Baby Crap and the Power Ballad Swooning

Posted: June 3, 2014 in Uncategorized

Conventional wisdom dictates that a baby is a miracle. I understand the sentiment behind that, but really, it isn’t. I’m very much a literalist on this point. A miracle is, like, changing water to wine or feeding thousands with a single fish. While being a dad is a great gig and I’m stupefied I waited so long now that I see how awesome it is, getting here has a simple scientific explanation: a baby is what happens when sexual organs convene without contraception. Hardly the stuff of supernatural thrillers. And yet since Zuli’s birth, I’ve already had to recount at least a portion of my non-miracle platform, for there is one aspect of babies that defies every tenet of modern science: in the name of Creation, how do they shit diapers so thoroughly and unapologetically?

I’d only pondered that as a theoretician until becoming a dad yesterday, when sodden diapers became an objective and routine condition of life. This child has proven herself a worthy heir to her daddy – who can’t keep his own ass clean half the time – with bowels possessed of a fluidity not unlike Travolta on a dance floor. I didn’t sleep ’til 6 AM yesterday since Zuli wouldn’t go lights out, and ’twas all indelibly connected to her Pampers running incessant and pungent green, and the certain discomfort this provoked for my poor daughter and her chaffed cheeks. So rapid was the outpouring that at one point I changed her and folded up the diaper mat, but Zuli erupted again before I got the mat into the diaper bag. I was damn near both insanity and repetitive motion sickness, like the guy working the cold-cut slicer all day at the Carnegie Deli.

When I finally got her intestines to grant Zuli’s old man a brief stay of execution, I had to get her to sleep. But how? The sole apparent solution lay in singing her the metal power ballads of yesteryear, of which I have some knowledge. My initial offering was Motley Crue’s “Home Sweet Home”, which to my astonishment (and, I must admit, disappointment in my child’s clearly poor taste) elicited an immediate pucker and crying. Thus I traded it up for Mr. Big’s “To Be With You”, Cinderella’s “Nobody’s Fool”, and a Poison medley blending “I Won’t Forget You”, “Every Rose Has Its Thorn”, and “Something to Believe In”. I proceeded through Steelheart’s “Never Let You Go” and Van Halen’s “Can’t Stop Loving You” before trotting cross home plate with Bon Jovi’s “I’ll Be There For You”.

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