Today we have a post from one of my personal friends. He and I share an affinity for anti-jokes and snarky humor.
Anyway, enjoy:
Howdy folks! My name is Jenkins and I am pretending to like beer and babies today while the boss works on other neat stuff!
I... am not so into beer, actually. This should immediately disqualify me from contributing, but I didn't see it specified in my contract, so here I am for this guest post on I Like Whiskey and Toddlers-Old-Enough-To-Rough-
Who am I? I am a parent of a toddler - a 15 month old ball of energy, fiery temper and junk food (thanks grandpa!) that I refer to as The Tiny Dragon (TTD). I'm a lot of other things too, but at the moment that seems to be the most important.
Now that we know each other, I'd like to talk about "the moment shit gets real" - at least from this dad's point of view.
The moment shit gets real is officially defined as the moment shortly after birth where the brand new parent (often times the dad for this particular emotion) realizes the scope and magnitude of what they've done, followed by a brief but significant moment of panic.
Fifteen months ago (almost to the day), we were at the hospital where my wife was in labor waiting for TTD to make her grand appearance. We both knew what we were getting into - hey, let's have a kid, right? - and so everything up until this point had gone relatively as planned. We are adults, we chose to do this, we know what happens next: we go to the hospital and come home with a crying pooping bundle of joy.
After a day of waiting for labor-inducing drugs to work their magic, it's finally time, and my wife gives birth to our daughter LIKE A FUCKING BOSS. The baby is born and yet before the cord is even cut, here we are: The moment shit gets real.
Oh my god. Look at how little she is.
Oh my god. Look at all that hair.
Oh my god, listen to her - she's already crying.
Oh my god, the cord is wrapped around her neck like three times!
Oh my god, the doctor is...spinning her around upside down to unravel the cord???
"Mr Jenkins, would you like to hold her?"
Oh shit. I have spent years specifically not holding other people's babies because I don't want to mess them up. So for a second I hesitate - holy crap, no! I don't want to break her already!
...wait, wait, don't mess this up. This isn't someone else's baby that you're about to politely decline holding. Hold your newborn kid, moron.
I take her. She's crying. The panic sets in.
OH MY GOD, WHAT HAVE WE DONE?
And just like that, shit got real.
I... am not so into beer, actually. This should immediately disqualify me from contributing, but I didn't see it specified in my contract, so here I am for this guest post on I Like Whiskey and Toddlers-Old-Enough-To-Rough-
Who am I? I am a parent of a toddler - a 15 month old ball of energy, fiery temper and junk food (thanks grandpa!) that I refer to as The Tiny Dragon (TTD). I'm a lot of other things too, but at the moment that seems to be the most important.
Now that we know each other, I'd like to talk about "the moment shit gets real" - at least from this dad's point of view.
The moment shit gets real is officially defined as the moment shortly after birth where the brand new parent (often times the dad for this particular emotion) realizes the scope and magnitude of what they've done, followed by a brief but significant moment of panic.
Fifteen months ago (almost to the day), we were at the hospital where my wife was in labor waiting for TTD to make her grand appearance. We both knew what we were getting into - hey, let's have a kid, right? - and so everything up until this point had gone relatively as planned. We are adults, we chose to do this, we know what happens next: we go to the hospital and come home with a crying pooping bundle of joy.
After a day of waiting for labor-inducing drugs to work their magic, it's finally time, and my wife gives birth to our daughter LIKE A FUCKING BOSS. The baby is born and yet before the cord is even cut, here we are: The moment shit gets real.
 |
| Enter The Tiny Dragon |
Oh my god. Look at how little she is.
Oh my god. Look at all that hair.
Oh my god, listen to her - she's already crying.
Oh my god, the cord is wrapped around her neck like three times!
Oh my god, the doctor is...spinning her around upside down to unravel the cord???
"Mr Jenkins, would you like to hold her?"
Oh shit. I have spent years specifically not holding other people's babies because I don't want to mess them up. So for a second I hesitate - holy crap, no! I don't want to break her already!
...wait, wait, don't mess this up. This isn't someone else's baby that you're about to politely decline holding. Hold your newborn kid, moron.
I take her. She's crying. The panic sets in.
OH MY GOD, WHAT HAVE WE DONE?
And just like that, shit got real.
The
moment of panic passed quickly and was replaced with emotions and
experiences more fantastic than I can explain in this post. But for a
minute there, I freaked way the fuck out.
There is a song by Internet-famous geeky song writer Jonathan Coulton titled, "You Ruined Everything". It's a sweet sounding lullaby with a twist of sick-sense-of-humor. The first time I heard it, I immediately made the connection. It didn't matter what he actually wrote it about, because it was now about my own short moment of panic standing in a delivery room holding a screaming baby:
"I was fine / I pulled myself together
Just in time / To throw myself away
Once my perfect world was gone I knew
You ruined everything / in the nicest way"
Thanks, Jenkins. Great to have a daddy's point of view.
If you share this post, I will buy you a pony. I suck at Twitter. I am OK at Facebook. Pinterest is my bitch. I am also on Bloglovin' and Instagram.
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