the mercy of these four women who were urging me to have sex with Nancy. I don’t know if they expected me to run out of the building and drive home right then, but I didn’t. I assured them I would take care of it, and thanked them for their advice.

Later on in the day, while I was at my desk, another woman told the tale of her C-section. She said she was awake, and looking in a mirror down at the belly. They cut her belly and were pulling things back and forth to try and open a hole. She said she became nauseous watching them flay her open in the mirror, and almost threw up when she saw a head covered with black hair pop out of the incision in her abdomen. The head looked around the room and started to cry. (I assumed at this point, the baby hopped out of the cavity, scurried across the floor, into the ventilation system and went to lay it’s eggs in some other poor host.). The woman’s husband picked the baby up and carried it to her head. He asked, “Why is she crying?”. The mom answered, “That’s what babies do.” At the sound of the mother’s voice, the baby stopped crying immediately, and calmed down.

My first thought is, this is one of the most disgusting stories I’ve ever heard. The second thought is, “How cool is that? The baby recognized the mom’s voice!” What an amazing “mini” miracle in the middle of vivisection and chaos.

My final thought is, “Thank the good Lord for my penis, and subsequently my inability to give birth.”

Big Matt