Tuesday, November 16, 2004

Don't Hold Your Breath

I was reminded this weekend why I so passionately wanted to procreate. It’s because childless people couldn’t possibly have the kind of near-death, soul-crushing experiences that parents encounter on a daily basis.

Sure, being single and/or sans offspring has its own attractive selling points. But while it’s one thing to pass out from a whiskey bender and find when you awaken that your buddies have Sharpied a big, blue penis onto your right butt cheek (for example – not saying that has ever happened to me or anything), it’s quite another to watch a youngster made from your own goo display the folly and fallibility of mankind anew each day.

This weekend my daughter cried so hard that she literally passed out. Second time she’s done that. Hot Wife was putting Barney’s Biggest Fan in her high chair before breakfast on Saturday morning and the child was apparently not interested in eating. She began to cry with such force and conviction that she was impotent to stop it. She stopped making noise. She turned blue. Her head fell back. And we fucking freaked out.

I was about to start administering CPR on her when Barney’s Biggest Fan came to. She opened her eyes, looked me right in the face and said, “Barney.” When my heart started again, I put Barney on for her. I have not been shy about voicing my distaste for Barney, but if it keeps my daughter breathing, that bastard can spoon me in my bed and help himself to my porno mags if he wants to.

Later that day, my son punched me in the face. We were wrestling on the floor, I was pretending to deliver a series of rib-shattering body blows and he decided it was time to up the ante. He clenched his four-year-old fist and clocked me in the right cheek. Twice. Boom-boom.

I was stunned. I knew he hadn’t done it on purpose and I wasn’t sure if I should scold him for even thinking that was OK or trot him out and pit him against some of the other boys in the neighborhood to see exactly how badass he is. I knew the latter would probably draw the ire of Hot Wife, so I settled for telling Left-Handed Power Hitting Son that blows to the head are strictly forbidden by the Torah and if he does it again God will send down a lightning bolt and kill Elmo.

Yesterday, fully recovered from her little cardiovascular vacation, Barney’s Biggest Fan let me know that all biological systems were operating at optimal levels by depositing something in her diaper that should not have been approached without a hazmat suit and a set of barbecue tongs. How can a precious, wide-eyed child who weighs barely 20 pounds evacuate a turd that so closely resembles the excrement of creatures that haven’t walked the earth in 200 million years?

If you want to get gross about it (and if you’re here reading this, you do), here’s what I found embedded in the diaper of Barney’s Biggest Fan: nine undigested raisins, three whole black beans, a cell phone, the next door neighbor’s lost cat, 58 cents in change, a license plate, my wife’s Costco card, a copy of The Watchtower, the 22-pound turkey Hot Wife was going to make for Thanksgiving, and a man who says his name is Carl and wanted to know how to get back to the San Diego Freeway.

Let this be a lesson to you. If you’re planning to come by Evans World Headquarters in the near future, you’ll need to be trained in CPR, self defense and the proper handling of hazardous materials.


At 2:38 PM, Blogger sevans said...

I am still shaking from the frightening experience with Barney's Biggest Fan but now I am also shaking from laughter. I don't know how you do it. You are so clever and funny and I love you! Hot Wife (that sounds so vain coming from me)

At 5:59 PM, Blogger honestyrain said...

brother, that was funny.

and i think we need a picture of dear Hot Wife. No?

At 6:55 PM, Blogger JoeinVegas said...

Did you clean off the turkey? Should have a nice tangy taste with the raisen juice.

At 10:37 AM, Blogger HDawg said...

shouldn't this one be called "Hold Your Breath"? yesterday i found the lost ark in jacob's diaper.

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