J.J. Goodman: Writings, Musings and More

Okay, so I'm a little late on this one. I became the father of a five-month old a week and a few days ago, but I've been jammed at work and I got a new side gig and I've been researching fall-out bunkers because American politics and I stubbed by big left toe and I think the dog is eating something hold on a minute what are you eating? WHAT. ARE. YOU. EATING??? DROP IT!!!!!   (Uh, you okay over there?)   I'm fine. Just feeling a little overwhelmed. Let's just say that when they say that being a parent adds exponential layers of stress to your life they know what they're saying. Those they are pretty smart. Say hey.   (You really need to be medicated.)   Trust me, I'm medicated enough. This allergy season has been brutal. That's part of the problem. My little one is just a hair over five-months old, and with each day that passes I continue to pray that my beloved offspring is not hampered with the environmental aversions...

I have now been a father for four, count 'em FOUR months, and there is one thing I can confirm, unequivocally, beyond any shadow of a doubt, with all certainty: When you have a baby, you have baby shit. Everywhere. EV-ERY-WHERE.   (Diaper issues?)   Well, that too, but I'm referring to the aforementioned-in-this-blog paraphernalia that accompanies the creation of another human being. There is nary a room in our house that doesn't contain something baby-related now. I am not exaggerating, either. Kitchen. Living room. Dining room. Family room. Bedroom. Bathrooms. Man Cave. Even the Attic. I'm pretty sure there's some swaddling wraps in the shed.   Baby. Stuff. EVERYWHERE.   Remember way back when I talked about registering, and how our friends and family advised us on what to get, what not to get, what you really need, etc.? That's all we have; pretty much just the essentials. And it still covers approximately 1,773 square feet ...

*YAWN*   (Baby not sleeping much?)   *gives stink eye*   (So, that's a no, then?)   To be fair, she actually slept pretty well last night. A whopping four plus-hours during the first stint, but a scant two-and-a-half in the second. We're getting there. But…   Good grief, child. Momma and daddy need some good rest so we don't, you know, put your bib on the dog and your diapers in the fridge.   (Please tell me you didn't.)   No, I didn't. For one thing the bibs won't fit on the dog. Not that I've tried. *ahem* But I did find myself folding up a dirty diaper the other day into a perfectly neat, square little package before depositing it in the diaper genie. Because I thought that was the thing to do. At 4:26 am. I mean, I didn't want the genie to be offended by an unfolded diaper. What genie likes unfolded pee-pee diapers, really?   (You realize "Diaper Genie" is a brand name and t...

So, the baby asked for the car keys this morning. I resolutely said no, but the pleading look in her eyes almost got to me.   (Um, isn't she like two months old?)   Ten weeks to the day, to be precise. So no, she didn't actually ask for the car keys. My point is that holy crap on a cracker time flies when you're raisin' babies!     (Get used to it, sport.)   *sigh*   Ten weeks, and already it's hard to remember life without her. I wouldn't have it any other waDEAR LORD CHILD WHAT JUST CAME OUT OF YOU????   (*phew* we thought you were gonna get all sappy there for a minute.)   I was, but dear sweet hoppin' hollerin' hell hades on a hamster, the substance coming out of my child lately could melt the paint off of a battleship.   (Sweet hoppin'… I can't even with you right now.)   Sure you can. Let me back up….   *Scooby Doo squiggly scene*   ...