This is chapter one. I will start by offering to you a brief summary of my qualifications. I’ll come right out here and just tell you flat out that I do not have any children. My educational background is scientific and I think at times I see a situation and am able to remove emotion from it and see it for what it is. This works for proteins and viruses and RNA and it will work for your children. Also, I have held the young in my arms. Much like Jesus did, but the main difference being my lack of belief and fear of an omniscient God, and that I do not enjoy wearing open-toed sandals. I do like wine however, and I am a little bit on the drunk end as we speak. What I’m getting at, as you will soon see for yourself, is that asking advice on child rearing from friends of yours who are also mired in this child-life that you all have chosen, that maybe this isn’t the best idea. I have distance here. I can be the hard, cold and calculating advisor that you’ve been seeking all of your post-child adult life. Let me help you. Buy my book, and let me help you. This is chapter one.
I have children in my life, if it makes you feel any better. Like I said, I’ve held the kids. I’ve picked up the infants, and I’ve changed the diapers. In truth, the first diaper I changed on my dear patient niece, I put on backwards. She didn’t seem to care and the function of a backwards put on diaper is the same as the other kind, so no harm done. Also in the spirit of being honest here, I cannot say that I’ve been up all night with the kid with the fever and the vomit and the emergency room, but then again I didn’t shoot a human being out of my vaginal canal, or in my case rectum and cut its cord and worry all night and open up a 529 account. But I’m saying I can understand your plight and I can help you.
Ok so then we’ll start at the beginning with the birth and the afterbirth and the first 100 days. If your kid can make it through the first 100 days, much like a new President, you can breathe easy and start to relax. POLITICAL INTERJECTION: I think we can all agree that GWB’s first 100 days in orifice was a serious joke and that in general his whole eight year free-for-all-fuck-you, in the end will be a very nice Eat My Ass to the world at large.
What you have to get over right off the bat is this whole idea of not hitting your children. I’m not talking about abuse, because I think we can all agree how fucked up that can get. No, this is just some light hitting. This is shocking to hear, and I want you to take a moment to let it soak in before you dismiss me as a quack non-parent who is just trying to turn a fast buck. Think back to your own childhood. You got hit. Plenty of times. Everyone does. And if you want to talk about teaching your kids the importance of kicking a bully’s ass on like day 1 of school, then who better to be that mentor than the parent? Ok, the wine has taken its toll. I’m not saying to actually hunt your kids down and punch them, but if they drop the ball, figuratively speaking, swing away.
We’ve strayed. And I apologize. You paid good money to learn how to deal with these little devil spawn and I have apparently had too much wine and told you to essentially hit your kids for spilling milk. Not so.
Ok, so then, to regroup, what I’m getting at here is not to be a slave to your kids. Yes, of course you should pick them up when they are crying, and not leave them in that crib to tough it out – that’s fucked up. Crying = pick up. Write that down. When they have teeth that bite the milky nipple, guess what? Time to stop the tit farm production line. You’ll have plenty of years to do damage to your kids, don’t think that you have to make this first few months some magical bounty of parenting skill that will make your neighbors wet themselves. If they are alive after 100 days, you have succeeded in being a parent. Think of it as you would think of a new car. Did I get the insurance? Check. Did I put gas in it? Check. Did I change the oil? Check. You have years and years to make mistakes. Let the first 100 days be a trial period. This is a blob of skin and hair that cannot sit up, eat or shit without your help. As if it were a new rug that you’ve always wanted and you finally got it and goddamnit if the room doesn’t just pop with that sonnofabitch in the middle, huh? Vacuum the rug, clean the rug if the cat pukes on it, keep the rug indoors for a few days, maybe don’t smoke in the same room as the rug with the windows up, that sort of thing. Oh, and a side note to you people with kids who smoke in the car with the mother-fucking windows UP? Fuck you and shame on you. You should be held criminally liable. Ok, yes I just recently have taken a hiatus from the smoke, and so I may be a bit of a smoke snob, but even when I was smoker guy, that shit bothered me. Go outside for the love of Christ.
The main thrust here for chapter one is to have an alive child after 100 days and to strap that little toothless ape on your back and take them out. No more of this, “I can’t do that or this because my kid goes to sleep at that time”, crap. Don’t be a slave to your kids. Try and parent somewhere in between the leadership examples given to us by Adolf Hitler and Mother Superior. We all know that Adolf was kind of a dick, I don’t think anyone is going to try and dispute that. But there must have been times when he was an ok guy in the eyes of his fellow Germans. Hey, Adolf, how about a game of football, they’d say. Oh, not now, I have to go and sulk and be angry, but thanks. So there he is. And then you have Mother Saint What’s Her Name, who is nice and good and does all that is right, but you also know will smack your insubordinate ass into the dark ages if you cross the line. As well she should. Strike a balance parents. And buy my book. Strike a balance while you are in line to buy my book. Have some coffee and stand in line and buy it for full price.
Stay tuned for chapter 2: Pre-pubescence and the Art of Psychological Abuse...
