It’s 7 in the AM and you’ve finally managed to tuck an hour and a half under your belt when an explosive, phlemy, almost choking sound sits you and your wife bolt upright.
You leap to the crib ready to triage. Clear a clogged throat, turn a puking head, call the paramedics.
Your new baby looks up at you, smacks his lips twice, and waggles his little fists. You’re confused. “You alright buddy?” Then the sewer smell washes over you.
Your wife, the angel, picks him up and says, “I got this one. Go back to bed.”
You lay there for a heartbeat before you realize that there is no way you are going to miss this diaper. So giggling like a maniac and making farting noises you follow your wife down the hall.
And as you stand over the table eyeballing the enormous wave of shit your new baby just fire-hosed up his back and down his thighs, the wave which finally crested in a neat greenish brown line across the middle of his ball-sack, you think “Wow! That’s awesome!”
It’s then that you know for sure. Becoming a parent makes you insane.