I long for adult contact. Don’t get me wrong; I love being a stay-at-home dad. In fact, it worked out perfectly for me and my wife; she works during the day, I work mainly at night. (I’m a crime-fighting superhero. I don’t like to talk about it a lot.)
But that means that, all day, it’s me and the baby. As much as I love my daughter, being a baby, she’s limited. She’s pretty needy, she’s a marginal conversationalist at best, and, I’ll come right out and say it, she’s selfish. Never not once has she even bothered to ask how I’m doing. And would it kill her to do something I wanted to do? Every day, it’s the same thing: I’m gonna crap my pants, drink a couple bottles, and try to figure out what these things at the end of my arms are for. God only knows what she does all day.
Now, that was a pretty good joke, right? Nice misdirection, solid punch line, but I tell it to her, and she gives me nothing. She’s more entertained by the ceiling fan. Which is why I require adult contact. I think I might be going slightly insane.
When I change diapers, I like to pretend that I’m part of a NASCAR pit crew. I make the air gun noise and everything. From changing table to wiped, triple butt pasted, and re-diapered, I’ve got it down to 2 minutes. Any lower and I’m afraid there would be blowout and a saggy caution flag.
Yesterday, before giving her a bottle, I pretended to be a breast milk Sommelier.
“Ah, oui. The October 5th is a very nice selection, mademoiselle. Your mother was having a very good day when she pumped this. I think you’ll find it to be more complex than yesterday’s bottle. When it opens up you’ll notice the aroma of licorice and currant. The #2 nipple really allows it to breath. Many babies say that the slightly oaken finish is heavenly.”
I will say that she is very good at poker. To be fair, it’s probably more luck than skill, but her poker face is amazing. She gets that mid-distance stare, and I can never tell if she hit the straight, or if she’s about to bubble out a diaper full of baby mustard.
If anyone is interested in an adult conversation, contact me via this website. I’ll do my best to keep up, but please forgive me if I try to clean out your neck folds while we talk.
