Stressed Daddy – Chapter 2 – Logistics and Vomit

Stressed Daddy

Chapter2 – Logistics and Vomit

The first chapter in this series of warnings to expectant parents centred around broken promises and an attempt to illustrate how difficult those first few months will be.

This following chapter goes into a bit more detail – very much focussing in on certain pitfalls that fly under the radar – and more often than not, onto your freshly ironed shirt.

You see, your bundle of joy will enjoy a bottle of milk. Whether it be original, home grown breast milk or formula, your child will guzzle the lot and also use the opportunity to remind you how adorable they are. The screaming, the pee, the poo – and that’s just you – will be forgotten as you cradle your baby and they look up at you serenely whilst chugging on the teat. They are opportunists you see. They know they must remind you that they have your heartstrings, and they make the most of every opportunity.

Once they finish drinking though, much like the town drunk, this is when they start to create again. You can’t hook them up to a drip, I’ve already enquired, but when that sweet mixture stops passing their gums, they transform back into the endurance machines that are designed to push you to your limits. Like the Incredible Hulk/Bruce Banner change, but with a bit of Mr Motivator thrown in for good measure.

They must be crying because they have wind, right? So you prop them up and pat their back, sympathising how awful it must be to have that wind trapped in such a delicate frame, such a tiny little bo….

Then they let out a guttural roar of burps that smells like you’ve left milk in the back window of your car for two weeks.

Then the coup de gras is what follows. The problem though, is you know it’s coming, but not when. It could be three seconds after that whoosh of rancid air, or it could be minutes – but they will blow chunks.

And it will go on you. You can’t wear your pyjamas all day either, no matter how much you want to. So when you’re ready for work/dinner/social gathering/funeral etc and you feed your little monster, make sure you’ve got another shirt pressed and ready to go.

Then there is the ordeal of going anywhere.

Remember the good old days of when you went out? You swiped your keys, wallet and phone and then, you just left.

Now, you must festoon yourself with a bag that could quite easily house a family of twelve, resplendent with four bottles, spoons, nappies, bibs, teething gel, teething rings, and enough Tupperware to craft a plastic Big Ben.

You also have to be able to fold and unfold your pram/buggy. This must become an art – because as soon as you stop your car, your child will wake up, wonder how they got there and protest vigorously, much like a kidnapping victim coming round from a date with chloroform and a napkin.

So, you need to know where the clasps, buttons, bars and brakes are on your newly fangled contraption that trundles your precious along. Quickly now, for your little prince/princess has been screaming for five minutes straight for their bottle and no-one likes a screaming baby at a wedding ceremony…

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